Cuadro: Edward Hopper, Habitación de hotel (1931)
Lyrics: Amy Winehouse, Back to Black
He left no time to regret
Kept his dick wet
With his same old safe bet
Me and my head high
And my tears dry
Get on without my guy
You went back to what you knew
So far removed from all that we went through
And I tread a troubled track
My odds are stacked
I'll go back to black
We only said good-bye with words
I died a hundred times
You go back to her
And I go back to.....
I go back to us
I love you much
It's not enough
You love blow and I love puff
And life is like a pipe
And I'm a tiny penny rolling up the walls inside
We only said goodbye with words
I died a hundred times
You go back to her
And I go back to
Black, black, black, black, black, black, black,
I go back to
I go back to
We only said good-bye with words
I died a hundred times
You go back to her
And I go back to
We only said good-bye with words
I died a hundred times
You go back to her
And I go back to black
Kept his dick wet
With his same old safe bet
Me and my head high
And my tears dry
Get on without my guy
You went back to what you knew
So far removed from all that we went through
And I tread a troubled track
My odds are stacked
I'll go back to black
We only said good-bye with words
I died a hundred times
You go back to her
And I go back to.....
I go back to us
I love you much
It's not enough
You love blow and I love puff
And life is like a pipe
And I'm a tiny penny rolling up the walls inside
We only said goodbye with words
I died a hundred times
You go back to her
And I go back to
Black, black, black, black, black, black, black,
I go back to
I go back to
We only said good-bye with words
I died a hundred times
You go back to her
And I go back to
We only said good-bye with words
I died a hundred times
You go back to her
And I go back to black
La tristeza puede alcanzar grados insospechados. Lo que ocurre es que la mayoría de nosotros nos tomamos serias molestias en disimularla. Es al enfrentarnos con la soledad cuando se desata. Libres de testigos, despojados de todo lo accesorio, se descorcha la nada que a veces albergamos.
Ella todavía no puede comprender el contenido de la carta. La ha leído y vuelto a leer. Tantas veces que hasta podría recitarla. Sentada en la cama aún sin deshacer, la sostiene en las manos incapaz de saber cómo continuar. Las palabras que la han conducido a ese fría habitación de hotel bailan en su mente sin dejarla pensar.
No podemos saber quién es. Su cara queda oculta por las sombras. O puede, quizás, que no queramos reconocerla.
No se puede pintar mejor el desamparo, la incomunicación. Sombras intensas, colores planos, formas geométricas, se confabulan para crear una angustiosa atmósfera de desolación.
(Es recomendable pinchar la imagen -pulsando Ctrl al mismo tiempo- para ver el cuadro con todo detalle y escuchar la canción)
Este cuadro me ha impresionado tristemente desde que lo contemplé. Desolación, abandono. ¿Qué es aquello, un sombrero depositado en lo alto de una armario? ¿Unas maletas casi sin abrir en el suelo? Acaba de llegar, no puede creer en su soledad, sus hombros sin tensión, sus nervios lacios.Se asoma la noche oscura por la ventana... Describes muy bien la desolación que Hpper pretende crear. Me has recordado tiempos distintos de mi vida. Gracias y un fuerte abrazo.
ResponderEliminarPrecioso cuadro. Creo que podría representar el fin de muchas historias de amor. A mi también me sugiere desolación, desarraigo y tristeza.
ResponderEliminarLa luz es increíble.
Muy bueno.
Hasta la próxima.
this is a great post - to unravel the story behind a painting - I do it quite often with the works of Jack Vettriano, in some of my poetry... this one, by Hopper, has always been one of my favorites... she sits in her room... has she just arrived? Is she stopping by on her way to another place? Is she running to something or some one... or is she running away... and the letter... Is it from him... does it hold the words he could never tell her that finally found a way to reach her... is it the way he said good bye... is it the letter she never sent...?
ResponderEliminarthis in many ways is like the Vettriano at the top of Deringer Files... I love it - by the way Edward Hopper is the reason I wanted to become an artist when I was young, I always found comfort and kinship with the solitude of his characters... alas... I turned into a writer
Realmente parece triste y desolada en esa impersonal habitación de hotel aunque, al menos, a ella la han dejado una carta, quizá con suerte encuentre consuelo en esas letras.
ResponderEliminarEsa impresión que has recibido significa que el cuadro es bueno. Sí, Fernando, un sombrero, unas maletas y unos tacones en el suelo, pueden significar tantas cosas como tu recuerdo abarque. Por fortuna, sólo tus recuerdos.
ResponderEliminarSí, Merdeces, las noticias de esa carta no tienen pinta de ser buenas. Son el fin de algo. Quién sabe qué.
ResponderEliminarThanks, Dash. mmmm, Writing about the hidden story of a painting or a photograph. That sounds interesting! You make some good questions which, unfortunately, nobody can answer, …except for a sharp writer.
ResponderEliminarAlas? You’re still on time of becoming what you desire!
mmm... ¿Consuelo? No creo. Más bien desolación, Uma (es una intuición).
ResponderEliminar