I was born one day in June in Bogota a land of love and pain. The hills surrounded my childhood. The smell of eucalyptus and fresh rain are my first memories. 

 

I was born where the American continent widens its hips and dances to the rhythm of birds, in a country that has on its lips a love song that conjures up the life and death that populate it.

 

A voice brought from its seas smashes songs in my ear. The arms of a morena woman cradle me. A mother dressed in green hope faces the uncertainty and, dressed in music, deals with the adversity. I start to catch a glimpse of the day, to speak the language that is inside me.  I begin my journey with a song … a song to my indomitable desire of a free woman…

 

Behind the window of the backyard of my life appears a face lost in shaving foam. A tenor throws Caruso up into the air, waking up the children of the house with a melodious voice to a sunny Sunday morning. Everything is fine, he sings to us. My dreams of a young father are not dead yet… love is still around…

I see the sofa in the living room. From there five passionate women sing a prayer in communion at night. They celebrate life with songs. The rug where every afternoon, when arriving from school, the books rest with their owners, is still there. My second sister is with me, soft and sweet. We close our eyes to the Concierto de Aranjuez… another downpour falls outside… Inside, in the fireplace burns, along with the music, the growing desire to understand the confusing world in which we inhabit.

Back in the yard, there is also my grandmother. Her green eyes look at me. She combs her long gray hair. She creates stories of spirits and goblins to the wavy rhythm of her hair … She sings millenary melodies. Music of the collective memory of my land. A land that has been dreaming of peace for so long.

 

I hear music in all my childhood corners … It is my traveling companion. It consoles me when I lose a toy, when a friend leaves, when the first love says goodbye and when I abandon my home. It fills my loneliness. It comforts and protects my agony. It guides my uncertain steps through the darkness of the night. I hear melodies that call me to sing to my joys, to my sorrows, to my battles, to my encounters with love and with my broken heart…

 

 

And I have the courage… the courage to burst out running, to stand on a stage to sing with my voice that comes out of the caverns of my body; I want to be the singing, I want to transmit in my voice a feeling without limits … I decide to be and to live in my voice… and I transform my lived experiences into it;  I share joys, I learn to sing in the streets of the stations of my life…

Moreover, I have the courage to be a mother. To lull a baby with my songs. To grow with him, to share his life and mine … and that of others in a hug.

Now I’m here, in Berlin wrapped in the desire that came from afar to the rhythms of the Tamboras… I’m here, in the autumn of my life, drawing the language of sound in songs that no wounded heart can stop… I am here now … present in these, my songs, who came out from the bottom of the Earth, from the depths of the oceans, from my belly, a whispering planet…

Música con Alma… Musik mit Seele… Music

Register to reserve your spot in upcoming events: