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Vaquero Centenario
Lo que observo más allá de la imagen
Fíjense, me estoy deleitando viendo a un artista de la calle… es increíble cómo se ha transformado, como si la magia del arte y un poco de ilusión lo hubieran convertido en una escultura que respira. Está como bañado en un brillo color cobre, y todo pega, el tambor metálico que usa de pedestal y la cajita para las monedas que tiene a los pies, ¡todo del mismo tono!
Y la ropa, ¡qué pasada! Lleva un sombrero de estos de ala ancha que le da un aire misterioso a la cara, un chaleco ajustado y unos pantalones que juraría que tienen bordados dorados superfinos. Hasta la pistola de juguete que lleva en la funda, todo, todo, tiene ese mismo acabado como de metal.
Está ahí sentado, como si estuviera descansando o pensando en sus cosas, con una mano cerca de la boca, sujetando algo pequeño… no sé, ¿un caramelo?, ¿un cigarrillo? Es un detallito muy humano en medio de esa quietud, como si fuera de piedra, ¿sabes? Hasta los zapatos, que también son de ese color cobre, los tiene apoyados en la caja de las propinas.
Es que es alucinante cómo con dedicación y pintura pueden hacer que una persona de carne y hueso parezca de bronce puro, una obra de arte que está viva, ahí, respirando y viendo pasar a la gente. Y al fondo, pues nada, la vida sigue: la gente que va y viene, los puestos de la calle… algunos ni se darán cuenta, o igual ya están más que acostumbrados a esta aparición tan mágica que rompe un poco con la rutina de la ciudad.
Lo que me hace sentir la Imagen
Buf, es que siento un respeto y una admiración… enormes, de verdad. Cuando veo una foto de estas, lo que me viene a la cabeza es…, ¡qué barbaridad de disciplina! La paciencia, la resistencia física que hace falta para este arte… Y no es solo la pintura, ¿eh? Es esa calma de piedra, ese aguante de estar horas y horas quieto, da igual si hace un sol de justicia, un frío de mil demonios o si está lloviendo a cántaros. Y encima, cómo interactúan con la gente, ¡tan sutil! Un parpadeo, una sonrisita casi invisible, o un gesto mínimo que rompe la magia, justo para dejarnos flipando.
Yo qué sé, para mí, hay una dignidad tremenda en esta forma de ganarse la vida. Es un curro de lo más honrado. Y oye, no solo embellecen las calles, sino que pillan por sorpresa al que pasa, se convierten en un verdadero imán para los turistas, reparten sonrisas y dejan a la gente con esa cara de… ¡wow! Porque, vamos a ver, estas estatuas vivientes no son meros adornos, ¡qué va! Son como cuentacuentos mudos, un pedacito del alma de la ciudad, los guardianes de la sorpresa y la imaginación en plena rutina. Y claro, luego te paras a pensar en todo el curro, la creatividad y el corazón que le echan, más allá de la pintura. Piensas en esa persona que, cuando acaba el día, se quita el maquillaje, el disfraz, y vuelve a ser un padre, una madre, un hijo… alguien que lleva a casa el pan ganado con tantísima paciencia y arte. Es que es para quitarse el sombrero, de verdad.
La Anécdota Detrás de Todo
A Don Miguel Ángel —y ojo, que le encantaba que lo llamaran así, como un pequeño homenaje al genio renacentista— no siempre se le conoció como el “Hombre de Cobre del Callejón de las Flores”. Qué va. Hubo un tiempo, no hace tanto, en que sus manos, esas que ahora dominaban la quietud más absoluta, se dedicaban a labrar la tierra allá en su pueblo, uno de esos que la sequía parece haber borrado del mapa. Pero ya se sabe cómo es la ciudad, siempre llena de promesas... Así que Miguel Ángel, con su mujer, Rosa, y sus dos críos, se plantó allí buscando empezar de cero.
