(Post traducido por M. da Silva. Para ver la versión española pulsar en Jardines soñados del Thyssen)
I run across an ice labyrinth. My heart explodes in my temples. The wind cuts my nude hands while I cross the lonely corridors. After a while, I find a door which opens into a room with wall covered in windows. I open the first one and discover a lush orchard over a pond. Branches tinge the liquid mirror with green. The breeze rocks spikes and shrubs with its warm arms and restores my breathless palate.
Outside the next window I find a home surrounded by red and yellow dallies. The most wanted flowers that travel all the way from America. The flowers melt into balms that heal my sores. Two chimneys keep an eye on cumulus and stratus. My soul rehydrates with saps and leans over the fields. A couple walks around the fence, my dream keepers. Their voices melt with the buzz of the bees and goldfinches.
Another window. Sun says its farewells to the garden with orange sparkles. Peasants direct their steps into their shared homes. I follow their calm cadences and breathe country essences. Orange blossoms, dills, chives and cabbages. Quietness. Geometrical lands worked by praying hands offer bits of happiness after every day of hard work. The ultimate destiny of mankind.
Over the highest window, there is a paradise captured between spotted till walls. The artist rests. His drill face haunted by memories lingers before an easel highlighted in greens and violets. It’s the miracle of light and its infinite shades. The afternoon covers my shoulders with beauty. Art and nature joint in perfect harmony.
I open my eyes and find myself in a quiet dark room. I feel the chilly air when leaving the warm sheets. The white windows are frosted. Flakes appear in groups and disappear in silence. I wrapp myself in a wool blanket and greet the winter with a smile, remembering the glowing gardens I discovered at the Thyssen Museum.
Impresionist gardens. Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza. Fundación Caja Madrid. Till February 13rd 2011.