| Blanca took her brushes, the box
of oils, her easel and the canvas she had prepared a couple of
days ago. This was not going to be a big painting, but rather
a small one and she wanted to use brilliant colors on a luminous
background that she had not yet quite defined. Tying all her working
tools to the special bicycle rack she had built for these trips,
she left the house at dawn, and began her journey along the rustic
road of that peaceful landscape towards the place she always worked
on her paintings.
It was a cold spring morning. The ice on the multicolored puddles
reflected pink dawn sculptures that the night had forgotten when
she once more disappeared into the horizon. She had vanished the
same way she had been doing since the beginning of time, her blue
velvet dress and dark hair crowned with stars flying in infinite
space to visit other lands, in a dance perfectly synchronized
with the arrival of dawn, announcing the coming of a new day.
Blanca pedaled easily, breathing the pure, cold air that penetrated
her lungs, making her feel alive and happy to be able to see once
more all the beauty that surrounded her. That same landscape that
repeated itself day after day, week after week, month after month,
season after season, in a cycle made of flowers, rain, ice, wind
and dust.
This marvelous nature was recreating itself second by second
for the pleasure of her eyes, and so she could profoundly enjoy
that magnificent sight.
"What would become of nature if my eyes did not exist to contemplate
it?" She asked herself meditatively.
She would stand there with her beautiful gown, with all those
pearls made by the dew of dawn, with her arms stretched out in
the wind that caresses me, without having anybody to love her,"
she answered herself.
"There would be no reason for her existence, and perhaps she
would not exist at all," she kept thinking as she rode down the
gentle slope toward weeping willows that were almost kissing the
stream that paralleled to the road. The buzzing of the insects
and the sound of the water gurgling the joyful notes of an eternal
song, distracted her from her thoughts, and for a few minutes
she lent her ear to that symphony of noises, of extraordinary
melodies, of bird song and everything that pleasured her ear,
"What would become of all these sounds if my ear were not here
to caress them with that enormous pleasure they produce in me?"
she thought."Most likely the silence would extend itself without
limits, since my ear would not be there to embrace the song of
nature," she mused. "And if my ears did not exist, the stream
could not tell me any of the stories I listen to on summer afternoons,
when I lie down by the beds of water cress and close my eyes.
"And my children could not learn those tales of the stream, because
my ears would not be there to hear them, and if my ears did not
exist, there would be no reason for any sound to exist," reflected
Blanca.
The radiant sun lanced through the hills and the shadows diminished
with the light of the heavenly body. The frozen hillsides received
the warm rays and the icy crystals transformed themselves into
multicolored drops, rushing down the hillsides, carrying the same
message they have carried for eons.
Blanca pedaled her way down hill feeling the wind and the warmth
of that newborn sun on her face and hands. Each fiber of her body
vibrated with the touch of both, and that sensation found its
way to her heart. "What would become of the gentle wind and this
generous sun if my hands and my body were unable to feel them?"
thought Blanca.
"There would be no generosity to appreciate if this body could
not sense them."
Blanca stopped at a corner of the road and took off her jacket,
her shirt, her trousers and everything else. She carefully folded
all her clothes, attaching them to the bicycle rack, and as naked
as she was the first day she came into this world she continued
pedaling towards that place where she always painted.
"It is with this naked body that I can feel the heat, the wind,
the cold, the snow, the rain and all of that marvelous everyday
existence. Without this incredible body, there would be no reason
for the rain to exist. There would be no reason for the snow to
exist, nor for the sun, the wind that roars indomitably, the breeze
that carries the fragrance of gardenias", Blanca thought.
And the perfume of the fields exploding with violets and lilies
invaded her naked body with the soft smells that penetrated her
being sweetly and lovingly. Once more Blanca decided that there
was no reason for this aromatic concert to exist if she was not
able to perceive it.
"All my senses exist to receive the Universe. And if there were
no Universe, nothing would exist to be perceived, and I would
not exist either. But I can exist, and not see the green rolling
hills, not listen to the notes of the water; not feel the rain
in my face, nor the warmth of the sun on my shoulders. I could
exist without ever knowing the smell of jasmine that intoxicates
my own breath, nor feeling the sand under my feet; nor sensing
the waves of the ocean caressing my skin with their cold kisses.
And I could exist without ever hearing the crickets at the end
of the day when they tell their stories about the moon, or the
frogs who tell their sad stories of when they were simple dragons,
or the butterfly explanations of their divine origins. And I can
exist without ever perceiving the fragrance of the humid earth,
and never witnessing the dance of the fireflies, never contemplating
the golden sunsets," reflected Blanca.