Esto de ser estatua viviente, sabrán, es algo que viene de lejos. Piensa en esas representaciones antiguas, casi teatrales, o en los mimos que hacían reír a la gente en las plazas. En nuestros tiempos, volvió a pegar fuerte en las grandes ciudades, y ahí fue donde artistas como Miguel Ángel encontraron un hueco para mostrar su arte y, de paso, ganarse la vida. Él lo descubrió de pura casualidad, viendo a un chaval que imitaba a un soldadito de plomo. La idea le hizo clic. Se puso a investigar, a ensayar a solas en la intimidad de su cuartito, aprendiendo a controlar hasta el último músculo, acompasando la respiración.
Y así nació el “Vaquero Centenario”. Sombrero raído, revólver de atrezo… una estampa que se hizo familiar. Cada mañana, antes de que el sol pegara fuerte en las calles de adoquines, empezaba su ritual. La pintura cobriza, que se ponía con un cuidado que ni te imaginas, era más que maquillaje: era como si se vistiera de otro tiempo, ¿sabes?, le daba una dignidad especial. Se acomodaba en su viejo bidón de aceite, también pintado de cobre, y el mundo a su alrededor, sencillamente, desaparecía.
Al principio, claro, la gente lo miraba raro, pasaban de largo. Pero la curiosidad es poderosa, y no tardó en picar. Los niños, como siempre, eran los más valientes, se acercaban y dejaban caer sus monedas, haciendo ruido en la caja, esperando un gesto, un parpadeo. Y Miguel Ángel, con una delicadeza increíble, les regalaba ese pequeño momento de magia. Los turistas, cámara en ristre, no paraban de hacerle fotos, alucinados con la ilusión. Se volvió un fijo en el paisaje, de esos que hasta las guías de turismo empezaban a recomendar. “Tienen que ir a ver al Hombre de Cobre”, decían, “es como si el tiempo se parara a su lado”.
Lo que sacaba no era para tirar cohetes, pero oye, era dinero ganado con el sudor de su frente. De ahí salía para mantener a Rosa, para las medicinas de su suegra, que ya estaba mayorcita, y para que a los críos no les faltaran cuadernos y lápices. Ellos soñaban alto, uno quería ser médico; la otra, maestra. Cada moneda era como un aplauso callado, un gracias por su arte, por su aguante.
Claro que había días, al quitarse la pintura y sentir el cansancio en la piel, que la nostalgia por su pueblo le apretaba un poco. Pero entonces sacaba la cartera, miraba las fotos de los suyos y se le dibujaba una sonrisa. Porque su arte, ese que adornaba la ciudad, también estaba construyendo un futuro para ellos. Esa figura de “bronce” era más que una estatua: era el símbolo de no rendirse nunca, la prueba de que se puede salir adelante y encontrar belleza (y el sustento) donde menos te lo esperas, llevando el pan a casa y un poquito de arte a las calles. Moneda a moneda, sonrisa a sonrisa. Y así, el Vaquero Centenario seguiría allí, en su callejón, como un guardián callado de los sueños de su familia y de la magia de su ciudad.
Cómo participar, aún estás a tiempo…
Una imagen vale más que mil palabras
Portada de la iniciativa.
CRÉDITOS:
Imagen tomada de la iniciativa, cortesía de PIXABAY
🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆
Dedicado a todos aquellos que contribuyen, día a día, a hacer de este planeta un mundo mejor.
Centenary Cowboy
What I see beyond the image
Look at him, I'm delighting in seeing a street artist... it's incredible how he has been transformed, as if the magic of art and a bit of illusion had turned him into a breathing sculpture. It's like he's bathed in a copper-coloured glow, and everything matches, the metal drum he uses as a pedestal and the little coin box at his feet, all in the same tone!
And the clothes, how cool! He's wearing one of those wide-brimmed hats that gives his face a mysterious air, a tight-fitting waistcoat and trousers that I swear are embroidered with superfine gold embroidery. Even the toy gun in his holster, everything, everything, has that same metal-like finish.
He's just sitting there, like he's resting or minding his own business, with one hand near his mouth, holding something small... I don't know, a candy, a cigarette? It's a very human detail in the middle of that stillness, as if he were made of stone, you know? Even his shoes, which are also that copper colour, are resting on the tip box.
