Shirin Neshat

Shirin Neshat

Ululations

THE AURAL DIMENSION IN SHIRIN NESHAT´S VIDEO INSTALLATIONS

AUBREY REEVES

Transcrito al español por Muz de Rauli

En Turbulent Shirin Neshat (1998), dos pantallas se proyectan opuestas entre sí en una habitación. Una proyección está en el escenario de un teatro en frente de una audiencia de hombres, Jalal al-Din Rumi canta con mucha intensidad una canción de amor que es un poema del místico del siglo 13, para oyentes que no entienden la lengua persa que fácilmente podría confundirse con una canción pop. Frente a él, en la otra pantalla una mujer con velo (Sussan Deyhim) espera en las sombras. Cuando termina la mujer da un paso adelante, mientras que para uno su pasión era la tradición, para la otra un individualismo rebelde. Ella también está en el mismo teatro, pero está vacío. Ella canta una canción sin palabras, consiste en que los aullidos del pulso se llenen con un antiguo poder.

Las obras de arte de Shirin Neshat son exámenes metafóricos de las condiciones políticas de su país natal, Irán. Sus cuentos simbólicos y espirituales profundamente se proyectan con imágenes sensuales, coreografía y música. A menudo, los sexos están separados en dos pantallas diferentes para crear un diálogo tenso de las diferencias. Los gestos y sonidos que tratan de llegar a través de la pantalla dividida dramatizan la dificultad de comunicación entre los géneros. La mayor parte de la discusión de la obra de Neshat ha pasado por alto el importante uso de la voz como instrumento de expresión. Música y canto como un universal y emocional-idioma conceden a la audiencia la entrada en muchos de los complejos problemas que aborda.

El desarrollo de una relación entre el sonido y la imagen en las películas y videos de Neshat son un proceso de colaboración con los compositores. Neshat ha trabajado con la vocalista/compositora Sussan Deyhim en la mayoría de sus películas. Ambas nacieron en Irán, pero han vivido como expatriados en los EE.UU. Se conocieron hace 17 años y han colaborado durante los últimos 7 años. Irán de hoy es un país muy diferente de la que ambos vivieron poco antes de la revolución islámica en 1979, y la experiencia compartida de ser extraños a su patria subyace el proceso de trabajo de colaboración. Como Neery Melkonian ha escrito, ambas viven en el estado de in-between “, donde una nueva comprensión de las relaciones entre los constructos tales como patria/guestland extranjero y / nativas dejan de ser posible”.

Neshat abandonó Irán en 1979 para estudiar arte en los Estados Unidos. Diez años más tarde, una visita a Irán la inspiró para empezar a explorar las experiencias de las mujeres bajo el dominio religioso en su arte. Ella irrumpió en la escena artística en 1993 con una serie de fotografías provocativas de ella llevando el chador y posando con armas. Sobre estas imágenes se inscribe la poesía de las mujeres iraníes y los textos religiosos que argumentan en contra, así como defender el velo. Con ella misma como modelo permitió que el proceso artístico se convirtiera en un acto de meditación sobre los símbolos de Irán moderno. 

Deyhim nació en Teherán en una familia aristocrática que era muy progresista. Comenzó como bailarina del Ballet Nacional de Pars. Ella ganó una beca para MUDRA, Escuela Maurice Béjart of Performing Arts, y posteriormente se realizó con el Ballet Béjart del siglo XX en Bruselas. Finalmente se instaló en Nueva York y comenzó a experimentar más con vocalización. Creciendo había estado expuesta a una gran variedad de tradiciones musicales de la India, Egipto, Afganistán, Arabia Saudita y las ceremonias de trance del sur de Irán, este último tiene un efecto especialmente profundo para Neshat. Deyhim le ha enseñado a ver que “el arte y el chamanismo están conectados.” Cantar es utilizado por Deyhim como una fuerza de adhesión a la meditación espiritual y física, una condición ejemplificada en las narraciones de Neshat.

Aullidos, gritos y jadeos respiraciones todos remolino febril en un desafío a la ley musulmana chiíta que las mujeres no deben cantar en público. En turbulento, la canción sin palabras de la mujer no necesita traducción para ser entendido por los oyentes de cualquier fondo. Deyhim trasciende las restricciones impuestas a su expresión, ella definitivamente agarra el micrófono mientras la cámara gira a su alrededor en un torbellino extático.

