I was walking around the newsroom congratulating my colleagues from the arsenic caviar podcast, who are acid and poisonous on the airwaves, but rather quiet and loving live, postponing the moment of writing this letter. Bea, affectionate, as I say, has given me some advice: let the letter be written by ChatGPT, “you say you were doing a test with the new technology” and that’s it. I have doubted it for a moment. My first thought was that a letter written by a machine would be neither clever nor witty, which is by far what we authors aspire to. Let’s not say that it is poetic, although that is more complicated, applications are not poetic, but neither are most human beings, many not even when they propose it.
I think this while I look at our cover, unsuspecting poetry: subtle and contained, without artifice, raw. How difficult what Sadie Sink does when he transforms her characters into supernatural beings. He did it in stranger things and do it again The whale, where she plays the daughter of Brendan Fraser, nominated for an Oscar for this role. The photos by Bjorn Iooss, which are accompanied by the interview with Begoña Gómez Urzaiz, prove it: poetry resides precisely in the most everyday and casual. Later, in the nude photographs of Candice Huffine, it happens again. There is no way to stop looking at those beautiful images, but realistic, tangible, common, poetic.
This number is published two days before the start of the ARCO fair, the international art event in Madrid. Of course, we are dealing here with gallery owners, collectors, artists and cultural programmers and we take the opportunity to reflect on the relationship between art and fashion, and even on the eternal question with very different answers depending on who responds: Is fashion art? maybe. Sometimes. few. Just like art can be fashion sometimes (many).
We will see absurd ARCO boutades that will fill minutes of television, stratospheric second-market prices, but we will also discover uncomfortable pieces, secret beauties and a fine invisible thread that will connect us on a deeper level with something that we cannot stop looking at.
Then I remember that the little I read on Twitter is a bot automated with random Virginia Woolf phrases. I copy: “Some go to a priest, others to poetry. I to my friends, to my own heart, to search among phrases and fragments for something that is not broken. I suppose that in looking for those patches fashion and art do converge. Poetry can be anywhere and who knows if those pieces can also be picked up by ChatGPT after all.
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