It's amazing how, with dedication and paint, they can make a person of flesh and blood look like pure bronze, a work of art that is alive, there, breathing and watching people pass by. And in the background, well, life goes on: people coming and going, street stalls... some won't even notice, or maybe they are already more than used to this magical apparition that breaks with the routine of the city.
What the Image Makes Me Feel
Wow, I feel such respect and admiration... enormous, I really do. When I see a photo like this, what comes to my mind is... what a tremendous discipline! The patience, the physical endurance needed for this art... And it's not just the painting, eh? It's that stony calm, that endurance of being still for hours on end, no matter if it's a blazing sun, freezing cold or pouring with rain. And on top of that, how they interact with people, so subtle! A blink of an eye, an almost invisible smile, or the slightest gesture that breaks the magic, just to blow our minds.
What do I know, for me, there is a tremendous dignity in this way of making a living. It's a most honest job. And hey, not only do they beautify the streets, but they take passers-by by by surprise, become a real magnet for tourists, give out smiles and leave people with that face of... wow! Because, let's see, these living statues are not mere ornaments, no way! They are like silent storytellers, a little piece of the soul of the city, the guardians of surprise and imagination in the midst of routine. And then, of course, you stop to think about all the work, creativity and heart they put into them, beyond the painting. You think about that person who, at the end of the day, takes off their make-up, their costume, and goes back to being a father, a mother, a son... someone who brings home the bread earned with so much patience and art. It's really something to take your hat off to, really.
The Anecdote Behind It All
Don Miguel Ángel - and mind you, he loved to be called that, as a small tribute to the Renaissance genius - was not always known as the ‘Copper Man of the Alley of Flowers’. No way. There was a time, not so long ago, when his hands, those that now dominated the most absolute stillness, were dedicated to tilling the land back in his village, one of those that the drought seems to have wiped off the map. But you know what the city is like, always full of promises... So Miguel Ángel, with his wife, Rosa, and their two children, settled there looking for a fresh start.
This living statue thing, you know, is something that goes back a long way. Think of those old, almost theatrical performances, or the mimes who made people laugh in the squares. In our times, it made a comeback in the big cities, and that's where artists like Miguel Ángel found a niche to show their art and, incidentally, make a living. He discovered it purely by chance, seeing a young boy imitating a tin soldier. The idea clicked for him. He began to investigate, to rehearse alone in the intimacy of his little room, learning to control every last muscle, rhythmically breathing.
And so the ‘Centennial Cowboy’ was born. Shabby hat, revolver as a prop... a familiar sight. Every morning, before the sun beat down on the cobblestone streets, he would begin his ritual. The copper paint, which he put on with a care that you can't even imagine, was more than make-up: it was as if he was dressing from another time, you know, it gave him a special dignity. He would sit in his old oil drum, also painted copper, and the world around him would simply disappear.
At first, of course, people looked at him strangely, they passed him by. But curiosity is powerful, and it didn't take long for them to bite. The children, as always, were the bravest, they approached and dropped their coins, making noise in the box, waiting for a gesture, a flicker. And Michelangelo, with incredible delicacy, gave them that little moment of magic. The tourists, camera in hand, kept taking pictures of him, amazed by the illusion. He became a fixture in the landscape, one of those that even the tourist guides began to recommend. ‘You have to go and see the Copper Man’, they said, ‘it's as if time stood still next to him’.
What he earned was not much, but hey, it was money earned by the sweat of his brow. It was enough to support Rosa, to pay for her mother-in-law's medicines, who was getting on in years, and to keep the children's notebooks and pencils. They dreamed big, one wanted to be a doctor, the other a teacher. Each coin was like a silent applause, a thank you for their art, for their endurance.
Of course, there were days, as she took off the paint and felt the tiredness on her skin, when the nostalgia for her village would get the better of her. But then he would take out his wallet, look at the photos of his people and smile. Because his art, that which adorned the city, was also building a future for them. That ‘bronze’ figure was more than a statue: it was the symbol of never giving up, the proof that you can get ahead and find beauty (and sustenance) where you least expect it, bringing bread home and a little bit of art to the streets. Coin for coin, smile for smile. And so, the Centennial Cowboy would remain there, in his alley, as a silent guardian of his family's dreams and the magic of his city.