El expresionismo complejo de ulular puede ser visto como una metáfora de enfoque Neshat y Deyhim a la voz de sus colaboraciones. Aunque las mujeres en las películas no hablan, están lejos de ser silenciosas. Son capaces de traducir una amplia gama de emociones con ulular,  un grito desgarrador cantada sólo por las mujeres a través de una ondulación de la lengua. En la tradición árabe que se escucha en las celebraciones como una manifestación de exuberancia la música religiosa a menudo se canta en el clímax de una actuación cuando los músicos han llegado a un fervor extático. En la tradición persa adquiere tonos más lúgubres. Los funerales se caracterizan por sus ecos tristes, y con una ventaja añadida de ira también puede ser una reprimenda desdeñosa.

El sufismo hace hincapié en una unidad inmediata y personal con el alma de Dios. Deyhim quería aprovechar esa tradición en sus composiciones para Neshat. “He tratado de evocar y vivir la vibración, porque creo que la vibración es la esencia del camino sufí de viajar en el tiempo, en el espacio cósmico, que trasciende todos los demás parámetros. “ii

Esta vibración se encuentra a menudo en la poesía de Rumi. En turbulento se utiliza para simbolizar la tradición y la civilización, sino en Pulso (2001) del místico poesía es cantada por una mujer en la intimidad de su casa para un fin completamente diferente. En la película de 16 mm, una grabación de un poema de Rumi se juega en una radio y lo transporta a una mujer (actor Shohreh Aghdashloo sincronización de labios para cantar Deyhim) a un lugar libre de restricciones, un eco de la experiencia trascendente de los místicos sufíes.

Divino amor, un concepto matizado en el sufismo, se retrata a menudo en el lenguaje sensual y extática en la poesía de Rumi y los derviches son transportados a alturas extáticas en su meditación. Su poesía está inspirada en la Orden Mevlevi de Derviches en el siglo 13, y todavía realiza el mismo ritual girando con la música hipnótica en el sur de Irán. En Pulso, una mujer soltera está paralizada en sus movimientos, en otras películas este movimiento se extiende a grupos enteros que actúan como hipnotizados. Las bandas de las mujeres se mueven en formas como en trance y repetitivo siempre al unísono, mientras que los grupos de hombres que realizan movimientos más rígidos, tales como caminar en líneas.

Neshat crea un ambiente muy cargado de erotismo, pero con el más sutil de los gestos, debido a su sentido del tabú internalizado. Neshat explica que la chispa de la sexualidad también puede ser una sutil resistencia y la trascendencia. “He tratado de crear un cuerpo de trabajo que se ocupa del tipo de sexualidad franca que ocurre cuando todo está tan controlado. De vez en cuando ocurre algo en la forma más intangible que genera este tipo de electricidad. “La actriz casi parece estar haciendo el amor con la radio. Su canto permite un momento de la sexualidad sin protección que se destaca por el ritmo del latido del corazón de la música de Deyhim. La cámara se acerca y por fuera tras esa cadencia. El espectador se encuentra muy íntimamente con la actriz, en un voyeur que comparte su fantasía”.

A diferencia de la mayoría de sus obras en las que la música y la imagen se desarrollan en un proceso creativo integrado, Neshat hizo una película en 2001 como un texto visual. El compositor iba a ser el prolífico Philip Glass, que ha marcado numerosas películas, incluyendo Koyaanisqatsi de Godfrey Reggio, Kundun de Martin Scorsese y Stephen Daldry Las horas. Considerada una de las principales figuras del minimalismo, sus composiciones se caracterizan por “pasajes repetitivos, que hacen perder el sentido del tiempo.” Su narrativa musical se desarrolla libremente, a menudo en arpegios cíclicos que combinan armónica y rítmica idioma en la misma estructura. En 1997 Glass compuso la música para una ópera de animación en 3D dirigida por Robert Wilson que utiliza 114 poemas de Rumi en la traducción de Inglés como el libreto, así que estaba familiarizado con una de las principales inspiraciones de Neshat.

