CANTANIA 2022
CLARA, ART INSIDE

COLOR:
A bright sunny morning
a girl named Clara
and what happens in July
(and mid-August, still)
with Blanca, his grandmother,
in a marina village,
he has sat under a cage
where a hinge trims.
“I’m bored,” says the girl.
Then the grandmother, who hears it,
he answers, in a serene voice:
“He who is bored understands nothing.”
And he takes her by the hand,
and makes her sit in the garden.
“Do you see what tree and what wind it blows?”
Alas, how good it is to be here!
When they’ve been there for an hour,
the girl fades away.
And it’s like an ice cream that melts
under the blazing sun of the day.
“Grandmother, I want to see Miró.”
and that cat so out.
It means stars in the dark,
it means a painting by Magritte.
The lady, who is very much alive
and he knows Clara very well,
forward, expeditious,
without doing anything gatzara,
to that last room,
and does not stop until it is found
in the place where he never gets tired
“What a secret, intimate cave.”
It’s your bookstore,
the most beloved corner,
where, from a shelf,
it takes off stars and cat.

SCENE 1: Grandma’s house
(Clara and her grandmother are lazy in the dining room at home. The girl doesn’t know what to do. Throughout the scene, Grandma doesn’t take her eyes off a book she’s flipping through.)

CLEAR: Grandma
WHITE: What…
CLEAR: I’m bored
WHITE: Ahà…
(Moments pass.)
CLEAR : Grandma
WHITE: Ahahà
CLEAR : I’m bored, I don’t know what to do.
WHITE: Peel the potatoes and puree them…
CLEAR Grandma!…
WHITE: Well get bored, getting bored is okay too!
CLEAR: What if we make one of those bomb snacks? Banana pancakes with chocolate, orange and papaya juice and passion fruit ice cream…
WHITE: We just had lunch.
CLEAR: What if we go to the bike breaker again?
WHITE: Your mother will pick you up right away and you still have to pack your bags…
CLEAR: What if we finish the graffiti under the road bridge?
WHITE: Next summer… or another day.
(Moments pass.)
CLEAR: Grandma
WHITE: What…
CLEAR: I’m bored!
WHITE: Girl, so get bored… Why don’t you grab a book?
CLEAR: A book, uauuuu!… (Suddenly his face changes.) Okay. Can you leave me what you are looking at?
WHITE: Should it be this, precisely?
CLEAR: Ahà…
WHITE: Ahahà
CLEAR: Ahahahà…

(Grandma leaves him the book and Clara flips through it as she sings.)

CLEAR:
In a book there are the voices
of plants and animals.
There are mountains, there are springs,
roads and highways,
piles of stones, and people,
there are deserts and icy places,
the sea, rippled with waves,
and the grass that forms the meadows.
That a good book is a scale
which allows us to be able to climb.
Collected like a cove,
creator like a hand.

(Clara just sings and Clara stares up.)

CLEAR : Do you know what that cloud reminds me of?…
WHITE: Ahahà
CLEAR : One of those Henry Moore sheep from the exhibit we went to see last week… It’s also in this book.
WHITE: Ahahahà…
CLEAR: Doesn’t it look like it?

(Clara stares at the cloud. Grandma looks at the book and sings.)

WHITE:
“The lamb, I want the lamb,”
now orders Clara.
Of the body, nothing is seen:
the face, only the face.
COLOR:
Line up person,
of someone without malice.
Maybe he spends time
in a meadow in Galicia.
WHITE:
What if you ruminate,
when does he leave his flock?
Think of daylight,
think of a winged chariot.
COLOR:
Maybe he thinks and doesn’t say:
“The good, I want the good.”
Oh life, river water:
it makes its way and does not stop.
WHITE:
Good is an abstract word,
and kindness, not so much.
You sharpen your sense of smell
and go philosophizing.