Come ɑnd pɑɾticipɑte becɑuse γou still hɑve, time…
A Pictuɾe Is Woɾth A Thousɑnd Woɾds
Cover of the initiative.
CREDITS:
Image taken from the initiative, courtesy of PIXABAY
🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆
I am dedicated to all those who contribute daily to make our planet ɑ a better world.
Cómo participar, aún estás a tiempo…
Una imagen vale más que mil palabras
Portada de la iniciativa.
CRÉDITOS:
Imagen tomada de la iniciativa, cortesía de PIXABAY
Dedicado a todos aquellos que contribuyen, día a día, a hacer de este planeta un mundo mejor.
Centenary Cowboy
What I see beyond the image
Look at him, I'm delighting in seeing a street artist... it's incredible how he has been transformed, as if the magic of art and a bit of illusion had turned him into a breathing sculpture. It's like he's bathed in a copper-coloured glow, and everything matches, the metal drum he uses as a pedestal and the little coin box at his feet, all in the same tone!
And the clothes, how cool! He's wearing one of those wide-brimmed hats that gives his face a mysterious air, a tight-fitting waistcoat and trousers that I swear are embroidered with superfine gold embroidery. Even the toy gun in his holster, everything, everything, has that same metal-like finish.
He's just sitting there, like he's resting or minding his own business, with one hand near his mouth, holding something small... I don't know, a candy, a cigarette? It's a very human detail in the middle of that stillness, as if he were made of stone, you know? Even his shoes, which are also that copper colour, are resting on the tip box.
It's amazing how, with dedication and paint, they can make a person of flesh and blood look like pure bronze, a work of art that is alive, there, breathing and watching people pass by. And in the background, well, life goes on: people coming and going, street stalls... some won't even notice, or maybe they are already more than used to this magical apparition that breaks with the routine of the city.
What the Image Makes Me Feel
Wow, I feel such respect and admiration... enormous, I really do. When I see a photo like this, what comes to my mind is... what a tremendous discipline! The patience, the physical endurance needed for this art... And it's not just the painting, eh? It's that stony calm, that endurance of being still for hours on end, no matter if it's a blazing sun, freezing cold or pouring with rain. And on top of that, how they interact with people, so subtle! A blink of an eye, an almost invisible smile, or the slightest gesture that breaks the magic, just to blow our minds.
What do I know, for me, there is a tremendous dignity in this way of making a living. It's a most honest job. And hey, not only do they beautify the streets, but they take passers-by by by surprise, become a real magnet for tourists, give out smiles and leave people with that face of... wow! Because, let's see, these living statues are not mere ornaments, no way! They are like silent storytellers, a little piece of the soul of the city, the guardians of surprise and imagination in the midst of routine. And then, of course, you stop to think about all the work, creativity and heart they put into them, beyond the painting. You think about that person who, at the end of the day, takes off their make-up, their costume, and goes back to being a father, a mother, a son... someone who brings home the bread earned with so much patience and art. It's really something to take your hat off to, really.
The Anecdote Behind It All
Don Miguel Ángel - and mind you, he loved to be called that, as a small tribute to the Renaissance genius - was not always known as the ‘Copper Man of the Alley of Flowers’. No way. There was a time, not so long ago, when his hands, those that now dominated the most absolute stillness, were dedicated to tilling the land back in his village, one of those that the drought seems to have wiped off the map. But you know what the city is like, always full of promises... So Miguel Ángel, with his wife, Rosa, and their two children, settled there looking for a fresh start.
This living statue thing, you know, is something that goes back a long way. Think of those old, almost theatrical performances, or the mimes who made people laugh in the squares. In our times, it made a comeback in the big cities, and that's where artists like Miguel Ángel found a niche to show their art and, incidentally, make a living. He discovered it purely by chance, seeing a young boy imitating a tin soldier. The idea clicked for him. He began to investigate, to rehearse alone in the intimacy of his little room, learning to control every last muscle, rhythmically breathing.