Pasaje (2001) fue el resultado de esta colaboración entre Neshat y Cristal. La película presenta un eterno ciclo de nacimiento y muerte, en el que un grupo de mujeres cava una tumba a mano desnuda, aferrándose a terrones de tierra. Un grupo de hombres viaja en un cortejo fúnebre, llevando un manto blanco. Parten de la costa a través de las colinas del desierto. Los recortes de la cámara nunca muestra juntos a hombres y mujeres hasta la escena final. Una vez más Neshat hace hincapié en la alienación entre los sexos, incluso cuando la película es sólo una proyección única. Una niña pequeña, vestida de blanco, juega solo por la construcción de un montículo circular de rocas lejos de los adultos. Está claro que la muerte había sido una tragedia y toda la comunidad está de luto por la pérdida, pero de diferentes maneras: los hombres con determinación rígida y las mujeres con ritual instintivo.

El único sonido que se pronunció en la película es cuando las mujeres vocalizan su dolor en ulular. Su llanto es como una herida fresca, pero también es una catarsis de curación. Un camino de fuego se enciende alrededor de los adultos y conduce fuera de la pantalla. El fuego envuelve a los hombres y mujeres que los unen por primera vez en el dolor. Incluso en la más desconsolada Neshat presenta la posibilidad de la esperanza y el renacimiento. En todos sus proyectos, Neshat y sus colaboradores musicales parece estar haciéndose eco de las palabras de Rumi: “A partir de este mundo de separación / unión a un mundo más allá de los mundos!” V

 

i. Sussan Deyhim Biography, (official Sussan Deyhim web-site: http://www.sussandeyhim.com, February 14, 2003).

ii. Richard Di Santo, To Evoke and Live the Vibration: in conversation with Sussan Deyhim (web-site: http://www.incursion.org/features/deyhim.html, October 28, 2001)

iii. Marine Van Hoof, Shirin Neshat: veils in the wind (Artpress, no. 279, May 2002), 39.

iv. Bryan Reesman, Philip Glass (Mix: http://mixonline.com/ar/audio_philip_glass/index.htm April 1, 2002) web version.

v. Jalal al-Din Rumi, Look! This is Love: Poems of Rumi, translated by Annemarie Schimmel (Boston / London: Shambhala, 1991) 76.

El pase de diapositivas requiere JavaScript.

 

 

Interview Shirin Neshat

Thoughts in Exile

by Pradeep Dalal

Internationally-acclaimed photographer, filmmaker, and video artist Shirin Neshat has been interpreting boundaries in Islam—boundaries between men and women, between sacred and profane, between reality and magic realism—through her work for many years. She came to New York to study art, but the Islamic Revolution in Iran in 1979 made it impossible for Neshat to return for over eleven years. Returning to Iran in 1990 after the death of Ayatollah Khomeini, Neshat found that the Iran of her childhood was smothered under a layer of conservative, fundamentalist Islamic tradition. Feeling that she had something to say, Neshat came back to New York and began working on a series of extraordinary photographs and video installations through which she explored her relationship with Islam and Iran. In particular, she is known for a unique and stirring visual discourse on the place and identity of women in Iran, and on the complex relationship between genders in Islam.

Neshat’s, biculturalism allows her to see the story “from both sides of the wall,” so to speak, and lends an authenticity to her portrayal. This sense of dual perspectives is enhanced by Neshat’s use of dual projections: by projecting images on opposing walls, the viewer finds himself standing in the middle of a visual conversation, and feels the impact of the opposing tensions in the narrative far more intimately than he would otherwise. No wonder viewers at exhibitions find themselves transfixed in front of the emotional intensity of Neshat’s sequences and the political questions they raise about Islam, modernity, and women. Her videos, beautiful in their imagery and dance-like choreography, are accompanied by haunting original musical scores by frequent collaborator Philip Glass. Neshat is the winner of many awards, including most recently the Infinity Award for Visual Art from the International Center for Photography in New York and the First International Prize at the 48th Venice Biennale. Her films include the trilogy—Turbulent (1998), Rapture (1999), and Fervor (2000); and Soliloquy (1999), Passage (2001), and Tooba (2003). Neshat is currently working on a feature length film called Women Without Men.

What is the current project you are working on?

I have been working on a feature-length film for the past two and a half years, Women Without Men. It is based on a book by the Iranian novelist Shahrnush Parsipur known for her outspoken portrayal of the treatment of Iranian women. The book was banned in Iran, and Parsipur was imprisoned for five years. She now lives in exile in the US. The book is an allegory of life for contemporary Iranian women, and touches on issues such as politics, philosophy and feminism—themes that I wanted to blend together in my work. The film should be released by the end of 2005 or early 2006.

