18Libro_Sinestesia_completo-final

ANTONI MUNTADAS
‘… Its waters have shaped the city with a to-ing and fro-ing that determines his life,
and with their smell, which impregnates everything …’ (from Protocolli Veneziani I)
Adam Fuss
The Subjectification and Attempted Rebellion of Smell: A Meditation on the Senses
Smell is a rather duplicitous subject which requires a great deal of consideration.
At a chemosensory level, sensations supply a living organism with universal
knowledge in a raw form. I am less interested in discussing sensations in their
raw form. Not because purity is unimportant, but because it does not contain the
romance of the human ego. Smell would not be duplicitous—or very interesting—
if it remained an immaculate conception that one’s experiences did not corrupt.
(…)
Smell tried to rebel from me not too long ago. It was an ordinarily mundane
day. I was adequately present. Smell appropriately aided my shoe from avoiding
a pile of dog shit on the sidewalk. A woman with a particular perfume passed
by. I was abruptly ripped from my current location into a sexual experience I
had more than 20 years ago? When I say ripped, I was literally tasting the flesh
of this individual in my mouth— feeling her sweat against me. Why that sexual
memory? Why that smell? Should I look this person up? Is my fate punching me in the nose?
Should I have followed the woman with the perfume? Should I have sex with her?
Smell rebelled for one split second and I was deeply suffering. You might have
had similar nostalgia being thrust upon you involuntarily.
(…)
In précis—I am everything that chemosensory interactions represent in their
purity and “I” am everything that corrupts their virginity. Smell was non-sense
until I came along and it will be non-sense again when I am gone.
Herbert Brandl
Green is the colour of nature: the green of endless meadows,
the green of dense forest, the green of hidden underwater worlds.
The scent of grass, pine, algae. Green smells supernatural.
Albert Oehlen
A scent of great importance for us appeared before me, perhaps it will come
back. One has to be brave to knock on the door. Who says you will not be
welcome with open arms? But nothing is confirmed. I want to insist, when an
iron and coffee angel blocks my nose. I wake up. The lady sitting next to me on
the park bench is still asleep.
Antonio Saura
Certainly, a springtime series, despite the obscure backgrounds. Delights or a
perfumed garden, where the scent of Jasmine and roses mix with the Proustian
aroma of printing ink.
152