"La danza del padre" Ninth movement: La mère est malade.

They say that my mother is about to die.

You come back from your exile, pretending to be crooked, limping.

As a model son you're repeating the steps of your father:

embolism, exaggeration, hypochondria.

Mom told us that our grandfather was lying, she had caught the old man walking well, 

with normal face muscles, with his hand well, 

she said that the old man was deceiving them.

You arrive as the prodigal son,

with your face twisted, your hand cramped, limping.

Like a copy, like an inherited model.

I catch you while others aren't looking:

with a normal walk, quiet, straight.

You come back to the room and, before coming in, you pause, you enact a cripple.

You visit your dying wife, our loving mother, you present a loving face, a crippled body, a trembling voice.

You are such a case,

I must either describe you or paint you or kill you.

"La danza del padre" Seventh movement: Le père meurt pour deuxième fois

After the trial your death came, the second death, the one that was not.

Years of lies and nonsense reduced my patience.

That night I had been accused and you on your throne had accepted everything against me.

You, judge and king without power.

Slowly you went to your bed and lied on there looking to the sky; we knew, you were dying.

You said you were sweating cold and your lips were dry,

blah, blah, blah,

you dropped your hands, stopped breathing, and closed your eyes.

I didn’t want to permit that, I asked you not to do it.

That night I hated you and hated your theater.

I climbed unto your bed, I sat on your chest and I shouted again, 

I called you by your title and by your name: Father! Federico!

Then I attacked you, I slapped your face.

I had a plan: 

if you were dead you wouldn’t react, if you were acting again then I was there to make it clear to everybody.

Your red cheeks hurt you, so, you reacted, 

your hand stops my hand, and you tell me that you are fine ... 

Don’t you see it? I was right!

"la danza del padre" Sixth movement: Le père est roi et juge.

The father is a king, he has seated on his throne, and he doesn't speak or move.

One of his many children begins his accusations towards me: he says what I do is wrong.

No to how I speak, no to what I speak about, no to how I act, no to what I want in life.

The father is a king and a judge, but he doesn't speak nor move, he doesn't govern nor judge.

He feels supported, plays at being a noble man, wise, understanding, loved.

I am a teenager! I hate that, I cry because of it, I cannot bear that scene, it hurts.

And you are seated, and he is speaking towards me. 

I get irritated while replying and claiming.

You asked for a glass of water, you said you felt agitated.

You prepare (we already know it) your next coup de theatre.

"La danza del padre", A Theatre Project Step By Step.

From now on I'm going to post every valuable step of my new theatre project "La danza del padre". The origin of this project is very simple: my memories of my father's actions around his hypochondria. 

I've called it "La danza del padre" because those memories usually come to me as physical and vocal actions and with the time they has been edited one by one in my mind, exactly as they were part of a choreography built inside me.

I love the idea of this stage process, and I'm aware of the possible pain it can provoke to me, but also of the artistic pleasure I can get from it, so it is fair I guess.

My last project (Asylum) failed because it depended of others to its realization, now it only depends of my own work, creativity and desire.

¿Do we start working?