And so the ‘Centennial Cowboy’ was born. Shabby hat, revolver as a prop... a familiar sight. Every morning, before the sun beat down on the cobblestone streets, he would begin his ritual. The copper paint, which he put on with a care that you can't even imagine, was more than make-up: it was as if he was dressing from another time, you know, it gave him a special dignity. He would sit in his old oil drum, also painted copper, and the world around him would simply disappear.
At first, of course, people looked at him strangely, they passed him by. But curiosity is powerful, and it didn't take long for them to bite. The children, as always, were the bravest, they approached and dropped their coins, making noise in the box, waiting for a gesture, a flicker. And Michelangelo, with incredible delicacy, gave them that little moment of magic. The tourists, camera in hand, kept taking pictures of him, amazed by the illusion. He became a fixture in the landscape, one of those that even the tourist guides began to recommend. ‘You have to go and see the Copper Man’, they said, ‘it's as if time stood still next to him’.
What he earned was not much, but hey, it was money earned by the sweat of his brow. It was enough to support Rosa, to pay for her mother-in-law's medicines, who was getting on in years, and to keep the children's notebooks and pencils. They dreamed big, one wanted to be a doctor, the other a teacher. Each coin was like a silent applause, a thank you for their art, for their endurance.
Of course, there were days, as she took off the paint and felt the tiredness on her skin, when the nostalgia for her village would get the better of her. But then he would take out his wallet, look at the photos of his people and smile. Because his art, that which adorned the city, was also building a future for them. That ‘bronze’ figure was more than a statue: it was the symbol of never giving up, the proof that you can get ahead and find beauty (and sustenance) where you least expect it, bringing bread home and a little bit of art to the streets. Coin for coin, smile for smile. And so, the Centennial Cowboy would remain there, in his alley, as a silent guardian of his family's dreams and the magic of his city.
Come ɑnd pɑɾticipɑte becɑuse γou still hɑve, time…
A Pictuɾe Is Woɾth A Thousɑnd Woɾds
Cover of the initiative.
CREDITS:
Image taken from the initiative, courtesy of PIXABAY
🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆
I am dedicated to all those who contribute daily to make our planet ɑ a better world.
Dedicado a todos aquellos que contribuyen, día a día, a hacer de este planeta un mundo mejor.
Centenary Cowboy
What I see beyond the image
Look at him, I'm delighting in seeing a street artist... it's incredible how he has been transformed, as if the magic of art and a bit of illusion had turned him into a breathing sculpture. It's like he's bathed in a copper-coloured glow, and everything matches, the metal drum he uses as a pedestal and the little coin box at his feet, all in the same tone!
And the clothes, how cool! He's wearing one of those wide-brimmed hats that gives his face a mysterious air, a tight-fitting waistcoat and trousers that I swear are embroidered with superfine gold embroidery. Even the toy gun in his holster, everything, everything, has that same metal-like finish.
He's just sitting there, like he's resting or minding his own business, with one hand near his mouth, holding something small... I don't know, a candy, a cigarette? It's a very human detail in the middle of that stillness, as if he were made of stone, you know? Even his shoes, which are also that copper colour, are resting on the tip box.
It's amazing how, with dedication and paint, they can make a person of flesh and blood look like pure bronze, a work of art that is alive, there, breathing and watching people pass by. And in the background, well, life goes on: people coming and going, street stalls... some won't even notice, or maybe they are already more than used to this magical apparition that breaks with the routine of the city.
What the Image Makes Me Feel
Wow, I feel such respect and admiration... enormous, I really do. When I see a photo like this, what comes to my mind is... what a tremendous discipline! The patience, the physical endurance needed for this art... And it's not just the painting, eh? It's that stony calm, that endurance of being still for hours on end, no matter if it's a blazing sun, freezing cold or pouring with rain. And on top of that, how they interact with people, so subtle! A blink of an eye, an almost invisible smile, or the slightest gesture that breaks the magic, just to blow our minds.