 

So do you begin each project with a feeling or an idea?

We always start with a clear concept. Even though the concept gets stronger and sharper as we film and edit, we never compromise the main premise of the original idea.

 

What is the time span for your projects? For example, your earlier projects were done one per year.

It is amazing how long it takes to make a ten-minute installation. Editing a film of that length can take up to four months. And sometimes, we spend a number of months just scouting a location. The music for the film is always original, which also means that it takes time to compose it. In essence, the process of making a short film is very much like a cinematic production except that it is presented finally as a video installation.

You have lived in New York for a long time. Is there a sense of belonging, or do you see yourself as world citizen?

New York is a great city but ultimately, I do not belong a hundred percent to New York, nor do I belong a hundred percent to my homeland. If I go to Iran, I will feel like an outcast, and this sense of hesitation, disappointment and doubt is a feeling I will have for the rest of my life. It is not my idea to live in exile. I don’t romanticize it. It is a bit of a punishment but I try and use it to my advantage.

In Soliloquy, the viewer sees two scenes projected on walls on either side of him. A woman moves through old Arabic architecture on one screen and through a New York borough on the other. The two screens juxtapose different worlds—modern and traditional. What was your motivation for making that film?

When I made Soliloquy, I was traveling back and forth from Iran. At that time I was interested in exploring the conflict between the individual and the collective, and the isolation that one feels in the modern world.

In Tooba, it seems you moved beyond issues of personal displacement to addresses larger political issues such as the notion of immigration to the metaphorical garden of paradise. What caused this shift in narrative and focus?

After 2001, I could not go back to Iran so I began to explore more existential questions in my life. I wanted to address global issues in my work, to move beyond the individual to a more universal level. I used to feel invaded every day when I walked down the street, fearful of being threatened or attacked. So I used a poetic visual language in Tooba to convey these deeply personal and yet universal feelings that people were feeling after 2001.

 

There is a wonderful sense of texture—in the lines on the face of the Mexican-Indian woman in Tooba or the opening scenes of Passage with the rocky landscape—does this have anything to do with your childhood in Iran?

My tendency has always been to find landscapes that are spare and minimalist—like the desert. In Tooba, I found an amazing relationship between the wrinkles on the woman’s face and the landscape of the paradise garden. Landscape is very important to me. I am not sure how I can rationalize it but if I have to choose a landscape, it will inevitably be a desert.

 

In your installations there is a sense of geometry, of spatial meaning. Could you describe the craft of making your films?

We usually start with a storyboard. For example, in Tooba, we had a clear plan to connect the woman to the crowd of men, despite the wall separating the two. The architecture of the wall becomes very important as a boundary between her and the crowd as the men approach. I wanted to reiterate the act of aggression. I loved the idea of the black figures surrounding the wall, seen both from the inside and the outside, forcing the viewers to see both. I was paying attention to the choreography of the imagery and its relationship to the architecture of the wall. I really loved the geometry of it.

In your work, do you explore situations that are outside of you or are the concerns more internal and personal?

A little of both. In the film Women Without Men (and the other films I have made) the characters—all women dealing with madness—are not images of myself. But the women in my work are often also outcasts—they are continuously running away. And in that sense, they are very close to me. I realized that there must be something about me that deeply identifies with them. I don’t know, perhaps my sense of isolation and being an outcast from my own country.

Your films have a kind of tempered pacing. They are almost meditative.

When you make a film that is so reliant on the imagery, you need to give the viewer time to digest the images. My films are not about action. I am always acutely aware of the audience. I like to start slow and then very consciously take the film to the climax. So you’ll see that something really dramatic happens in the middle or at the end. I believe that in a short film, you can only have one climax.

 

As your work has become more renowned, do you find that expectations have also increased? Is that something you are conscious of when producing new work?

My projects are not strategic but simply what I feel most strongly about. Every time you change, you may be taking a lot of risk. I know what is ultimately important to creativity is my own anxiety and vulnerability as a human being. For example, I have made my name as an installation artist and photographer, but my new venture is a film—a genre with which my name is not associated. It could end up being a disaster, but I am willing to take the risk, since I am fascinated by the characters and the story. And the experience of working and writing with Shahrnush Parsipur has taken me psychologically to new place as an artist.

