ANA LEONOR LADAS
Just before I made 40 years old, I woke up one day with the clear insight that it was about time to welcome and bring to light my actual name – ANA LEONOR LADAS.
Most people knows me by Ana Ladas. Both Ana and Ladas are names that come from my father side. Ladas comes from my father and Ana comes from his mother, my grandmother. Leonor comes from my other grandmother, mother of my mother.
At this stage of my life, something from inside is clearly urging for an energetic reunion and re-balancing of the female yin and male yang energies that are housed in my (family) name. So I am happy to introduce myself to you at this very stage of my life as ANA LEONOR LADAS.
Saber sem saber. Se calhar é mais um ir sabendo... o roçar das pernas nas costas suadas do cavalo. o correr pelo simples correr. a pradaria verde, calma e sempre presente. o vento que se sente sem saber que se o sente. o gosto do ir e estar sempre aqui. As ruas que se estreitam. o ar que fica mais perto da pele curiosa dos braços. O cão que se sacode expulsando em todas as direcções mil gotas de água como um vulcao cansado de dormir e que se desperta querendo sem querer.
Photo: Patrick Beerlaert
Movement as an inherent universal condition of change and transformation. The movement of particles, of creation, of processes and things. The movement of a plant that emerges from darkness for no other reason then that. The movement of time and no time zone. The movement of thoughts, of light, of a physical body. The movement of entropy. The movement of sound, of battles, of silence. The movement of melodies while you read this. The movement of little cells that are moved by other movements. The movement of love, of rage and gratitude. The movement of a landscape in eternal movement.
Space as an immense, timeless, organic, living entity.
Boundless gigantic body that breaths, expands, contracts and simply is.
Vital force that blooms everywhere and within everyone.
Infinite sea of quantum possibilities.
Vast, subtle and supreme consciousness.
Poetry of all things.
No reason. No goal. No nothing.
Olhar de frente
Estou de costas para ela. Estou presa por uma corda ensanguentada. Ela sentada no sofá; eu deambulando pelas estradas da vida, ficando cada vez mais tensa a corda que nos liga. Sofrimento do cavalo selvagem querendo libertar-se e voar em direcção da floresta virgem e desconhecida. Sofrimento do pensamento errante. O mal que ela faz, sou eu quem o vê. O que ela faz está tão certo e tão errado como o que eu faço . O problema, é que eu saí dela e sigo em frente sem conseguir olhar para trás. Sem conseguir olhar como quem deu a volta ao mundo e olha com curiosidade o que um dia deixou para trás. Olho com a ignorância de quem não vê. Está na hora de partir e não mais voltar. Está na hora de aceitar a dura realidade de estar só para sempre. Está na hora de não mais beber do sangue divinal. Está na hora de cair e deixar cair. Está na hora de morrer e viver em vida. Está na hora... Está na hora de um dia Voltar. Está na hora de Olhar de Frente. Está na hora de olhar como pela primeira vez a todos olhei quando nasci.
Stillness as a place of silent poetry. Quiet, subtle and brutal immensity. Infinite waves of possibilities. I contemplate, I emerge, I dive, I get blind. I sit and wait.
In between is stillness.
In between I am. Body and mind present. Movement waiting to be reveled. Stillness. If I am moved by something, I want to be moved by that.
At 13:00 after a dance class, I went to have a coffee with my friend Lina.
Almost instantly we dived into an involving and exciting conversation, like those good ones where nothing else matters and time becomes timeless. In complicity, we were two archeologists digging precious treasures hidden in the backyard of our minds.
In a certain moment, Lina told me about the project she was currently organizing at Dasarts. With her exquisite ability to see reality from different perspectives, spicy and warm sensibility and provocative curiosity in challenging what is already known, she proposed to the artists to go through the experience of spending the day/night, alone, in houses of different people they don’t know. From what I understood, they were given a set of keys and the only information they would receive was an sms with the address of the house where they should go next, some instructions and for the rest... it was a field of quantum possibilities.
