dimarts, 8 de juny de 2010

El vellut de Mariana


Quan el març de 2008 vaig visitar el Van Gogh Museum a la ciutat d'Amsterdam hi havia una mostra antològica de Millais. Jo, per aleshores, gairebé desconeixia l'obra de l'enfant terrible de la societat victoriana, només la famosa Ofèlia, la dona shakespereana i prerafaelita per excel·lència.
Malauradament, el passeig per la sala circular va ser més aviat breu. Tot i així, no vaig poder evitar aturar-me davant d'una petita pintura (d'un acabat realment increïble tenint en compte les mesures de 597 x 495 x 15 mm). Era fascinant: la dona retorçant-se cansada d'estar asseguda en la mateixa postura massa estona, mirant pels cristalls acaronada per la llum filtrada per les vidriedes. Les fulles de tardor caigudes indicant a l'espectador el pas del temps i el seu vestit de vellut blau. marcant la postura sota la tela de les cuixes i els malucs... una textura tan perfecta que semblava poder tocar-se.Qui era? En quin personatge es basava Millais? I, com Freud ja va fer amb el Moisés de Miguel Àngel, per què m'havia captivat de forma especial?
Encara que no havera hagut un cartell amb la fitxa de l'obra, no havera estat complex esbrinar qui podia ser, esclar, els membres de la Germanor Prerafaelística desitjaven tornar a l'esplendor de la literatura anglesa medieval i estaven obssessionats per la representació dels seus personatges així que podia ser una dama dels cicles artúrics o de qualsevol peça poètica o teatral de basada en llegendes bretones. 
Efectivament, Mariana, el nom de l'obra i la figura, estava extret de Mesura per mesura, la comèdia de Shakespeare. Aquesta dama esperava casar-se amb Angelo, un legislador odiat que anul·la el compromís en quedar-se Mariana sense la dot a causa d'un naufragi al que mor el seu germà. El moment en que Millais representa el personatge és quan la dama s'adona que viu en total soledat i, malgrat l'anul del seu matrimoni, encara espera n'Angelo. 
La seua postura, la clau de la peça, demostrava el seu cansanci i, al temps, manifestava la impaciència sexual del cos que ha esperat massa en posar de relleu el vellut sobre les corves més femenines per a fer patent aquesta interminable expectació: les cuixes, els malucs i els pits.
Han passat 2 anys des de llavors i no sóc capaç de trobar el sentit que tant em va fascinar. Potser hauria de tornar...

Alfred Tennyson, poeta post-romàntic, va deixar un poema dedicat a la mateixa Marianna. Si el voleu llegir en anglès podeu picar baix.

                  Marianna
      With blackest moss the flower-pots
      Were thickly crusted, one and all;
      The rusted nails fell from the knots
      That held the pear to the gable wall.
      The broken sheds look'd sad and strange;
      Unlifted was the clinking latch:
      Weeded and worn the ancient thatch
      Upon the lonely moated grange.
      She only said, 'My life is dreary,
      He cometh not,' she said;
      She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,
      I would that I were dead!'
       
      Her tears fell with the dews at even;
      Her tears fell ere the dews were dried;
      She could not look on the sweet heaven,
      Either at morn or eventide.
      After the flitting of bats,
      When thickest dark did trance the sky,
      She drew her casement-curtain by,
      And glanced athwart the glooming flats.
      She only said, 'The night is dreary,
      He cometh not,' she said;
      She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,
      I would that I were dead!'
       
      Upon the middle of the night,
      Waking she heard the night-fowl crow;
      The cock sung out an hour ere light;
      From the dark fen the oxen's low
      Came to her: without hope of change,
      In sleep she seemed to walk forlorn,
      Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn
      About the lonely moated grange.
      She only said, 'The day is dreary,
      He cometh not,' she said;
      She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,
      I would that I were dead!'
       
      About a stone-cast from the wall
      A sluice with blacken'd waters slept,
      And o'er it many, round and small,
      The cluster'd marish-mosses crept.
      Hard by a poplar shook alway,
      All silver-green with gnarlèd bark:
      For leagues no other tree did mark
      The level waste, the rounding gray.
      She only said, 'My life is dreary,
      He cometh not,' she said;
      She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,
      I would that I were dead!'
       
      And ever when the moon was low,
      And the shrill winds were up and away,
      In the white curtain, to and fro,
      She saw the gusty shadows sway.
      But when the moon was very low,
      And wild winds bound within their cell,
      the shadow of the poplar fell
      Upon her bed, across her brow.
      She only said, 'The night is dreary,
      He cometh not,' she said;
      She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,
      I would that I were dead!'
       
      All day within the dreamy house,
      The doors upon their hinges creak'd;
      The blue fly sung in the pane; the mouse
      Behind the mouldering wainscot shriek'd,
      Or from the crevice peered about.
      Old faces glimmer'd thro' the doors,
      Old footsteps trod the upper floors,
      Old voices called her from without.
      She only said, 'My life is dreary,
      He cometh not,' she said;
      She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,
      I would that I were dead!'
       
      The sparrow's chirrup on the roof,
      The slow clock ticking, and the sound,
      Which to the wooing wind aloof
      The poplar made, did all confound
      Her sense; but most she loathed the hour
      When the thick-moted sunbeam lay
      Athwart the chambers, and the day
      Was sloping toward his western bower.
      Then said she, 'I am very dreary,
      He will not come,' she said;
      She wept, 'I am aweary, aweary,
      O God, that I were dead!'







2 comentaris:

  1. Bueno, bueno... realmente veo cosas muy interesantes por aquí... Creo que este blog promete, todo apunta a ello, tanto por la selección de imágnes como por las reflexiones.

    Prometo ser una visitante asidua!

    un beso! ;)

    ResponElimina
  2. Me alegro que te guste!!! Qué ilusión si te veo por aquí ;D!!!

    ResponElimina

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