Invidual residences

MARTA CARNICERO

From Wednesday, 2 May 2018 to Friday, 25 May 2018

MARTA CARNICERO
Industrial Engineer and writer
Barcelona

Bio

Marta Carnicero is an Industrial Engineer who majored in Mechanics. She graduated with a Masters Degree in Literary Creation at the Universitat Pompeu Fabra and took part in the Word for Word Literary Translation Exchange (Columbia University/UPF). She is the author of El cel segons Google (La Magrana, 2016), which will be published in Spanish by Acantilado this Fall. The novel is also being translated into English thanks to a PEN/Heim Translation Fund grant.

She is currently working for the Department of Education at Generalitat de Catalunya and writing her second novel.

Project

Our memory is a mesmerizing object of research, since it is responsible for who we are and how we live as individuals. If we additionally consider the increasing importance new technologies have on society, the creation of a fiction that addresses these issues becomes extremely attractive to the novelist. With this project, Marta intends to reflect on the enduring impact of our memories and their effect on the way we live our lives. 

I’ve been waking up for too many days remembering the Faber window

I couldn’t resist moving the table; with the suitcases still in place, the receiver dragged it to the front of the window. The week I spent at the Faber I made a monastic life, with the curtains open, dazzled by the landscape. Accustomed to the asphalt, I could not believe the placidity of the silence when the sun warmed the terrace and invited me to open it from time to time. The little bit of cold that filled my camera rinsed away the tiredness of so many hours in front of the screen; between sentences I would get lost in the green until I discovered the flight of a bird, some moving figure. Experiencing the calm —I, who can’t be quiet— of connecting with nature without saying a word, with the earth crunching under my feet, cleared my mind.

I thought, I organized, I understood myself. I filled the glass with papers until the knots of what was written on it loosened; Sunday arrived. From one day to the next I had to return home to the routine. Now, a little bit of green I find on the streets almost looks like a toy to me.

I’ve been waking up for too many days remembering the Faber window.

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