A dreamer dreams she never dies, 2021
Text for the exhibition ‘Champagne Supernova’ by Gala Knörr in Galería T20
We still want to believe. Even when knowing the truth is out there, still we want to believe. Not from a place of naivety, but from a place of hope, of excitement, of hope, of faith. Surely, Gala and I were at the same spot when we were getting high. Ours was the generation for whom everything seemed to be possible. Grandchildren to the Spanish transition to democracy, educated under the motto of ‘hard work pays off’. It was this way until we were surprised, suddenly and without warning, by the financial crisis of 2008, the subprime crisis. At that moment, we were still teenagers for whom everything had changed radically. It was as if reality slapped us. Or in better words, it was as if suddenly that lie in which we had lived unknowingly in all those years had ended. That false idea of security of our century, thoroughly divulged by media, faded away.
Britney, Lindsay, Paris and Richie were some of the popular celebrities of our generation. They represented triumph. What we did not know was that, each of them in their own way, embodied the rawness of that idea of dream and prosperity so terribly American. Our myths also lived through difficult times. It was difficult especially for women (and still is). I am not sure if they believed they wanted or they wanted to believe. What we know is what came afterwards: paparazzi, persecutions and public mockery. Still today Britney struggles to own her future, and persona, meanwhile Lindsay occupies the top ten rankings of failure. Paris and Richie, switched The Simple Life and ––surely –– drugs for a life dedicated to charities and philanthropy away from the spotlight. However those stories ended even if they were the protagonists of infamous spectacles, even if Britney had broken a car’s window with an umbrella, even if the Gallagher brothers had been between a kiss and court or Robbie Williams had appeared toothless after a fight at Glastonbury 1995; they continued to be part of us, part of our history. They were caught beneath the landslide. Yet, we still have a certain attachment and affection for them. Perhaps it is because of what Fran Lebowitz said that we are enormously grateful to the music of our youth –– be it Oasis, Take That or Britney Spears, it doesn't matter–– for that implicit capacity that songs have to lead us to our emotions and memories. Especially when it's the magnified emotions and memories of our youth. Possibly it is because of that virtue of making us a little happier that musicians always enjoy that unconditional love. For being the protagonists of the few pleasures that aren’t double faced, that do not hurt us.
Both Gala and I –– and so many others of our generation–– projected our dreams in a teenage room, crammed with posters, idols and records. With pretty bad taste, by the way. There, we surely could find Britney, Robbie or Oasis - we were a little young for the New Kids on the Block. Perhaps it is because of that memory that we still want to believe: a dreamer dreams she never dies. Back then we didn't think our times sucked. And although we do think they do now, we continue to get excited when listening to Oasis. How many special people change? How many lives are livin’ strange? We continue –– somehow–– expectantly, we are eager for something to happen to us. Perhaps we still cling to life tooth and nail, refusing to have to choose between the ingratitude and violence of the American capitalist dream and disillusionment. Because we know that whatever we do, what we cannot afford, in any way, is to stare into space and lose hope. We still want to believe.
But you and I, we live and die, the world’s still spinning around, we don’t know why.
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Photography José Filemón
