As a child, Andrea Motis told her father that she wanted to read all the books in the world. Then the great reader in the family turned out to be her sister Carla. Be that as it may, those of the trumpeter and singer have a story. They are in a piece of furniture that she bought at the Mercantic, under the television, next to children's stories and a toy horse that she neighs and suddenly starts galloping. Her eldest son, Cel, has just turned three years old. The little one, Waldi, was born in August.
He bought this apartment just before the pandemic, and they moved in when the renovation was finished. He has not moved from the Sant Andreu neighborhood. When he became emancipated at the age of twenty, he lived above the Colombia bar, very close to his parents' house. There he spent six, and less time than here: he had a lot of plans and a long-distance relationship. Whenever he could, he traveled to Vienna to see his companion, the violinist Christoph Mallinger. On his return, he bought Flow magazine at the airport, with which he learned German; He keeps several underlined numbers. One day he saw the bar full of people, “a very nice atmosphere,” and he stayed to listen. A.G. Porta presented Wild and Suicidal Ants and bought it.
On the furniture are the small Waldi violin and Gemeinwohl-Ökonomie, by Christian Felber. Motis read it in Catalan and liked it so much that she immediately wanted to share it. He does not understand why the proposal is not more widespread, now that so many people are looking for solutions to confront capitalism. His goal is to have few things, and that's why he donates his books. Normally to the Cinètika, a cultural center in the old Lauren: “It's easier for me to part with them if I know they are available to people.”
As a teenager he was marked by The Clan of the Cave Bear, by Jeanne Marie Auel, and Ecotopia, by Ernest Callenbach, which he gives away whenever he can. Also inspiring were A.S.'s Summerhill. Neill, and the philosophy classes of Vicente Merlo – by whom he has several books –, professor at Oriol Martorell. Although perhaps it all started with Carlos Ruiz Zafón; He remembers reading it a lot when he was 11 years old, “I suppose it's a cliché and today I would find it a bit cheesy, but I liked that point between youth and adult literature.”
Now he is interested in more practical texts: L'hort del secon origen, by Jordi Puig, gives him hope because he promotes change from the roots. He bought it in Can Moragues, where he sponsored turtle number 99 rescued by the Emys Foundation. He has Fermentar, by Robert Ruiz, and he wants to find the moment to read Papilas y moleculas, by François Chartier. She met him through the director of the Barcelona International Jazz Festival, where she will present her album Febrero on the 24th, at the Palau de la Música.
And it was a concert that brought all the stories of Clarice Lispector into his hands. Sometimes she played at the Café Central in Madrid, and she stayed at the Fernández hostel, in the Literary neighborhood. One of her favorite bookstores is Sin Tarima, “very small, endearing,” and it occurred to her to invite the booksellers. Her music evoked Lispector for them, and the next day they gave it to her as a gift. She has little music, with some exceptions, such as Jazz Sounds on Death Row, by Albert Marquès, which Crítica sent her. And she recognizes that now she herself reads little, but her intention is to have a book in her hands when the children are in front of her to give them an example. The eldest loves to read, and they are regulars at La tribu, La Trabookaire and the children's area of the Can Fabra library, “very well thought out.”
In the bathroom there is a Bathroom Guest Book. While taking a jazz course at Stanford University, she found it on sale in a gift shop, and was amazed: “In Catalonia, a culture of eschatology, it would be a total success. How come no one has translated it? What is more Catalan than this?” He bought two. It is the jewel in the crown, he laughs, that evolves with the visits it receives. He says that, through social networks, small capsules of knowledge reach him, but that light bulb that turns on has faded after a few seconds: “Unlike books, you don't immerse yourself, you don't go deep.” It's what he misses the most.
