Surrealism comes from the reality of Latin America.
Interpretation
Surrealism in art is deeply rooted in the unique cultural and social realities of Latin America.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez suggests that surrealism, a movement characterized by bizarre, dream-like imagery, is not merely a disconnection from reality but is instead born from the rich and often surreal experiences of life in Latin America. This implies that the complexities and contradictions of Latin American reality give rise to an artistic movement that captures its essence more profoundly than traditional realism.
In practice
During a gallery opening, one might say, 'As Garcia Marquez noted, surrealism is a reflection of the wonders of Latin American reality.'
He said that people who loved [animals] to excess were capable of the worst cruelties toward human beings. He said that dogs were not loyal but servile, that cats were opportunists and traitors, that peacocks were heralds of death, that macaws were simply decorative annoyances, that rabbits fomented greed, that monkeys carried the fever of lust, and that roosters were damned because they had been complicit in the three denials of Christ.
Amputees suffer pains, cramps, itches in the leg that is no longer there. That is how she felt without him, feeling his presence where he no longer was.
She had the revelation one Sunday that while the other instruments played for everyone the violen played for her alone .
He sank into the rocking chair, the same one in which Rebecca had sat during the early days of the house to give embroidery lessons, and in which Amaranta had played Chinese checkers with Colonel Gerineldo Marquez, and in which Amarana Ursula had sewn the tiny clothing for the child, and in that flash of lucidity he became aware that he was unable to bear in his soul the crushing weight of so much past.
Nobody deserves your tears, but whoever deserves them will not make you cry.
Both described at the same time how it was always March there and always Monday, and then they understood that José Arcadio Buendía was not as crazy as the family said, but that he was the only one who had enough lucidity to sense the truth of the fact that time also stumbled and had accidents and could therefore splinter and leave an eternalized fragment in a room.
Hot weather opens the skull of a city, exposing its white brain, and its heart of nerves, which sizzle like the wires inside a lightbulb. And there exudes a sour extra-human smell that makes the very stone seem flesh-alive, webbed and pulsing.
The honors Hollywood has for the writer are as dubious as tissue-paper cuff links.
With any part you play, there is a certain amount of yourself in it. There has to be, otherwise it's just not acting. It's lying.
If I've done my work well, I vanish completely from the scene. I believe it is invasive of the work when you know too much about the writer.
A day in which I don't write leaves a taste of ashes.
Recounting the strange is like telling one's dreams: one can communicate the events of a dream, but not the emotional content, the way that a dream can colour one's entire day.
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