There is a special exhibition in the Recoleta Cultural Centre right now called Meteora, by Fabián Bercic. Although its purpose is to discuss memory and identity in the context of Buenos Aires, for me it is inextricably bound up with other metaphors that pinpoint where I currently am.
Not so long ago I was coasting in what felt like my boring, comfortable life in London. Hence the impetus for change. I was ready. Perhaps I swung too far from one side of the pendulum to the other on that front. Attempts to learn my relatively new job, and of course the language in which it is performed, remain ongoing. Meanwhile, from May I will be leading a marathon first-timers running group and then from June also writing a regular column for the local expat news website. An eighth day would be nice. I can’t complain though, these are my decisions, and ultimately if just one of them pays off then that will be a great success. For now, though – amidst this cluster of stumps – I can’t see the wood for the trees.
Glistening sodium chloride makes this winter wonderland scene so brilliant white meanwhile. It last snowed in the capital seven years ago, on Argentina’s Independence Day (9/7/2011). Let that sink in for a moment. Bearing that in mind, most children here have never seen, or certainly cannot remember having ever seen, the white stuff. There could be an exhibition within an exhibition in fact, capturing the disarming effect it has upon these little people as they totter through with a snowballing sense of curiosity. I can empathise with their confusion at not knowing how to encounter such a new experience however. Have a go at something new and be prepared to get it wrong, is my approach. Yet don’t try too many new things all on the same day is the necessary caveat. One failure may lead to another. There is a real danger of first self-inflicting painful damage through unnecessary risk therefore, and ultimately rubbing salt in the wounds.
Finally, the path is not a straight line. This is painfully clichéd but true. Moreover, it is comfortingly discomforting that from the start of the path in the exhibition you cannot see its end. How profoundly apt. One thing I will say is that I’m glad I forced myself along this route, wherever it may lead. Impatient; brave; stupid. That’s probably how I’d sum myself up in three words, in that order too. I must keep walking anyway.