{"id":1148,"date":"2019-12-19T17:11:15","date_gmt":"2019-12-19T17:11:15","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/imaginedtheatres.com\/?post_type=theatre&p=1148"},"modified":"2022-01-20T23:04:21","modified_gmt":"2022-01-20T23:04:21","slug":"renuncia-resignation","status":"publish","type":"theatre","link":"https:\/\/www.imaginedtheatres.com\/renuncia-resignation\/","title":{"rendered":"Renuncia \/ Resignation"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Un teatro elegante, que podr\u00eda ser el Ode\u00f3n de Par\u00eds con sus butacas rojas, o podr\u00eda ser el teatro Municipal de Santiago, o cualquier otro teatro que encarne un valor cultural, ese valor cultural que el teatro fue ganando durante tantos a\u00f1os.<\/strong><\/p>\n

Una funci\u00f3n acaba de terminar. La gente sale y comenta, algunos a\u00fan aplauden, otros se ponen sus abrigos y sus guantes\u2026\u00a0 La sala est\u00e1 iluminada y el escenario vac\u00edo.<\/strong><\/p>\n

De a poco y muy lentamente, comienza una m\u00fasica incidental que evoca todas las tristezas. Al fondo del escenario aparece una mujer abatida, de edad indefinida como las grandes actrices, cuerpo \u00e1gil y delgado, rostro marcado por grandes arrugas de expresi\u00f3n. Es tanta la luz de su presencia que el movimiento del p\u00fablico se detiene y algunos van volviendo a sus asientos. Algunos van sac\u00e1ndose guantes y sombreros.\u00a0 Vuelve el silencio.<\/strong><\/p>\n

La mujer avanza lentamente en diagonal. A su paso, el escenario se va iluminando. Est\u00e1 vestida con retazos de muchas ropas, lleva pantalones y sobre estos, faldas; trapos m\u00e1s que vestidos, gui\u00f1apos, pedazos de tela que arrastra mientras camina.<\/strong><\/p>\n

La mujer avanza con la cabeza baja y mirando de reojo como si huyera de la luz en un gesto de timidez o rencor, un mirar hura\u00f1o y resentido, una forma muda del desprecio.<\/strong><\/p>\n

Se detiene, toma su lugar y respira. Vengo<\/em>, dice con voz clara y definitiva, vengo desde otros tiempos a presentar la causa de mi gente<\/em>. Trae<\/em>, dice, los lamentos de Clitemnestra muerta por los brazos de su propio hijo<\/em>. Carga<\/em>, dice, los gritos de Casandra y sus palabras incomprendidas. Lleva en el coraz\u00f3n la inocencia de Ifigenia y el amor por su padre.\u00a0 Conoce<\/em>, dice, el dolor de la agon\u00eda de Yocasta, la pasi\u00f3n de Ant\u00edgona, la indiferencia de Ismene. Escucha el lamento de las vencidas, reconoce las palabras de la derrota<\/em>.<\/strong><\/p>\n

Arrastra<\/em>, dice, el silencio de Ofelia, la locura de lady Macbeth y su horrible arrepentimiento<\/em>.\u00a0 Escucha<\/em>, dice, las terribles palabras que desataron los conflictos<\/em>.\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

La mujer respira. Separa las piernas, toma aire. Contin\u00faa con sus quejas, invocando la vida de las grandes del teatro.<\/strong><\/p>\n

Renuncia<\/em>, dice, vengo a presentar mi renuncia<\/em>. Y r\u00ede. Renuncio<\/em>, dice con voz de trueno, renuncio a la escena de todos los conflictos. Dejo en este momento y para siempre este escenario del dolor, de la muerte y de la agon\u00eda. Dejo los personajes que aquellos dise\u00f1aron para m\u00ed. Dejo el sufrimiento que la ley del padre me ha infringido y con una rabia sagrada construyo mi soberan\u00eda.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Se instala el silencio que antecede las grandes cat\u00e1strofes y luego se escucha un trueno como mandado por el mismo Zeus. Algunos se asustan y r\u00eden nerviosos. La l\u00e1mpara de l\u00e1grimas tintinea y pierde equilibrio.<\/strong><\/p>\n

Es el fin,<\/em> dice ella. Es el fin del teatro de las pasiones y ahora empieza la poes\u00eda. <\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Una enorme puerta de metal se abre al fondo del escenario. Es la puerta que se usa para entrar las grandes escenograf\u00edas.<\/strong><\/p>\n

Se acab\u00f3<\/em>, dice ella. Se acab\u00f3 el orgullo y el amor propio. Se acab\u00f3 la acci\u00f3n trenzada de objetivos. Se acab\u00f3 el equilibrio precario entre las fuerzas. Se acab\u00f3 la negociaci\u00f3n y la derrota.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