 

 

 

Interview Shirin Neshat in Paris

by Nina Zivancevic

 

Shirin Neshat is one of the leading contemporary artists in the world. She was born in 1957 in Iran. In 1974 she moved to the United States where studied art at the University of Berkeley. The Islamic revolution led by the Ayatollah Khomeiny had introduced many changes into the Persian society which fell under the yoke of the Fundamentalists. All the liberties were restricted, the moral rigour was imposed and the condition of women worsened. It was only in 1990 that Shirin Neshat was able to return to her native ground- what really shocked there was the dramatic evolution of the situation of women. A recipient of many international awards, she began a series of photos called Unveiling in 1993. For these self-portraits, she wore the chador and exposed only body parts (eyes, hands, feet) which women are allowed to reveal in public according to the Islamic Law. Neshat wrote on the surfaces of the photographs, covering the exposed parts of the female bodies with Farsi script. Soonafter, in 1997 she began her video creations while continuing with her photography. Primarily inspired by the great Persian tradition and culture, Neshat shows the foresmost interest for the universal approach to concepts of society, identity, asylum, refuge and utopia.

In her recent work which we were lucky to see at “Jerome Denoirmont” gallery in Paris this past spring, Neshat took a more cinematographic approach to her work – the bold metaphorical imagery of her early films and videos has given way to a more narrative approach bringing in the current dialectics of the binary oppositions such as man/woman, east/west, and oppressor/oppressed. Her recent work has drawn its inspiration from Women Without Men, a novel by the Iranian author Shahrnush Parsipur which describes the lives of 5 Iranian women who lived through the history of the CIA’s regime in Iran, supported by the Pahlavi royal family. Through the exploit of the themes which she had already explored in photography and video, Neshat gave us her reinterpretation of the Parsipur’s novel in a double-sided project which encompases cinema and art. There is a feature film, shot in Morocco, due to be released in 2008 along with 5 videos depicting the lives of these five women during the summer of 1953. As her name in Persian means “sweet” and cultured, we were not surprised to find her answers open and responsive to the media while interviewing her at Gallery Denoirmont in Paris last spring.

Question: Shirin, are you a feminist, in the largest sense of that word?

Yes and No. Yes, because I’ve devoted my entire body of work to the subjects relating to women. I believe in the female power in emotional, intellectual and biological terms. No, because I’ve always fallen shy of claiming to be ‘feminist’ because at least in my culture, it has a very concrete meaning, seemingly someone who is involved in an organized movement, something that I don’t belong to and have no interest in.

 

Question: What idea made you create 5 videos dealing with Persian women such as Mahdokht, Zarin, Munis and Faezeh?

When I began to re-adapt the novel of “Women Without Men” written by Iranian author Shahrnush Parsipur, into a feature length film, which essentially evolved around 5 female characters; I knew that I would develop an art component of this project. I quickly became interested in making a series of short videos that related to each one of the five female characters. I was very interested in how in a museum or gallery setting the audience could walk from room to room, visiting each women and at the end, they could put the story together. The audience in a way becomes the editor of the film, in the way that they could put the puzzle together. This approach indeed was very different than a film made for a theatre setting where the audience is quite passive seated and the narrative is linear. So at the end I managed to make the five installations and have just finished the feature too.

Question: You left your original country a long time ago. How do you relate to the images of these women now, when the Persian reality is so far away from you. How do you connect?

This film of course takes place in 1953 before I was born, so it does not directly reflect the life that I experienced in Iran. But of course each woman in one way or another symbolically embodies obsessions, issues and problems that has continued to this date to haunt Iranian women, whether stemming from religion, political reality, sexual taboos.

Question: What made you draw, make photography, create art in your life to begin with? Do you remember your earliest stages of interest?

Art has been a wonderful escape from the banality of everyday life and more so a way to find a meaningful engagement with life and people around me. My life since active as an artist has been an exciting one, not always easy but wonderfully full and adventurous. Also, for me making art is a way to face my own emotions and anxieties. I consider my first serious attempt in art began in 1993 with the “Women of Allah” series, a group of work that brought me back to my home country, if not geographically, spiritually and emotionally.

Question: I almost called you “female Jean Luc Godard”…What draws you towards film and video as medium, and – do you prefer that medium to painting, sculpture ? And if yes, why so?

