The house

By reducing to the maximum the elements that make up a construction, in this case a house, we would obtain a block, a masterpiece or a brick that would function as the pattern from which to configure the proportions of everything else. Something like giving a piece of fired clay a whimsical anthropocentric character. Then comes the task of arranging these malleable portions to compose a dwelling: functional, variegated, large, tiny, ostentatious, simple, miserable, isolated, constrained….

So far we only have an empty container, a cube, it has not yet become a home, (concept pending review). For many mortals it is not a problem, they already have everything they need to camel with their majestic mansions to their guests or to the voyeurs of the ¡HOLA! Others, even more mortals (if this is possible), do not even have this basic cube, some because of pure injustice, others because they deny it and others because they have not been able to find a place to settle down.

That coming home, sometimes idealized, unleashes all kinds of feelings upon its arrival, like that of the stork and its candid cargo. The space we inhabit is no longer so important, now our shelter is not material, it is made of hugs, of glasses of cola cao, of grapes and chimes, of brawls, of lexatines, of rifles under a mattress full of stains, of farewells or evictions.

Be that as it may, and always from this fortunate side, the issue of house, home or shelter is more fragile than ever. Perhaps, to swell this list, we should produce new publications where, definitively, borders, mayors, properties, mortgages, vultures disappear and we are, once again, the center of all needs. As the marvelous Gloria Fuertes wrote back in 54: …there are cases, even though houses are never given to the poor who can not give transfer.

Fosi Vegue