What do I know, for me, there is a tremendous dignity in this way of making a living. It's a most honest job. And hey, not only do they beautify the streets, but they take passers-by by by surprise, become a real magnet for tourists, give out smiles and leave people with that face of... wow! Because, let's see, these living statues are not mere ornaments, no way! They are like silent storytellers, a little piece of the soul of the city, the guardians of surprise and imagination in the midst of routine. And then, of course, you stop to think about all the work, creativity and heart they put into them, beyond the painting. You think about that person who, at the end of the day, takes off their make-up, their costume, and goes back to being a father, a mother, a son... someone who brings home the bread earned with so much patience and art. It's really something to take your hat off to, really.
The Anecdote Behind It All
Don Miguel Ángel - and mind you, he loved to be called that, as a small tribute to the Renaissance genius - was not always known as the ‘Copper Man of the Alley of Flowers’. No way. There was a time, not so long ago, when his hands, those that now dominated the most absolute stillness, were dedicated to tilling the land back in his village, one of those that the drought seems to have wiped off the map. But you know what the city is like, always full of promises... So Miguel Ángel, with his wife, Rosa, and their two children, settled there looking for a fresh start.
This living statue thing, you know, is something that goes back a long way. Think of those old, almost theatrical performances, or the mimes who made people laugh in the squares. In our times, it made a comeback in the big cities, and that's where artists like Miguel Ángel found a niche to show their art and, incidentally, make a living. He discovered it purely by chance, seeing a young boy imitating a tin soldier. The idea clicked for him. He began to investigate, to rehearse alone in the intimacy of his little room, learning to control every last muscle, rhythmically breathing.
And so the ‘Centennial Cowboy’ was born. Shabby hat, revolver as a prop... a familiar sight. Every morning, before the sun beat down on the cobblestone streets, he would begin his ritual. The copper paint, which he put on with a care that you can't even imagine, was more than make-up: it was as if he was dressing from another time, you know, it gave him a special dignity. He would sit in his old oil drum, also painted copper, and the world around him would simply disappear.
At first, of course, people looked at him strangely, they passed him by. But curiosity is powerful, and it didn't take long for them to bite. The children, as always, were the bravest, they approached and dropped their coins, making noise in the box, waiting for a gesture, a flicker. And Michelangelo, with incredible delicacy, gave them that little moment of magic. The tourists, camera in hand, kept taking pictures of him, amazed by the illusion. He became a fixture in the landscape, one of those that even the tourist guides began to recommend. ‘You have to go and see the Copper Man’, they said, ‘it's as if time stood still next to him’.
What he earned was not much, but hey, it was money earned by the sweat of his brow. It was enough to support Rosa, to pay for her mother-in-law's medicines, who was getting on in years, and to keep the children's notebooks and pencils. They dreamed big, one wanted to be a doctor, the other a teacher. Each coin was like a silent applause, a thank you for their art, for their endurance.
Of course, there were days, as she took off the paint and felt the tiredness on her skin, when the nostalgia for her village would get the better of her. But then he would take out his wallet, look at the photos of his people and smile. Because his art, that which adorned the city, was also building a future for them. That ‘bronze’ figure was more than a statue: it was the symbol of never giving up, the proof that you can get ahead and find beauty (and sustenance) where you least expect it, bringing bread home and a little bit of art to the streets. Coin for coin, smile for smile. And so, the Centennial Cowboy would remain there, in his alley, as a silent guardian of his family's dreams and the magic of his city.
Come ɑnd pɑɾticipɑte becɑuse γou still hɑve, time…
A Pictuɾe Is Woɾth A Thousɑnd Woɾds
Cover of the initiative.
CREDITS:
Image taken from the initiative, courtesy of PIXABAY
🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆
I am dedicated to all those who contribute daily to make our planet ɑ a better world.
Come ɑnd pɑɾticipɑte becɑuse γou still hɑve, time…
A Pictuɾe Is Woɾth A Thousɑnd Woɾds
Cover of the initiative.
CREDITS:
Image taken from the initiative, courtesy of PIXABAY
I am dedicated to all those who contribute daily to make our planet ɑ a better world.