"If this were the case, then there would be no reason for me
to exist, neither there would be any reason for the existent to
exist, and this is important," thought Blanca. "Because this sun
that shines and softly and warmly penetrates my body with its
rays, only exists for me when I am aware of it, when I perceive
it. It can only have meaning because I am the one who can give
meaning to everything I perceive."
"The stream tells its stories, but it is my ear that listens
to them. In reality it is more than my ear, and it is more than
my sense of smell, and it is more than my skin and my eyes. It
is how I interpret the notes, the music, the song, the perfume
and the caresses," Blanca told herself.
"So I must ask myself: What is it that I have, that allows me
to interpret the world and everything I sense?"
I do possess something that has the ability to give meaning to
everything that exists. Something within me is able to recognize
the music of the air, the tenuous brilliance of the autumn leaves,
the trembling dawn of nature, the subtle sunsets of time and the
profound nightfalls of forgetfulness. Something within me can
confer meaning to the world and without that "something", nothing
would have any significance, at least for me" Blanca reflected
again.
As the road widened the landscape began to change, displaying
broad fields of corn and wheat. The rolling hills behind her,
the naked Artist pedaled without haste thought planes and fertile
valleys. Only few more minutes and she would arrive at the place
where she usually painted. As always, when approaching that spot,
she experienced it with a soft anxiety and anticipation. For several
years she had performed the same ritual, but today it was different.
Today she realized that an extraordinary understanding was changing
everything she had felt until this point about her art. The pleasure
and the profound emotion that she always felt when seeing and
appreciating nature, had caused her to reflect without thinking
about it, on something she had never considered until that day.
Until then, it had only been through the senses that she had experienced
the infinite life of the world surrounding.
For the first time, Blanca experienced this profound comprehension:
that within her resided the power to give meaning to the world.
For the first time she understood that there was no reason for
anything to exist without that "something" within herself that
made the world beautiful. Without a doubt she needed to understand
that inextinguishable source of inspiration.
To the east of the road and over the planted fields, the cold
fog, mixed with that unmistakable smell of salt and iodine, announced
to her senses that she was reaching her destiny. Right on the
next curve she could see that beach of white sands that was her
refuge and source of inspiration.
She stopped her bicycle at the side of the road and because of
the closeness of the ocean and the cold morning breeze, decided
to get dressed again. Slowly she walked her bicycle until she
reached the sand. She took out her tools, opened the easel, placed
the canvas on it. That white, virgin canvas waiting to be covered
with colors and forms. In the same way she had already done innumerable
times, she opened the folding table and placed on it all her oils,
her brushes and her pallet.
Blanca sat down in front of the canvas, a few meters away from
it and contemplated the whiteness of it. "It is so beautiful the
way it is now. White, naked, exactly the way it is", she told
herself. At the same time she found herself discovering something
quite interesting.
"There is no paint that can exist without a canvas to contain
it, but at the same time, the paint exists first in my imagination.
This piece of art it has already been created within me, and simply
has no manifestation on the canvas yet. But it does exist and
that is the most important thing"
Of course Blanca had studied the complexities of what is commonly
called the "medium" and she understood that the canvas was just
that, that is to say, from the point of view of traditional definitions.
But from another perspective that medium and everything she was
going to create would become an indivisible whole. They could
not exist separately, in the same way that her senses and the
world were a whole that mutually complemented each other.
And once she was done, the canvas could never again be seen as
such, because it contained precisely all those forms and colors
that transformed it into a "production". Once those images were
placed on the canvas, other eyes would contemplate the same image
that Blanca had conceived with her inner look. She could also
contemplate with her own eyes the finished piece, but most likely
her perception would be linked to everything that only existed
within herself at the time the piece was conceived as an image.
Remaining seated, she observed the easel and canvas, feeling
the wind becoming warmer in the struggle between the fog and the
sun, thinking internally about all these discoveries. Blanca did
not notice the little person who was also observing the canvas
with big, silent and fixed eyes. She was no older than 11, the
child who interrupted the silence of the waves and the sound of
the seagulls. She asked,
"Are you going to do a painting?"
Blanca, startled at the question and even more at the surprise
of a human voice, turned her head to see a girl with brown hair,
big blue eyes and a long flower print dress that had undoubtedly
clothed several other bodies before hers, judging by the style
and the transparency proper to the wear and tear that long usage
gives to clothes.
"Where did you come from? Where is your family? What are you
doing here?"asked Blanca
"My family is fishing behind the rocks. Are you going to do a
painting?" insisted the girl.
"Yes, I think I will do that"
"And what are you going to paint?"
"I am not sure yet."
"Oh - so you don't know what you are going to paint" stated the
girl with the infallibility of childhood.
"Do you have a suggestion?" asked the Artist with a smile. After
all, children rarely make mistakes in their judgments, she reminded
herself, thinking of her own children.
"Teach me how to paint," said the girl timidly.
Blanca did not know how to answer, but she could feel the desire
in that small person. That desire to do something that she had
never done before. Because she was a sensitive human being, she
was able to perceive that the girl had wanted for a long time
to learn to express that intangible something, in the same way
she had felt it many years ago.
"Why do you want to learn to paint? Surely you have already painted
many paintings in your imagination, and remember that it is not
easy to transpose all of that to a canvas", answered Blanca, unsure
that her words were making much sense to the girl.
To her surprise, the girl understood her question perfectly well
and answered with a small voice
"But what good can those dreams be if I can't share them with
anybody else?"
Undoubtedly, there was no reason for any comprehension to exist,
no matter how complex or simple, if it ended up enclosed within
the one who had it, thought Blanca. It is not only a good reason,
but perhaps the most important one anyone can give.
"And what would you like to paint today?"
"I want you to teach me how to paint a face"
"Do you know to whom that face belongs?"
"Yes, I do. It's the face of a friend -the only friend I have
in the entire world" said the girl with a small tremor in her
voice that was detected by Blanca.
Blanca decided not to ask any more questions. She took a brush
and gave it to the girl. Very briefly she explained to her about
the colors at the same time she prepared the pallet. This time
they would use them all, without worrying about correct combinations,
harmonic complements, or theoretical things. This time it was
going to be a feast of colors, a limitless celebration of the
human capacity for expression. She was not going to let anything
interfere with that beautiful flower of creativity that was adventuring
in the world of expression, incarnated in that young girl who
came from the ocean and the fog itself.
Nothing was more important at that time than the power to give
her the opportunity to paint such a cherished face. Blanca guided
the little hand, and together they drew an oval. Later, with two
strokes of the brush they created the eyes, and then she stopped
because the small hand continued on its own with great confidence
and profound feeling. Blanca contemplated the girl as she finished,
little by little, the rest of the face. With great intensity she
painted a smile, the ears, the forehead, the nose and the ruby
lips. Then she continued to color the yellow eyes and the orange
hair. Blanca observed with surprise and feelings long forgotten,
the birth of a picture that was extraordinary. This was a painting
that was desired intensely, that was caressed and dreamt of with
passion and that absolute love we can have during our years as
children.
The lack of proportion was of little importance, and even less
important were the violent contrasts and the impossible mixtures.
Everything seemed to fit perfectly well because it was the heart
the one who was painting through that small hand whose lack of
experience in no way made the expression less valuable. Finally
the girl stopped, and with the most charming smile, full of pride
and satisfaction, said,
"It's her!"
Blanca, with tears in her eyes and profoundly moved, responded:
"It's her!"
The girl stepped away from the painting and very seriously studied
it for a moment. Almost talking to herself she said in a low voice:
"When I learn to paint, you will be even prettier than you are
now"
Delicately she gave back the brush to Blanca. She dried her hands
on her dress made of flowers, and offering her little hand to
Blanca, she said good-bye.
"Thank you for teaching me how to paint. Now I know that my friend
exists outside my dreams"
Without saying one more word, she turned and disappeared in the
mist of the deserted beach.
Blanca stood there, astonished and unable to say or do anything.
She did not even know if all of this was real or the product of
the many existential thoughts she had had that spring morning.
As she watched the girl disappear behind the rocks she realized
that she was still holding the wet brush full of colors in her
hand, and that it was as real as the canvas sitting on the easel.
He contemplated the face on the canvas and suddenly she realized
that it was the girl's face. It was a self-portrait with that
"something "he had intimated being at the background of every
act that gives meaning to what exists.
"It is her!" shouted Blanca
"It is her!" murmured the waves and screamed the seagulls while
the sand trembled for an instant. In a multicolored chorus, without
order and in an abandoned way, the surrounding nature said in
unison:
"It is her! It is consciousness itself that gives us meaning
and beauty. It is thanks to her that we exist for your senses.
Never cease to develop your consciousness because your happiness
and our existence depend on her!"
Blanca gathered all her tools and instruments and placed them
on the bicycle rack. Carefully she wrapped and tied all her possessions,
placed the painting of the girl on top, secured it well, and began
to pedal her way home carrying one treasure on her bicycle, and
another inside herself. Nothing could be more important than human
life, and nothing could be more essential than the consciousness
as a giver of meaning. She was only a child who would grow without
limits.
Fernando Aránguiz
October 1999
Abstract:
Blanca is a short story about the relationship between the senses
and the consciousness. It is a multi layered description of the
function of the consciousness in regards to perception, images
(auditive, visual, tactile, etc.) and purpose. It is a story about
learning and development, about creativity and awareness of its
source. It is about the endless possibilities of the human consciousness
in its search for meaning.
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