Marta Carnicero | Industrial Engineer and writer
I couldn’t resist moving the table; with the suitcases still in place, the receiver dragged it to the front of the window. The week I spent at the Faber I made a monastic life, with the curtains open, dazzled by the landscape. Accustomed to the asphalt, I could not believe the placidity of the silence when the sun warmed the terrace and invited me to open it from time to time. The little bit of cold that filled my camera rinsed away the tiredness of so many hours in front of the screen; between sentences I would get lost in the green until I discovered the flight of a bird, some moving figure. Experiencing the calm —I, who can’t be quiet— of connecting with nature without saying a word, with the earth crunching under my feet, cleared my mind.
I thought, I organized, I understood myself. I filled the glass with papers until the knots of what was written on it loosened; Sunday arrived. From one day to the next I had to return home to the routine. Now, a little bit of green I find on the streets almost looks like a toy to me.
I’ve been waking up for too many days remembering the Faber window.