El viento se levanta y entra en remolino hacia la sala. Se enreda entre las ropas de la mujer y la hacen trastabillar. Algunas ropas ceden y la mujer queda m\u00e1s ligera. Ella r\u00ede al girar impulsada por el viento.<\/strong><\/p>\n

Ahora voy a vivir<\/em>, dice. Voy a vivir y respirar cada d\u00eda y cada noche, sin prisa y sin nada que hacer m\u00e1s que sentir el sol o la lluvia en mi rostro tranquilo.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Este ser\u00e1 mi teatro: observar las part\u00edculas de polvo que se levantan cuando un rayo de sol ilumina el peque\u00f1o sill\u00f3n donde estoy sentada.<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

An elegant theatre, which could be the Ode\u00f3n in Paris with its red seats, or the Municipal Theater in Santiago (Chile), or whichever other theatre embodies cultural value, that cultural value that the theatre has been accumulating for so many years.<\/p>\n

A performance has just ended. The people exit and discuss, some still applaud, others put on their coats and gloves. The theatre is lit and the stage is bare.<\/p>\n

Slowly, bit by bit, incidental music starts that evokes all sorts of sadness. Upstage a despondent woman appears, of indeterminate age like the grand actresses, trim and agile body, face marked by deep, expressive wrinkles. Her presence is so strong that the audience stops moving and some return to their seats. Some start taking off their gloves and hats. Silence falls again.<\/p>\n

The woman advances slowly on a diagonal. With each step, the stage illuminates. She is dressed in many pieces of clothing: she wears pants with skirts on top–rags more than dresses, remnants, pieces of fabric that drag as she walks.<\/p>\n

The woman advances with bowed head, looking out of the corner of her eye as if she were fleeing the light in a gesture. perhaps of timidity, perhaps of rancor, a sullen and resentful look, a speechless form of disdain.<\/p>\n

She stops, takes her place and breathes. I come<\/em>, she says with a clear and definitive voice, I come from another time to present the cause of my people. I bring, she says, Clytemnestra\u2019s laments, killed at the hands of her own son. I carry<\/em>, she says, Cassandra\u2019s screams and her incomprehensible words. In my heart, I carry Iphigenia\u2019s innocence and her love for her father. I know<\/em>, she says, Jocasta\u2019s painful agony, Antigone\u2019s passion, Ismene\u2019s indifference. I listen to the lament of the vanquished, I recognize the words of defeat.<\/em><\/p>\n

I drag along Ophelia\u2019s silence, Lady Macbeth\u2019s madness and her horrible repentance. I listen,<\/em> she says, to terrible words that unleash conflict.<\/em><\/p>\n

The woman breathes. She separates her legs, takes in air. She continues with her complaints, invoking the great women of theatre.<\/p>\n

I renounce,<\/em> she says, I come to present my renunciation.<\/em> And she laughs. I renounce,<\/em> she says with a thunderous voice, I renounce the scene of all conflicts. At this moment and forever, I leave this stage of pain, death, and agony. I leave the characters that those ones designed for me. I leave the oppression of patriarchy and with a sacred rage, I construct my sovereignty.<\/em><\/p>\n

A silence falls like those that precede great catastrophes, then\u00a0 thunder is heard as if sent from Zeus himself. Some are scared and laugh nervously. The chandelier\u00a0 tinkles as it shakes.<\/p>\n

It is the end, <\/em>she says. It is the end of the theatre of passion and now begins the poetry.<\/em><\/p>\n

And enormous metal door opens upstage. It is the door\u00a0 used to load in large scenery.<\/p>\n

It is over,<\/em> she says. Pride and self-love are over. Action woven through with objectives is over. Precarious equilibrium between forces is over. Negotiation and defeat are over.<\/em><\/p>\n

A breeze picks up and then a whirlwind enters the room. It gets tangled up in the woman\u2019s clothes and makes her stumble. Some clothes fall off and the woman is left much lighter. She laughs as the wind impulsively twirls her around.<\/p>\n

Now I am going to live<\/em>, she says. I am going to live and breathe each day and each night, without hurry and without anything to do, nothing apart from feeling the sun and rain on my tranquil face.<\/em><\/p>\n

This will be my theatre: to observe the particles of dust that arise when a ray of sunlight falls upon the small armchair where I sit.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"I renounce the scene of all conflicts. At this moment and forever, I leave this stage of pain, death, and agony. I leave the characters that those ones designed for me.","protected":false},"menu_order":0,"template":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginedtheatres.com\/api\/wp\/v2\/theatres\/1148"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginedtheatres.com\/api\/wp\/v2\/theatres"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginedtheatres.com\/api\/wp\/v2\/types\/theatre"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginedtheatres.com\/api\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1148"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}