It didn't look bad that summer. Getting on the stilts that Jose Rico, and before that Jose Antonio Lobato, had used before, to rehearse “Carlota Corday” by Etelvino Vázquez, clad in Yuli's mythical red cape; some bowling at the Almada Festival; and upon return from Portugal, a training trip to the Stage Internazionale di Commedia dell'Arte in Reggio Emilia. Rehearse, act, study, assemble and disassemble... And of course, dream of being able to do it all your life. Eagerly subscribe to the “you won't have a payroll but you do what you like”, you definitely join in the “van stories” that you had tasted three years before with “Cestón de Máscaras”, when you went to high school, in Pola de Lena. That life was serious one begins to understand later, the will to leave a mark and leave amidst applause is left with an urgent need to play gigs to keep going. We changed the century believing that for some five years there would be a stable circuit, that some decade we would leave behind the “what play was it?”, “when are you doing it again?”, “well, and apart from theater, what do you do to eat? ? Now it turns out that our journey to nowhere tends to the digital world. I'm sorry, but I curse streaming and telematic theaters with the same relish that the great Cafarell shit on the father of the Lumiere Brothers. Distance, fear, uncertain future, culture alive under suspicion... 35 years later, I see myself in that photo with a face like "Chanquete is dead", and I get the idea that perhaps I will persist -without plan B- in this job (acting, writing , direct...) consisted of that: Extend that Summer and accept that, in the hands of time, the Blue becomes dark, very dark, almost black.
