Xavier Corberó and OPENHOUSE
The following is just an appetizer of my 1st collaboration with OpenHouse magazine. Enjoy!
Colonnades, arches and sculptures, I have been wandering among them for awhile. I am in the courtyard at what I believe to belong to the home of sculptor Xavier Corberó (Barcelona, 1935). It is not till noon that we can meet with him; will I still be around by then? On the outskirts of Barcelona, this husky morning has just raised, no shadow can help us become aware of the minutes passing. Without looking at the time, I could not be sure whether it has stopped or rather, between these infinite arches that climb towards the sky, clock needles tend to multiply their usual speed.
The magazine’s team and I arrived together. They are already working. Calmly, they whisper instructions or ideas to each other. And the sound of the water resonates all around the patio: from a small, white and smooth sculpture emerges a constant water trickle that sinks into a pond and the pond melts into a waterfall that vanishes into a ditch… there, from where the water disappears, emanates a conclusive fragrance of gardenias. Mari Luz, photographer, portrays various elements arranged around the architecture: chairs, cosmetic flasks or silk scarves. Yanina, Andrew and Diego stay around, changing positions between the columns, looking for the best light under the various porches… Observed from a few meters away, it seems like, anytime, their figures could begin to levitate.
I continue to wander, everything changes with every step: the column formations appear transformed according to the angle from where they are watched. I find families of sculptures made from rough stones, brutal creatures that live concentrated in different areas of the patio. Inclined as if they were having a chat. From the corner of your eye, you feel that they are giants, ready to address you, from their hideout among the pine trees. Suddenly I’m afraid, something or someone rushed by my side, who? It is just a mirror. The unexpected sight of my own reflection is what scared me. In a stairway, made of cement and with no railings as almost every stairway around here, sits Gabriel. He is the guard, or the responsible of maintenance, who earlier opened the gates for us. I ask him if he has ever been frightened by his own reflection, – what nonsense, right? To get scared by your own reflection… I giggle.- He looks at me with a serious mien, turns his head slightly and somehow hesitating, with his foreign accent: «in the beginning…»
Still distracted by the environment, I cannot help it, I ask him more about the space: for example, who lives now in the floors above? He shows me another mirror and opens it: it is an elevator’s door. We reach the second floor. An empty, incomplete space, it could be an office or a bedroom and a living room full of light: arches, glass and a flooded terrace. What should this floor become? Gabriel shrugs, as if to say that we’ll see. We descend in the elevator mirror. Back under the porches, he points out the silver ceilings, «I made it, I sticked these very, very thin slices, so thin…! A pack of five thousand sheets has this thickness» and with his fingers he indicates little more than five centimetres. His phone rings, he apologizes and disappears. I’m intrigued to know how many people are in the house or if maybe someone, perhaps Xavier Corberó himself, has been spying us during all that time. Still, I must go on exploring. There is another staircase that leads down to an enormous basement, it could potentially become a theatre, the stage is illuminated by a powerful light, as if it were a film set; I distinguish at the bottom of what could be the stalls, in the dark, a couple of mighty vintage cars. It is too quiet down here and I miss the daylight.
At the courtyard, the sun has begun to shine. Shadows now add depth to the arches and the water in the pond shakes reflected on the gray cement, increasing the walls’ textures. I could not quite figure out where this space begins and where it ends, but there must be some church not far… Everything seems to rush when the bells ring solemnly, twelve times. Gabriel resurfaces, who knows where from, to announce that its good, the master is ready and we might enter the house…
Read more and enjoy Mari Luz‘s (also author of Corberó’s portrait feautured here) beautiful photography at OpenHouse Magazine
A continuació, un aperitiu del que ha estat la meva 1a col·laboració amb OpenHouse Magazine
Ja fa alguna estona que volto entre columnates, arcs i escultures, aquest espai que és el pati de l’escultor Xavier Corberó (Barcelona, 1935). És al migdia que hem de trobar-nos amb ell; hi seré encara? A les afores de Barcelona, el matí calitjós tot just s’ha alçat, cap ombra ajuda a constatar el pas dels minuts. Sense mirar l’hora, no estaria ben bé segura de si aquí el temps s’ha aturat o de si, entre aquests arcs infinits, les agulles del rellotge tendeixen a multiplicar la seva velocitat habitual.
