Dear friends of the island's culture,
I am always amazed at how much Lanzarote pushes us to our limits, how it tears away our masks, exposes and awakens us. I experience here not only a place that shows ‘edge’ on its coast, for example, with clear boundaries of elements and colours, but also one that, in its lack of a centre, of enveloping vegetation that could hold us humans, challenges us to hold ourselves upright in a special strength between earth and sky. And that with our feet on soil that is particularly fiery. Upheaval from the earth's interior, in many parts of the island, appears rugged, hard and completely unworked by water, wind and light. Let alone by human hands. ‘Malpaís’, bad land, is what they call this here. Because first and foremost, it is land that cannot be ploughed or simply built on. Even walking on malpaís becomes difficult or impossible.
But there... a natural cave opens up in it. A burst gas bubble, cooled, formed in stone, providing natural wind and sun protection. And as you get closer, you realise that people must have used this place some time ago. People once expanded the protective barrier of the natural lava cave, deliberately laying stone on stone to close the wall that nature had conceived. Old, large Lapas (limpets) or shell remains bear witness to human contact. So do old potsherds from bowls and jugs, fired on an open fire, as is still traditionally done.
And the thought occurs to me. Yes, something like this can also be found where Cesar Manrique went along with the landscape in an architectural and artistic way, making it accessible to people and refining it. Greening it.
Could this also be one of the tasks of humans on the island? Namely, to create a middle space that serves people, earth and sky? To soften crassness through connection and enclosure...
With best regards,
Mikaela Nowak



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