Leonor Henríquez

leer en españolI read once that you reach a certain age when the years go by very quickly, but the days are eternal.I already reached that age.No more charts, no more boring meetings, no more difficult bosses, no more progress reports; no more monthly payments… those, I miss.But I am finally the owner of my precious time and, in my infinite days, full of adventures, I go for walks.My new job is simply to pay attention. They say delight is the reward of paying attention.I went out on my usual route but this time, I noticed something different.The snow had melted, and it was hot. Yes, hot in March.I took off my jacket, scarf, and gloves and noticed an unusual glow at the end of the path.I detected a different vegetation on the horizon.Palm trees? - I said to myself - In Calgary?I swear I did...

leer en español   It happened many years ago, at the Tate Gallery in Liverpool, England.I literally tripped over a sack full of what looked like cement or sand.I thought they were doing renovation works, and someone had left a sandbag in the middle of the room. I almost told the guard that the bag in question was unsafe, as it seemed to be a very busy area.But suddenly, I noticed the sandbag was the protagonist of the room. The name of the work was simply that: Sandbag.When I visit a museum, it often happens to me that I tremble before the intimate silence, the sacred territory that occurs between the observer and the artist.In this case, in front of the sandbag, I felt neutral.I sat down on a bench to carefully observe this piece of art.The bench creaked.My mind full of fairies, tried to ...

leer en españolFrom my window, I witnessed a mystery.I don't pay much attention to who comes and goes around me, but that day it seemed to me that the person who walked through the door that night, even though the individual was wearing the same outfit, an impossible-to-miss orange coat, was different to the person that left in the morning.There was something in his walk, in his posture, in the way this tenant inserted the key.Yes, definitely someone else.I did not give much importance to the matter, but the days that followed, when I heard the door, I peeked out, and to my surprise, every day it was one person leaving and a very different one, the one who returned.Sometimes this person changed coats, perhaps to confuse me, but it appeared to be a new tenant, every morning, and every night...

leer en españolI bought this book, Gente que Ríe, by Laura Chivite (Pamplona 1995), recently, at the Palacio del Libro, Paseo de Gracia, Barcelona.More glamorous impossible.She is a young writer who "draws a panorama in the reverse direction of the course of life: from 2060 to 1995."I chose it to share in this edition of Atril, not only because of the title, which I love, People who laugh, but because I found it to be a disturbing book, which questions the time we live in, and at the same time makes you laugh.A nervous laugh perhaps.For example, she mentions a microchip to be inserted in people, which will consist of manipulating the thermoreceptors so that the person always has the same temperature, maintaining the metabolic rate at maximum comfort. The way of the future to save energy.In...

leer en españolSometimes I feel the touch of its transparent wings on my skin.Recently, one of them murmured sweet words in my ear: "Today you are more Carmencita than ever." Carmencita is my mom.They visit me frequently.Some inspire me to cook one of those classic Chupe caraqueños, never like the one made by the endearing Tía Olga. Other take a Ponche Crema with me in December. I see great-grandmothers in some gestures of my grandchildren.Yes, they are my old ladies, my fairies. Those that left their chrysalis and became butterflies of light and are out there playing.A few days ago, two of them, on golden wings, flew to other domains. Camila, my mom's best friend, the two most beautiful women in Los Teques. They are now catching up, telling stories. Camilla was 102 years old.Gitta, my Ger...

leer en español"From the point of view of the sky,life is just a passing of clouds.”(Read somewhere)Maybe the sky, from its perspective, couldn’t recognize if what was passing by was a crocodile, a man swimming or a dragon.Variations on the same cloud, according to the points of view of my six-year-old grandson, my ten-year-old nephew and mine (age indefinite).We call it the Cloud Challenge. We photograph and share an interesting cloud and see what it suggests to us. Then, we have a short and productive discussion.Sometimes, I need to make an exercise in abstraction to enter into the infinite imagination of children. I confess that it was hard for me to discover the crocodile and the man swimming, backstroke, to be more precise.In the end, this “cloud sharing” with my little ones reminds m...