IT DOESN`T BELONG TO ME

I feel the sea on my skin,
this skin is mine,
the sea doesn`t belong to me.
I enjoy the kiss of the wind,
the pleasure is mine,
the wind doesn´t belong to me.
I welcome your love into my life,
this life of mine
no love belongs to it.

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Picassa

Our work in the “Factory for Destroying Culture”

(As I used to call it)

consisted on making replicas of the work of 4 renowned painters.

We were all women and worked in a production chain:

One painted the background, other painted details, and so on…

I was generally in charge of the signatures and the varnish.

We painted 1,563 replicas in two months.

We worked hard and earned good money:

Picasso, Picasso, Picasso, Picasso, Matisse, Mondrian, Mondrian 

Picasso, Picasso, Picasso, Picasso, Matisse, Cézanne, Picasso 

Picasso, Picasso, Picasso, Picasso, Matisse, Mondrian, Mondrian 

Picasso, Picasso, Picasso, Picasso, Matisse, Cézanne, Picasso… 

We used to listen to the radio as all factory workers do:

Cadena ser, Radio Olé, Radio Latina and Radio Contrabanda.

At lunch time we used to go to the Mongat Nord beach,

each carrying her Tupperware to the Mediterranean sea.

We used to have a good time,

and then went back to the factory:

Picasso, Picasso, Picasso, Picasso, Matisse, Mondrian, Mondrian 

Picasso, Picasso, Picasso, Picasso, Matisse, Cézanne, Picasso 

Picasso, Picasso, Picasso, Picasso, Matisse, Mondrian, Mondrian 

Picasso, Picasso, Picasso, Picasso, Matisse, Cézanne, Picasso…

They paid by volume,

if you made 45 Picassos in a week

you could get 300 euros.

The Cézanne were the worst paid,

that’s why I ended up hating them.

As I was the signature maker,

sometimes I got into the character

and dressed like a ¨Picassa¨,

with a blue and white striped shirt

and high waisted beige Bermudas.

At that time I had 5 lovers,

and two of them told me on the same week:

“You gotta learn how to kiss”,

and I felt post mortem envy: I hated Picasso!

And then I used to come back home crying,

because I came back late, tired, alone,  confused,

and hungry but didn’t feel like cooking at all.

What a frustration… right?

You can be more than one famous artist at a time

and keep on failing to love.

Expo Blanca Haddad. CERN, Rouyn Noranda. Quebec. (photo:Christian Leduc)

Cloe

She knows everybody,

she´s into fashion and that kind of stuff.

Always sticks out her tongue in a crazy way when posing for a picture

(I hate that tongue business).

In private, she´s deeply bitter,

 but she likes to pretend she´s happy.

 Cloe is beautiful with her abundant black hair.

Doesn’t say a word,

but it seems she´s giving her opinion somehow,

keeping her silence.

 Everybody is intrigued by her presence

and feels obliged to offer her explanations,

even though when you get to know her

you can see she´s not that smart.

She knows it and handles it very well.

(perhaps that´s a sort of intelligence)

The gods have rewarded her with a penetrating gaze.

Her thumb and index fingers are stained with nicotine,

 no one cares about that .

Many girls want to be like her

 but they can’t,

 it´s not something that you can learn.

 

Blanca Haddad ´s studio (Barcelona 2014)

The Invisible

You compare yourself with what you see in others,

not with what you do not see.

What you do not see in others

is what they compare

 with what they see in you.

The invisible spying on the visible.

It is the perspective of desire

and naivety.

Shadows are also alive,

with eyes and ears.

The little boy speaks to his shadow,

 his invisible friend,

he has incorporated it.

Eduard speaks to his shadow

and since he is no longer a boy

people get frightened.

Nothing scares more

than recognizing

that sometimes there are strangers

dwelling within.

We like to believe we know everything

about the world and ourselves.

We want the visible.

 We want a piece

of our own deceit.

Disenchantment (Ink on paper, Blanca Haddad 2014)

Serious

A sip of brandy at 11 am,

a black tie,

a “No bloody way you’ll come into my life again”,

an envelope including the word “malignant”,

a choice you already know it won’t be popular.

Serious,

some moments are, and don’t give me those “namastes”,

because I’ll send them wrapped back to the gods,

and don’t give a damn if I go to hell,

or get locked up.

You can’t play with everything,

as you can’t cut down ancient trees,

or pollute the water in the oceans,

or ruin a country to live in luxury somewhere else.

Serious,

that those shoes you are wearing were made

out of someone’s health.

That you make fun of illiterate people

who are condemned to clean your filth.

Serious,

I close my fist and don’t shake your hand

because I don’t like you

and I don’t have to hide it.

(Translated by Adriana Velasquez)

With NES at the Polipoetics Festival, Barcelona.

Democracy ha ha ha

Democracy ha ha ha

Representative in theory,

 tyrannical in its own defence.

Democracy ha ha ha

Enlightenment for us,

darkness for them.

Democracy ha ha ha

Elastic and flexible

from Pericles´ Athens

to Bush´s Guantanamo.

Democracy ha ha ha

No to Sarin Gas,

Yes to Depleted Uranium!

Democracy ha ha ha

A flag waving

on death row.

Democracy ha ha ha

Rebellion is beautiful

as long as it´s away from home.

Democracy ha ha ha

Bill of rights,

rights on your bill.

Democracy ha ha ha

Is so similar to dictatorship ha ha ha,

to socialism ha ha ha,

to fascism ha ha ha,

that I don´t know what to think

and I can´t sleep.