no. 3

Diaries from Mont Serrat, Spain
by Andrea Garcia Vasquez

1, April 2016 

I saw you from a distance. Your curves, your lines, you were  pregnant radiating with life and stories I couldn’t wait to know. I  approached you slowly, it took a day or two before I mustered the  courage to really plunge. People of the village would point to you,  whisper sweet, soft things about how you bring peace with your  beauty and predominant posture. They would tell me about their  personal interactions with your guiding character, how you lead  some to insanity but most to a sensational saintly offering. 

4, April 2016 

Sitting at a picnic table made of stone, I thought of you and  how you probably weren’t thinking about me. Rooster coos  reminded me it was a new day; not just for me, but for the  mountain, and the pollen, too. Does the rubbish on the mountain  from yesterday disappear with the sunrise like my negative thoughts  from yesterday do? The trees covered most of my view, the pollen  most of the ground. You stood in between blocked out patterns of  leaves and twigs. You stood, you stand, where you always do, like  you always do, not that far away, as we breathe in the same manner  at different speeds forever. 

9, April 2016 

The spring can be finicky, here. Long hours of rain, cold breezes, and brutally hot spells fluctuate impressively throughout a  day. When suitable, I take long walks along the blades of the soil.  Asparagus grows this time of year around here. It brought me a  sense of satisfaction to collect my nutrients from the land.  Abundant. The wind whispers reminders in my being. Like the  neverending movements of the plates underneath me, they are quiet,  subtle and soft. I almost always forget even though I am so close to  them. It takes a touch for me to remember. My hands pressed with  the weight of my body along the contours of a body I love like my  own. Today I am twenty four. 

13, April 2016 

You dress my face with your fibers and grime, like an ashtray  on the windowsill. I appreciated a moment of stillness before  entering your paradise. I will miss this lonely lime and the stench of  your dry, open veins. I find myself always thinking of you, as if you  could think of me too. Your blades of love came and went with the  rhythm of my absence.  

Songs of the water, and the soil, and the cycle invent  themselves in my head. All the while, machines struck fields in the  distance. An echo perpetually kicks, but you, and I, have been rather  distracted and could not hear it. I wrote a letter to you and left it in  your faults. 

18, April 2016 

Whether the tears of God  

or the ways of a river,  

the creation of you  

has left me bewildered. 

20, April 2016 

It wasn’t until I fell in love with a mountain that I thought  about the life it lived before and after me. I saw its surface as my  skin, I imagined the work it took to carve the edges, the corners, the  peaks, the cliffs. I explored it’s foot and listened to the stories of my  observations. A mudslide damaged the south west entrances inviting  more non-human life and the sounds of snake tongues to infiltrate.  Power-lines were built and continue to shock the life out of local  flocks; heavily impacting the migration of birds. Mountain goats  mated, lizards bounced around the rocks, and I just sat, waiting and  failing to become it all.  

26, April 2016 

The sun burnt my skin. It’s the way the mountain doesn’t  give a shit about me that I love the most. Brutal attraction. I  remember the vast crevices engulfing me into- I am nothing. 

28, April 2016 

I am still nothing. I never felt one with being nothing before.  An echo kicks and you come forth, responsible for the destruction  of your own body. Falling. Meters. Cracking. Further. This is how  you move, this is how you evolve, reducing smaller, and smaller,  chipping with every moment of experience only to expose the lines  which make up your orogenic biology. Sadly, you descend. For you  can only ever, forever, descend.  

All your faults, collected through time, deconstructing you  little by little, etching your silhouetted form into the sky. Pleasure  can be experienced in so many different ways, until a sharp red cuts  through the dead of things.  





ANDREA GARCIA VASQUEZ was born in New Jersey, USA, received a BFA in Visual and Critical Studies from the School of Visual Arts, New York City in 2014 and currently lives and works in Leipzig, Germany. Andrea graduated from the Art Academy Leipzig with a Diploma in New Media: Installation and Space in 2020 with honorable distinction. Since 2015, Andrea has exhibited works internationally in Germany, USA, Asia, and the Middle East with solo and two-person exhibitions in Beirut, Leipzig, and California. Andrea won 5th place in a student international art prize in 2017, and received the DENKZEIT grant from the Culture Foundation of Saxony in 2020. Since September 2019, Andrea has been a core member and organiser for monthly meetings, residencies, and exhibitions for MODS collective (Leipzig ) — an international collective between Germany, Spain, and Norway.