By Yudi Kravzov
The strong voice of the wind woke me up at about three in the morning. It rained. The air strongly shook the plants against the window, and I was sure that my mother was going to wake up scared, so I slowly slipped over to her bed and lay down next to her.
I tried to sleep. I uselessly began to breathe at her rhythm to get infected with her depth, but in my insomnia a panoramic view of San Miguel flashing light showed itself again.
With my eyes closed I remembered the first time I visited this town. So many galleries, the streets full of artists, music festivals, plays, and violins. Alebrijes and magic—and once again the desire to «celebrate art» began to run through me from the soles of my feet to the top of my head.
While trying in vain to sleep, I wanted to find among artists, brushes, and canvases, the portal to the magical world where we all become art; in something like an explosion of senses and delivered to the music of the DJ; vibrating throughout El Vergel, sharing happiness, beyond reality, letting magic and art take me and all those who are present.
In the gallery a screen, and inside a light where the metamorphosis happens, where body painting professionals transform us one by one. A sudden and unrepeatable exhibition. A party of four, three, two, one hour—a magical celebration. The wind blew again, the rain did not stop. After a good deal of mute flashes, a crude bolt of lightning was heard.
“What happened?” my mother asked, scared. “Is it the wind? Hasn’t it stopped raining? Why don’t you sleep, what are you doing here? Now what are you thinking of, little girl?”
There are more and more of us who want to continue producing, communicating. We are many. I am not alone, my energy is contagious and I, here too, am infected with that of so many others. I came to San Miguel for a reason. We all came for a reason. We are more divine, more creators, more of us who know that art heals. Now mom, imagine not only being part of, but being the subject of that celebration, at that party, on that night. I see that my mother has fallen asleep again, that I was left talking to myself—all together, a unique piece, an original.
The rain stops. I go out to feel the fallen water. I become a plant woman who, suspended, becomes a plant and connects with her roots, with the water, and the earth. I feel blue, green blue. It starts to rain harder and harder. The sky falls and in the gigantic galaxy in which we live nothing is happening—only art is unrepeatable, that’s why an artistic celebration makes sense.
The wind stopped. The night was still moonless. Under a gray blanket, I covered my bare legs and in a fetal position, I prepared to sleep. My eyes closed on their own.
