Today, this project turns one. I won’t be celebrating it with the blind woman who walks her son to school every morning, or with the dad who reads stories aloud to his two kids in the back seat, or with the elegant woman —manager of a clothing shop in Les Corts neighborhood— who spends every ride on the phone, offloading her latest neuroses. But I wish I could.
I imagine a party onboard a bus making its way across the city, horn blaring non-stop —hey, imaginary Toni, you’d obviously be the driver— with loudspeakers wired to a mic so regulars could broadcast whatever’s on their mind to the world.
I don’t know about them, but I’ve grown attached to the H6. When I spot it passing at an odd hour, I smile like someone catching sight of a friend in a hurry. And when —like today— I see it pull up to the stop for the first time since getting back from vacation, I raise my arm in a gesture that’s half “I’d like to get on,” half “Believe it or not, I actually missed you.”
And to you all —I wave too. To the newcomers, the day-oners, and the just-passing-throughs. Sometimes daily life can feel like a bit much. And if these little texts have felt like a sip of cold water to you, the way they have for me, I couldn’t be more grateful.
A celebration of the life unfolding just outside the window —the kind that always ends up entangling itself in the projects bouncing around in my head.
Because to me, that’s exactly what they are: A celebration of the forced pause that comes with a forty-minute bus ride in a world addicted to immediacy. A celebration of the life unfolding just outside the window —the kind that always ends up entangling itself in the projects bouncing around in my head. And a celebration of the ups, downs, and stray thoughts about my profession, told in the shape of a personal log.
This idea was born when Victòria Morales —miss you, girl— and Bàrbara Astals —I’m convinced you’ve had the best summer of anyone alive— encouraged me to liven up the studio’s social media a bit. And me, being someone who’s always liked doing things a little differently —and who’d just heard a well-known writer say the best thing we non-writers who love writing can do is write about our own work— came back to the studio the next day with this idea under my arm.
Today, this project turns one. And me —365 days later— I’m still here.
Warm regards from H6 bus,
Ingrid
