On Sunday I go for a walk to shake off the hangover and the Sunday itself. As a cold nose makes me shelter in the CGAC. I had already seen, could say that this is a photographic exhibition indigenous grandmothers. And if I say the mother's grandmother. The rest of us the appendix to this core central. We are the electron round the body healthy and crushed people's grandmother. The matriarch of which was raised to be alone. The lady of town is a brown stick with wrinkles. A shadow enlamado road. And here are the pictures. A shadow with candles on the day of the pilgrimage walk on their knees, one of the most sacrificed of thanks.
Today it gives him a silver pen to the doctor, certainly something less showy.
García Rodero portrays us say. That is what we have to race and perdition, and people flock to anthropologists. At least at first sight. They are portraits impressive, or how impressive it may be the art of photography itself, which becomes more alien to the normal type. It is a distorting mirror. Deforming it may be truer than the truth we had in mind as plausible and half false, a kind of blindness. In these pictures the grandmother and grandson to leave us to face Pasolini film actor with a deep cavern that connects to a remote race. Yes, almost see those traits that were defined as identifiers of an ancient race, as he liked to Valley races. You can actually race is nothing more than leading a life, life that have led one's ancestors. Whatever we were diluting the race and Galician cities grew in the face softened us while we were leaving the superstitions and the saints on the road. The Galician is now more urban than rural, and have ceased to believe in the Holy Company, which in principle is not used any at all. The Galician and is just the people to eat pork and lamb and pass the chicken house, which looks like another animal, and eggs from the hen that makes tortillas almost fluorescent yellow.
We are children of plastic, but not stupid. At least not the old-fashioned stupid. Not our fathers fools, fools otherwise. We believe in the wood and the Internet, which is the library you have always wanted but within a computer. We have our superstitions, also wacky grandmother surely as the knees scale the mountain, but perfectly modern and technological.
The Galician Galician these photos are from Sunday. Galician are who wear cardboard and left convinced by the inertia of decades greeting the saints and family and meeting with the afterlife. But watch out, nay, there is only one life to Galician, and it is this you know. The house, the orchard, the vineyard, the pig and the cow's teat. Or rather, one country and two lives. A place, this, where they meet other lives. Galicia is a country living and the dead. Both groups share territory and get along quite well, at least reasonably well that may be each the living and the dead. Occasionally found. Occasionally one will ask for favors to others. And they do, of course, are met. The festivities and religious processions are but how to formally thank these favors.
rest is boredom and a desire to get drunk. It seems a world gone extinct but may not have changed much.