I’m very touched by what you say! Of course I don’t believe I deserve it! I developed a love affair with the moving image back in 1993, with my first video attempt for a small gallery show at Franklin Furnace. There is strong potential of poetics in this medium that I don’t believe is as tangible through mediums of painting and sculpture. At least I found myself right at home with video and film.

Question: What are its advantages and what are the limitations of these media (such as video, film) for you?

For one thing with film and video, an artist can incorporate elements of photography, painting and sculpture by the way she or he visually constructs the picture. More so, with film one can be a story teller, and can experiment with music, sound, choreography, performance, and more. As for myself, making videos and films have become an incredibly challenging and ambitious creative experiences. The limitations are that the process is often tedious and complex as it takes a lot of preparation and organization, so it’s not as spontaneous as medium like painting, where you can simply pick up your brush and paint. Furthermore, once you begin to experiment with the language of cinema, one has no choice but to gain the tools, by studying its tools, and history.

 

Question: How do you chose your subject and themes in your work? Do you search for them or they come to you?

It changes from time to time, but most often my ideas are inspired by literature that I read by various authors. Otherwise, there are times that I become obsessed with certain themes, often existential ones which eventually find their way into my art.

Question: Given the fact that your subject is often political (social commentary etc), Would you call yourself an “engagé”?

I am not sure exactly how you use this term, but if I understand it right, the question is how engaged I feel in relation to the socio- political subjects of my work. The answer would be that, I feel extremely connected to all the topics that I depict, as they are all topics that have and continue to effect my personal life. Sometimes I see myself as an activist, not the type who marches into the streets but one that is constantly preoccupied by political issues and is quietly confronting them by engaging in the community.

Question: A committed artist or just a human being who observes injustice? How do you see your work?

I see my art as a vehicle for dialogue and this is something I take very seriously. The subversive nature of my art is often my form of objection against any social and political injustice, in particular in relation to my own country. Of course, I can’t help but express myself not in the form of propaganda but in the form of poetry and aesthetic.

Question: What’s the situation like in the American contemporary art scene? Closed, open? How do you see your own place in it?

America is usually qualified as ‘melting pot’ so it’s the best place for a ‘nomadic’ artist like myself. I do however feel that I live in my own bubble in the way that I don’t follow any particular models, groups or trends. Also my subject matters (in a healthy matter) tend to pull me away from the what I consider the ‘glossy’ art world and closer to reality of everyday life.

Question: What’s your experience with the Iranian contemporary art scene? Are you familiar with it and are there any outstanding artists, in you view?

I’m very happy to say that I’m extremely active with the Iranian community particularly with the artists and filmmakers. I regularly try to educate myself in what’s going on culturally inside and outside of Iran and there are always fascinating talents around. Next week, a show will open at the Asia Society in New York that I’ve curated with another Iranian artist Nicky Nodjoumi. This is a very powerful show of an older Iranian artist, political satirist, Ardeshir Mohassess who was once a legend in Iran, but sadly neglected for decades due to illness. I take great pride in being involved with such magnificent event.

Question: You covered your recent photographs of men and women with letters, writing. What role does literature and writing in general have for you and your work?

Literature and words are suggestive of emotional and intellectual minds of the writers that deeply inspire me. Having been obsessed with Iranian female writers, in a way, I feel my visual work are embodiments of these ladies’ strong expressions. In earlier work for example I often used poetry by Forough Farokhzad, a heroic figure in Iran, a writer of enormous talent and imagination. Later, for the past five years for example, I’ve been devoting my time to the novel of “Women Without Men” by Shahrnush Parsipour whose imagination is equally extraordinary and beautiful. So literature for me is food for thought and inspiration.

Marioneta de Papel

Anuncios

2 comentarios en “Shirin Neshat

Responder

Introduce tus datos o haz clic en un icono para iniciar sesión:

Logo de WordPress.com

Estás comentando usando tu cuenta de WordPress.com. Cerrar sesión / Cambiar )

Imagen de Twitter

Estás comentando usando tu cuenta de Twitter. Cerrar sesión / Cambiar )

Foto de Facebook

Estás comentando usando tu cuenta de Facebook. Cerrar sesión / Cambiar )

Google+ photo

Estás comentando usando tu cuenta de Google+. Cerrar sesión / Cambiar )

Conectando a %s