ESCENA 2: La casa de l’àvia

(
CLARA: Ahahà.
BLANCA: I que em faràs cas.
CLARA: Ahahahà.
BLANCA: I que faràs silenci.
CLARA: Aaaaaah…

BLANCA (versos 1 i 3) COR (vers 2)
Abans de mirar ens cal
—Clara, carona clara—
dos ulls per veure-hi clar.
Ara, que tant se val
—Clara, carona clara—
si els ulls són apagats.
L’únic que de debò
—Clara, carona clara—
no pot faltar-hi mai,
car fa néixer el mirar,
—Clara, carona clara—
és el desig de veure-hi.

ESCENA 3: Les golfes de casa l’àvia

CLARA: Alça, àvia, quants trastos. Si sembla un museu! I mira quants llibres, i aquests pinzells, i què és això? Un marc sense tela. I on és aquest quadre de Miró?
BLANCA: El tens davant teu.
(L’àvia assenyala el marc. La Clara es posa a riure.)
CLARA: Aquest marc? Àvia, ja deien que Miró pintava coses estranyes, però un marc així sol…
(Torna a sonar el motiu de la capseta de música.)
BLANCA: Aquest marc és especial.
CLARA: I què té d’especial un marc com aquest? Només és un marc…
BLANCA: Per què no hi entres?
CLARA: Què vols dir que hi entri?
BLANCA: Com si entressis per una finestra. Fica-t’hi tu primer, jo aniré darrere teu. I sobretot, fes silenci.

DOUBLE COLOR

Mrs. Clara, don’t think about it
which will never enter any box
if you do not keep silent before.

(While this song is playing, Clara first and Blanca then enter the art world.)

SCENE 4: On the other side of the pictures

CLEAR: Grandma, where are we?
WHITE: On the other side of the pictures.
CLEAR: What do you mean on the other side of the pictures?
WHITE: Well what I said. We are inside the paintings. We are inside the paintings we see when we go to a museum or we are at home, or we look at them in a book. But no one sees us…
CLEAR: Grandma, what are you up to? That you drank your understanding?
WHITE: How incredulous this young man is… Let’s do something. Turn around, look at the frame now… Here is your Miró. What do you think about it?
CLEAR: Ualaaaaa, it’s the Miró.
WHITE: Well, you’re inside.

CLEAR + COLOR:
One star, two, three.
And a moon with blue ink.
One star, thirty-three.
And two eyes, and a look.
WHITE:
There is nothing like, at night,
know how to get lost — long time—
contemplating dazed,
like sparks from a forge,
the bright stars
the lights never melted.
CLEAR + COLOR:
One star, two, three.
And a moon with blue ink.
One star, thirty-three.
And two eyes, and a look.
WHITE:
And if it is still dark
it has not completely rinsed the light
look at Miró’s painting:
night sky, color and summary!

SCENE 5: On the other side of the pictures

CLARA : Grandma, how strong !!! How can it be?
BLANCA : (Imitating Clara) Grandma, how strong !!! How can it be?
CLARA : No, Grandma, really, tell me… How can that be? Do more people know? How did you find out? And when? How do you get out of here? Can I explain?
WHITE : For the car!… Let’s see, how it can be, it doesn’t matter. As I found out, neither. When? It’s been a long time… The important thing is that I can do it, that we can do it both… And no, you can’t tell anyone. But especially to your mother. I just need to find out
(Clara looks at the audience, whom she thinks are the people watching the paintings.)
CLARA : And all these people who are looking at the picture, who are they?
WHITE : People who are watching it from the real world. In a museum, in a book…
CLARA : And can they see us?
WHITE : No, they don’t see us.
CLARA : Look at that guy over there, he looks like a savage, how does Miró look at him?
WHITE : Everyone you want. Do you want any concrete?
CLARA : Yes… That Pollock in the New York Metropolitan; is one of my favorites.
BLANCA : Well, let’s go!