It sounded a very interesting project. Unexpectedly, she invited me to go to one of these houses in the last day of their journey and to cook some dinner with/for this stranger. Meeting a stranger in a place where we both would be strangers. That was it. But, but… What should…? How it…? Unknown. The only reference she gave me was to defy what was comfortable and to deal with that. My heart started pumping like if somebody I didn’t want to meet was vigorously knocking on the door of my chest; an agri-doce flux of anxiety pumped into my veins, thoughts running from one side to the other trying to clean and organize the house… a sweet taste of excitement. No… I could not waste this opportunity of breaking walls and challenging myself.
Involved with other things, I didn’t give much thought to this subject during the next three days but once in a while a rush of blood awoken the mind like an inconvenient alarm clock. So I wondered how that situation would be?! Automatically, the insecurity I felt was stimulating my need to make things “gezellig” and I visualized myself using the verbal language as a medium for that “gezelligheid”. But that is exactly what I should not do!
Suddenly as a light switched on, it came to me, how it would be if we don’t use verbal communication at all? If we cook, eat together, get to know the other (or not), deal and simply be with a stranger in a strange house with no verbal talking?! What is actually the language of our bodies, of our sensorial bodies in this particular situation?! In a mix of excitement and anxiety I understood silent communication to be my challenge for that evening.
At 19:00 on a cold Tuesday, I drove my bicycle in direction to Lijnbaangrach 384. It was a boot. My anxiety mislead me and I understood a wrong number. What a funny coincidence! The boot n. 384 was empty! Overcoming the devilish thought of “if nobody is here maybe I should go home” I finally realized the right n. was 348. So I knocked on the door and a jovial young man with sparkling blue eyes opens the door almost instantly as if he was anxious for something to happen. I introduced myself and I said, I am here to cook dinner.
My body remembers openness and a friendly smile.
Innocence of a warm place.
Ahmm… Humm… The sensation of… go on.
How tempting was to escape into the silent action of peeling potatoes or stirring the vegetables like if they would reveal all meaning of life.
The difficulty in asking how old are you? Or where are you from?
The clumsiness of gestures.
Timid smiles wanting to become brave warriors.
A simple gesture. …a glimpse of understanding.
Waves of colors. Light blue. Whitish. Warm yellow/orange…
A violent force in search for complicity.
Conflict. The Egyptian sphinx guarding the temple of responsibility.
The smell of garlic, red wine and raw tomato.
We sat at the table. Face to face. No escape.
At times felt almost romantic.
Tiny movements became huge choreographies with life orchestra.
The blink of the eyes not knowing where to look.
A finger on the chin asking the lip for help.
Gazing at the objects around as if secretly they would whisper what to say.
Finally gathering bravery like a gladiator entering the arena full of lions.
Two magnets meet each other like a surrendered soldier.
On one side the blue eyes on the other the brown eyes.
A private conversation.
An endless curiosity while diving into the dark pupils.
A planetarium with infinite stars.
Traveling through space.
Butterflies in the stomach.
The forbidden fruit.
A sudden vacuum pulling backwards at the speed of light
and the confused eyes came out of the tunnel.
The stranger again.
The expulsion from Paradise almighty and the entrance of duality.
The recognition of Adam and Eve.
They were naked.
An embarrassed smile.
Relief in more gesture talk.
But now more fluid.
Maybe because of the wine running in the veins.
Maybe because our bodies were tired of the tyranny of the rational mind and decided to have a secret underground conversation.
The musicality of senses.
The orgy of engagement.
The apple was bit.
The eyes meet again. Like a destiny impossible to avoid.
The mystery of the dark pupils.
Pearls and jewels. Waves and waves.
Flying over mountains. Sitting at the table.
Infinite sparkling. Land of no words.
A smile bringing us back to reality.
My body remembers how easy it was to express and understand through the skin.
The sensorial bodies took over.
We were at their service.
Fluidity in gestures. Understanding.
The eyes again.
The ultimate challenge.
Preparing to conquer vast territories.
No words. No thoughts. No gestures. No nothing.
Just eyes in the eyes…
Minute after minute in an endless journey.
Eternal life. Eternal minutes. Eternal being.
It went in the direction of unknown land and we enjoyed the view.
Minute after minute in the silent boot of Lijnbaangrach n. 348.