30.8.07 full moon.

who are the witches? where did they come from?

maybe your great great grandmother was one

witches are wild wild women, they say

there´s alot of witch in every woman today

hmmmm hmmmm

(sung in harmonies. with all your witch sisters. around a fire. full moon)

..

30.05.07 melbourne. australia

she’s gone. we had her for a while. and she had us.

he’ll cry for her. and we’ll all remember her light.

i will live her in my recipes. in the aromas of my kitchen.

in the way i hold my children and kiss their foreheads.

she gave me my great grandmother anastasia.

she gave me my best friend my mother.

she taught me the purest lessons of love and family.

gracias por tu vida abuela virginia. en paz ahora. descansa mujer hermosa.

…

A letter read to the women performers of ROJO. A process I co-directed but could not be present for the performance.

Barcelona 15.03.07

Queridas mujeres maravillosas,

Mientras regreso a casa (cruzando mitad del planeta), ustedes estarán casi por estrenar su segunda obra de teatro.

¿Como se sienten en este momento?!

Estarán super lindas todas de rojo y blanco y con sus lábios pintados.

Bueno, no esten muy nerviosas porque todo saldrá muy, muy bien y el público alucinará otra vez. Se escucharán los aplausos desde la cocina de mi madre en el sur de Australia.

¡Recuerden que aca ya son famosas!

Recuerden tambien, todas las cosas que Txus y yo siempre les decimos…”respiren profundo, tomen su tiempo en explicar las estórias, vivan cada gesto con sinceridad, cuidense entre todas” y nunca, nunca deben pedir perdon por equivocarse. Esta obra es la obra de todas y asi como la presentan es perfecta.

Yo mes las llevo a todas en una cajita de terciopelo rojo. Cada vez que la abro nos damos un abrazo.

(esos abrazos de miércoles)

Gracias por tanto que me han enseñado. Fue un privilegio ser su directora de teatro.

Txus, hermana de botitas voladoras, ya sabes, nos vemos pronto.

¡Pegen unos buenos gritos!

¡Despierten al mundo con esa obra hermosisima!

Las quiero

Marcela

A message I sent to my women friends on 8.3.07

hello beautiful women!!

happy international women´s day!!!!!

well done for all you do.. when you work and rest and love and hug and scream and expose and hide and give and grab and laugh until you snort and cry until you can´t cry any more and cook and get them to cook for you and choose the best tomatoes for your family you adore and sometimes tell your family to go away and let you be and when you remember and smile and make new dreams come true and when it really hurts but you tell yourself you will be ok and when you moan and ask someone to rub your back and when you write and paint and draw and plant and sew and photograph and film and research and teach and enquire and feel proud and feel silly and when you make lots of great plans and then change them a millions times and when you put on that mascara and love your eyelashes and when you don´t wear mascara cause you love your lashes just as they are and when you think about all the places you want to go to and when you save that money and when you spend that money and when you make your home beautiful and when you let your home be a mess and when you make love passionately and when you say you don´t feel like making love and when you love that person like crazy and when you understand it´s crazy to keep loving that person and when you slurp, burp and fart and when you take care of your body and accept those new lines and greys and kilos and when you say i love you and fuck off with the same gusto.
amor
marcela
Tocar
Along the coast of Azelia, there is an ancient stage that stands out in the sea. Barely visible from the beach. Old and young Azelians, travellers, the curious and believers attempt the water pilgrimage to touch that sacred platform. The only way to reach it is to swim there.

Each day, hopeful pilgrims set out at dawn to reach those old stones. They hold hands as they enter the water. Some try to swim embraced believing an Azelian myth carved into a tree near the shore.

They pull themselves up there from the icy waters, quietly onto the stage. Some kiss the Byzantine pillars. Some sit before the statues of lovers on the alter. Some look out to the ocean surrounding them. Some weep. No one speaks. Slowly, still in silence, as the sun begins to warm the stones, the pilgrams slip into the water again and swim back.

So little has been written about that place. No one really knows much. Azelian grandmothers, when interviewed by eager journalists, just smile and whisper perfumed sounds. If you are ever travelling through Azelia, try to find the stage in the sea.

quietly

There are many words to help us describe what is there. Yes, there are.

The Mosuo people, a remote, matriarchal, Buddhist, ethnic group of about 30,000 live gently around Lugu Lake, deep within the mountains of Yunnan, China. My friend Jodie and I rowed out an island in that lake. We swam surrounded by little white flowers that float on those waters. That night, we danced around a fire with a group of Mosuo and sat up with three generations of women, around another fire, in a home, in the women´s room.
To us, the Mosuo were half human, half angels. For those quiet days, living around that lake and between those mountains, we were under a soft, magical spell.
This very marketable magic means the Mosuo are fast becoming yet another ethnic minority puppet show for the Han Chinese tourist industry. Their traditions are turning into 7pm hotel shows and while their women are becoming sex workers, their men are abandoning the land for mobile phones.

In Mosuo language, there is no word for jealousy or war.
They do not know jealousy nor war.

No word for war.
No word for war.
No word.

Can you imagine George?