SCENE 6: On the other side of the pictures

CLARA: But, Grandma, if the paintings are in museums, or in private homes, but in cities scattered around the world…
WHITE: Everywhere.
CLARA: We, on the other hand, have them in front of us in no time…
BLANCA: We are in the art world, and in this world there are no cities, no countries, no distances. It’s about going here…, there…

CLEAR: Do you mean that this painting and those of a museum at the other end of the world…
WHITE: You have to touch them. Watch. Do you remember that picture in the dining room of my house that when you were little scared you so much?
CLEAR: That of the horses? Oh, and so much that I remember. It still scares me a little now.
WHITE: Well, look, here it is!
CLEAR: Rise…

COLOR:
White Fur Horses,
Ash-colored horses.
Mud red horses.
Many horses, war horses.
(To make war, these horses?
If they love the ride!
Small trot down the valleys,
gallop long to a rage.)
Some are white, ash-colored
and a blood red…
They are the firm horses of war,
powerful as a tank.
The horses I like
they are those of the English meadow.
If they don’t run, they may run
with a cloud of nothing.
Croc catroc, catroc catric:
If they step on armor,
below is an enemy heart.
They want meat, sweet pasture!
No: what they want is jewelry
to drink and eat alfalfa.
And let some girl ride them
by the light green of some verals.
What crazy horse kidneys!
And they already smell the blood!
In crowds: whites, grays, reds.
(that the wounded die in the mud).
In the midst of so many spears,
fat horses of death.
The destination has some scales:
two dishes of various kinds.
I want a world without havoc
hateful warfare,
I would like the earth
always love horses!

SCENE 7: On the other side of the pictures

CLARA : How strong, Grandma! And how long can we be in here?
BLANCA : As long as you want… When you get tired, go out and get ready…
CLARA : And when we want to go out, what should we do?
BLANCA : So follow the music to find the box we entered again.
CLARA: How many days have you been in here?
WHITE : Sometimes an afternoon, sometimes a whole day…, it depends.
CLARA : What does it depend on?
BLANCA : If I go in alone or accompanied…
CLARA : Did you go in with anyone else? With who? With the mother?
BLANCA : With your mother? No… Impossible, I would go crazy.
CLARA : Grandmother ringing bells…

The intro to “Poor Vailet” begins.)
CLARA : It’s fabulous… Grandma, look at this boy in the picture… Looks like he’s looking at me…
BLANCA : Clara, don’t get so close to the paintings.
CLARA : Is that okay here?
WHITE : A little further back. Is that if you touch the fabric…
CLARA : Look, it’s moved again…
BLANCA : Clara, listen to me, if you touch the fabric…
CLARA : He seemed to be looking at me…
BLANCA : Clara, how do you feel?

CLEAR:
Poor valet
of sad face
and blue cap.
It must be the little boy
of an artist,
and goes hungry.
COLOR:
He looks like a wise boy,
seems an understanding.
No need to lip
I told him nothing.
He looks maniac,
of very clean color.
Do you sleep in a sack?
Does it freeze the cold?
WHITE:
He wears a jacket for growth.
Poor little boy!
Do you see any cookies?
Maybe he thinks so
in a crust!
CLEAR:
And his shoes make him yawn from soaking in the puddle
and separate rats.
—Pobre vailet! -.
It makes a louse’s voice.

CLARA: Do the characters move in here?
BLANCA: You’re not listening to me… You can’t go near it. Clara, be careful!
CLARA: And do the characters in the paintings see us?
WHITE: Clara…

WHITE :
Made of struggle, life makes a lot of sense, alot.
From leak to leak,
remembers the kid
of the great Charlot.
CLEAR:
He’s the person I like best
of the painted world!
He makes a sparrow-like face,
the very salty!

COLOR:
He looks like a wise boy,
seems an understanding.
No need to lip
I told him nothing.
He looks maniac,
very clean in color.
Do you sleep in a sack?
Is it freezing cold?

WHITE: CLEAR, DON’T TOUCH IT !!!

SCENE 8: Museum

(Absorbed in the song and the painting, Clara has come so close to it that she has touched it. Grandma immediately follows her.)

BLANCA : I was telling you that if you touch the fabric, the spell will be broken !!!
CLARA : Grandma, what happened? Where are we?
BLANCA : Let’s see… This self-portrait sounds to me. I would say it is by Lluïsa Vidal. This means that we are at the MNAC, the National Art Museum of Catalonia.
CLARA : In Barcelona? Luckily we didn’t go very far.
WHITE : Yes, but we still have to hurry to get out of here! Ah! Look at this sculpture!

