I was born in a Little country called Spain. It’s a beautiful place, with sun and some pretty girls (like everywhere). We loved to drink a little, to speak anywhere, to smoke a little… to live. In art, we had very important names in History like Picasso, Velazquez, Dali… Also, we had a man called Cervantes, one of the best novelists in the History (it’s not me the only one who asserts this). We know we are not very good scientists or playing chess against the Russians… we are not as efficient as German people and, making movies, we cannot compare with America (of course, who could?)… But we were good in something, maybe something not very important in these modern times but our artists were famous in the whole world (excuse me for the confusion but I consider ‘artists’ to the writers too)… Yes, I repeat, we were good in something because, more or less, every country has its good things. Centuries ago, we had also an empire (nobody remembers this now, but I promise we had it)… but we were not conquerors.
At this point, I would like to ask something. What do you think if Russians, for some reason, begin to stop playing chess? Then, maybe you would answer with the famous sentence ‘something is rotten in the state of Denmark’ and, probably, you would be true. And now, I can say you: ‘something is rotten in the state of Spain.’ And I have my reasons to say that (and I am not going to speak about economics or crisis or doves flying): we’ve lost our identity as characters. I must explain this: our literature has characters like don Quixote, who defines the personality and manners of old Spanish people. In some point, maybe when we had to be part of the new Europe, we’ve lost the feeling of our past times and we had to convert it in something different, in something weird. What happened? Influences from Europe came strong, yes, but we thought the old Mediterranean countries had a consolidated History to keep their manners. Of course we were never bankers, of course we’ve never had the best economy but we had and artist in every citizen, a good speaker in every corner, a good wine in every country.
We are losing this, my friends; we are losing the flavor of the past flowers, the taste of the ancient stories, the essence of being part of something greater than the present. We are now prisoners of these changing times, of this present who threatens us to devour us as an absolute. Where are our heroes? Who were? Who are? Everybody in Europe is talking about crisis and economy and politics and doves flying… but we are forgetting maybe the only way to escape to this absolute moral crisis, forgetting to remember us, forgetting to remember that, someday, we invented eternal characters and we invented us as the Phoenix thousand and thousand times for centuries and centuries.
I must confess we are now dying… we the wisest in art, we the mad, we the poor eclectic people of painting, we the writers, we the losers who lost everything except ourselves, we the dying Phoenix, we who were rich in dreams, we who were living an unaware nightmare, we the strongest, we the weakest… we the artists who will never forget, we the artists in a country that never believed in art, we the eternal artist in present world that is forgetting art is not only a part of life… Art is the living and the only endless essence of Humankind.
Author: Martin Cid http://www.martincid.com
See also Fake Game, serial novel by Martin Cid http://yareah.com/?cat=293