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Entre los pintores latinoamericanos más exitosos, la forma de Sandra Beraha se compara con impresionistas anteriores, pero su uso de medios creativos, que incluyen tinta, pastel, acrílicos, lana, harina, madera, vidrio y especias la distingue. Sandra, quien comenzó su carrera como artista a los cuatro años, es una poeta publicada y líder en el campo de las artes visuales. Un punto culminante de su carrera, “Maravilloso Ecuador” (Ecuador maravilloso), una colección de más de 700 pinturas, muestra la belleza natural de su hogar durante tiempos de incertidumbre política. Los críticos han señalado: “Desde su regreso a Quito inició uno de los viajes más difíciles, el de elegir entre una de las múltiples fases de su personalidad creativa…” Sus colecciones más recientes combinan su pasión por la pintura con la fotografía digital. Las obras de Sandra se han presentado en América del Norte y del Sur.
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Among the most successful Latin American painters, Sandra Beraha’s form draws comparison to earlier impressionists, but her use of creative media, including ink, pastel, acrylics, wool, flour, wood, glass and spices sets her apart . Sandra, who began her career as an artist at age four, is a published poet and leader in the field of visual arts. A highlight of her career, “Marvilloso Ecuador” (Marvelous Ecuador) a collection of over 700 paintings, showcases the natural beauty of her home during politically uncertain times. Critics have noted, “Since her return to Quito she started one of the most difficult journeys –that of choosing among one of the multiple phases of her creative personality…” Her most recent collections combine her passion for painting with digital photography. Sandra’s works has been featured in both North and South America.
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El arte de Sandra Beraja/ The Art of Sandra Beraja
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La poesía de Sandra Beraja/ The Poetry of Sandra Beraja
EL OLVIDO Olvidé leer, Olvido de olvidar, Aquel olvido, así como nunca estar Olvidaré. FORGETTING I forgot to read, I forgot to forget. That forgetting, thus like never being. I will forget. EL PASADO ¿Qué decir ya del pasado? Lo que es. Parte del tiempo que parte, parte. THE PAST Why still speak of the past? What is. A part of time that departs, departs. LA DISCULPA La disculpa es la culpa de ser, Se mantiene en culpa por la disculpa. THE EXCUSE The excuse is the fault of being One affirms guilt by the excuse. ________________________________________________ THE BATTLE I have fought battles to reach your heart, With mine naked to the storms. Defeated I am by your thoughts. So strong they are, They buried my heart under the stones That I placed in your yard. There is where I lay, Under the leaves that feel, Under the snow that came. Si tu amor fuera para siempre, Viviría eternamente En el aliento que respiras. Es allí donde yo siento Respirando tu aliento. Es el amor Donde te encuentro, Como si sudara a borbotones Las insensatez de la exageración, Una producción al por mayor de ilusiones y desilusión Correteando el cansancio Me arrastro hacia la luz de mis errores. Dispuesta a vivir a pesar de mí misma, Dispuesta a descansar en los brazos del riesgo de ser/ imperfecta, Me preparo a dormir en mi propia soledad. Una vez más desnuda Ante la falta de razón Sudando a borbotones Las ganas de compresión. Nada tengo ya que decir Y quisiera saber si lo que he dicho de algo ha servido. ¿Será que llegaré a silencio, O que el silencio ha llegado a mí? What am I thinking about. Recuerdo más que pienso, Porque no sé si recordar Es pensar. Los extremos desbordados deformados exagerados huyen los sensatos ___________________________________ THE BATTLE I have fought battles to reach your heart, With mine naked to the storms. Defeated I am by your thoughts. So strong they are, They buried my heart under the stones That I placed in your yard. There is where I lay, Under the leaves that feel, Under the snow that came. If your love was forever I would live eternally In the breath your breath, It is there where I feel Breathing your breath. The craziness of exaggeration. It is love Where I meet you, As if I was sweating at the boiling point. A wholesale production of illusions and disillusion Chasing weariness I drag myself toward the light of my errors. Ready to live in spite of myself, Ready to rest in the arms of the risk of being imperfect. I prepare to live in my own solitude. Once more naked Before the lack of reason Sweating at a boil The desire for understanding. And I would like to know if what I have said has had/an effect. Will it be that I arrive at silence Or that the silence has arrived to me. I recognized them, didn’t I without knowing who they are I don’t have anything left to say, What am I thinking about. I remember more than I think, Because I don’t know it remembering Is thinking. I always return home. I always take off my clothes I have wanted to live with you more I have wanted to love you. He querido. I rarely go anywhere And much further. I would like to know what I feel. Perhaps that may be because I feel nothing that I don’t/ know that I feel. I wish to believe what I tell myself And I tell myself things not to believe in. The story continues without knowing what I feel. I have spent so much time with me and with my stories, That now what do I tell myself? The extremes exceeded deformed exaggerated flee the sensible. _________________________________________________________