He arribat amb l’equip, que ja treballa. Calmosament, sento com xiuxiuegen. I el so de l’aigua que ressona per tot el pati: d’una escultura llisa i blanca brolla un constant rajolí d’aigua que s’enfonsa en una bassa i la bassa es fon en una cascada volcant-se tota ella en un fossat… D’allà on l’aigua desapareix, emana una concloent olor de gardènies. La Mari Luz, fotògrafa de la revista, retrata elements disposats sobre l’arquitectura: cadires, cosmètics o mocadors de seda. La Yanina, l’Andrew i el Diego, al seu voltant, van canviant de posició entre les columnes, cercant la millor llum sota els diversos porxos… Observades des d’alguns metres de distància, les figures de tots ells, sembla com si en qualsevol moment haguessin de començar a levitar.
Vaig passejant per l’espai d’espais, tot canvia a cada passa que faig: les formacions de columnes es transformen segons l’angle des d’on se les observa. Trobo famílies d’escultures, pedres rugoses, brutals, viuen concentrades en diferents punts i s’inclinen d’una manera que sembla que estiguin conversant. Des de la cua de l’ull, sents que són gegants i que et miren a punt de dirigir-te la paraula, des del racó, entre els pins. De sobte m’espanto, quelcom ha passat pel meu costat, qui és? És un mirall. La visió inesperada del meu propi reflex és el que m’ha fet por. En unes escales, com gairebé totes les d’aquí de ciment i sense baranes, trobo assegut en Gabriel, el guarda, o encarregat de manteniment, que abans ens ha obert la porta. Li pregunto si ell mai s’ha espantat amb el seu propi reflex, quina tonteria, oi? Espantar-se amb un mirall… Mig ric. Ell em mira amb un posat seriós, gira una mica el cap i com mig dubtant afirma amb el seu accent forà: «Al principi…»
Badant, no puc deixar de fer-ho, li demano més sobre l’espai: per exemple, qui hi viu ara en els pisos de dalt? M’ensenya un altre mirall. L’obre: també és la porta d’un ascensor. Arribem al segon pis, un espai buit, incomplert, tant podria ser un despatx com un dormitori o una sala d’estar plena de llum: arcs, vidre i una terrassa inundada. Què és? O, què ha de ser? El Gabriel s’encongeix d’espatlles, com dient que ja es veurà. Descendim amb l’ascensor de mirall. Senyala el sostre platejat de les porxades «ho vaig fer jo, vaig anar enganxant unes làmines finíssimes, finíssimes…! Un paquet de cinc mil làmines té un gruix així» i amb els dits indica poc més de cinc centímetres. Li sona el mòbil, es disculpa, despareix. M’intriga saber quanta gent hi ha a la casa o si potser algú, potser el mateix Xavier Corberó, ens ha estat espiant durant tota aquesta estona. No em puc estar de seguir explorant. Baixo unes escales i em trobo en un soterrani que potencialment podria esdevenir un teatre, l’escenari queda il·luminat per un llum potent, com si es tractés d’un plató; al fons del que seria el pati de butaques, entre la foscor, distingeixo un parell d’automòbils antics. Massa silenci, enyoro la llum del dia.
Al pati, el sol ha començat a lluir. Ara sí, les ombres afegeixen profunditat als arcs i l’aigua de la bassa, bellugant-se reflexada sobre la grisor del ciment, encara li aporta més textura. No he pogut esbrinar del tot on comença i on acaba tot això, però a prop i ha d’haver alguna església… Tot sembla precipitar-se quan, solemnement, sonen les dotze campanades. El Gabriel torna a sorgir, qui sap d’on, per anunciar-nos queel mestre ja ens pot rebre…
Llegir més i gaudir de les espectaculars fotografies de la Mari Luz (també autora del retrat de Corberó publicat aquí) a Openhouse Magazine