(La Blanca stares at the conductor, who has to stand still like a squirrel. art in front of a sculpture.)

WHITE : It’s coming. He walks around the sculpture. Very slowly, don’t stop for a moment. Slow down yet

(The musical motif of the music box sounds again, the director must continue making the statue.)

WHITE : Don’t stop looking at the sculpture. Keep it up… A little more!

(As soon as they complete the tour, the director will move again, giving the entrance to a musician, and the music resumes and both appear again in the art world, now in front of a Cycladic face.)

COLOR:
Don’t you see which one is older
and what younger face?
Wouldn’t you pinch
to that cheek so soft?
No mouth, no ears,
he has no eyes, only a napia.
Not even the head of a sheep
he will never have so much prosperity.
He looks like a wholehearted being,
delicate as a geranium.
He looks like a son of Henry Moore
or a relative of Modigliani.
That which is fifty centuries old
it may seem very modern to us.
Art, as always, breaks rules:
Where is the sky? Where the hell is it?

SCENE 9: On the other side of the paintings

CLARA: Okay, back in here.
WHITE: Yes, we’ve gone a long way.
CLARA: What would have happened if there were no sculpture or no frame without a painting?
BLANCA: Well, we should have come back from where we were.
CLARA: You mean if I were in Australia, it would take days…
WHITE: Ahà…
CLARA: Unless we found a museum…?
WHITE: Ahahà
CLARA: With some frame without fabric…
WHITE: Ahahahà…

(As they reason, they reach for the thorn boy’s sculpture.)

CLARA + COR
Who is this child, Grandma Blanca?
And what does he do, touching his foot?
WHITE
To this child who is torn apart
a thorn has been nailed to it
on the inside of the foot.
Because he has fine eyesight,
for sure it is taken out.
CLARA + COR
Grandma, a herringbone?
WHITE
No, it’s a rose thorn.
(That there are times when we make a bundle of it,
of very little, little!)
CLARA + COR
A thorn, what a fright,
like the point of a splinter.
WHITE
Don’t suffer, pro, than ever
inside the flesh will not grow old!
WHITE + COLOR
This boy, who is very naked,
he has a thorn in his side.
And if he alone doesn’t get it out
someone will have to help him.

SCENE 10: On the other side of the pictures

CLARA: It’s all fabulous. I would stay there for hours… Look at this sculpture, how beautiful !!!!
BLANCA: It’s by Augusta Savage, my favorite sculptor and if you turn around you’ll see a painting by Morisot, a contemporary Impressionist painter by Degas or Renoir… there’s a painting by Frida Kahlo, and another by Sonia Delaunay , and there one of the Artemis Gentileschi.
CLARA: We haven’t seen many women artists…
WHITE: You’re absolutely right. Art history has also been monopolized by men. They have always had the opportunity to show their talent, and those who painted or made sculptures or music, or wrote… have almost always been invisible.
CLARA: I don’t know many women artists…
BLANCA: Well, there are many more than we think. But most books don’t talk about it, and most museums don’t show them, but there are, and there will be more and more… What we need to do is make them visible… You know what?
CLARA: What, say
WHITE: That the day you return I promise you that we will do a route through the works of women artists from all over the world.
CLARA: And can’t we do it now?
(The musical motive of the music box is very timidly present again)
BLANCA: Now it’s not too late and I should tell you quickly and badly. Your mother must be about to arrive and all she needs to do is find us.
CLARA: Okay! You win. And how do we get out of this way?
WHITE: Do you hear the melody? It’s the music box I left at home playing… We should find out where it comes from.
CLARA: Why?
WHITE: To take us to the frame where we first entered.
CLARA: You know, this time you got over it. It has been the best adventure of all. Too bad I can’t explain it.
BLANCA: Hurry up, Clara, there isn’t much time left… We have to find a way out, in a hurry.
CLARA: Grandma, there’s a whole stone cave here.
BLANCA: Well, run here, Clara…