L'enterrament

One day sitting on a terrace of the Plaza Mayor in Vic with my friend and frequent collaborator Enric Pladevall, I commented to him with that self-confidence that sometimes characterizes us Iberian people of these lands, “I think I’m going to bury myself, I’m going to put in the press an obituary announcing my burial following at all times the most conventional guidelines of this contemporary ritual” It was a “said and done”.

A few days later I was talking to the representative of the Fontcuberta funeral home in Vic, expressing my interest in celebrating the funeral ritual of my own person.

At that time of transition there was so much joy and creativity that everyone would say yes to everything, moreover, he was so amused by the idea, he did not want to charge me anything and made available to me all the paraphernalia, funeral car, driver, policemen, etc.. I only had to pay them for the wreaths, ostentatious and with their ribbons where it said once again: “Your friends who do not forget you”, “From your beloved relatives” …

This was truly an unforgettable performance.

Before closing the coffin, the attendants could pass by to say goodbye to the deceased.

Here I want to emphasize one of the great theatrical lessons that the undertakers gave me in this case. We had placed the coffin illuminated in its four corners by large candles and in a narrow room where a maximum of six or seven people could fit as they passed by.

When the attendants climbed the stairs to access the funeral, some acquaintances of mine made jokes once they found out that it was not true that I had died and that it was nothing more than a performance of Vidal.

As you can imagine this attitude could distort the pathos of the situation. ne of the undertakers quickly came out and told them: “Don’t make fun because if you show that you don’t believe in this game, he won’t believe it either”.

The intervention had been categorical, they remained mute and silent, and when they entered that small room and felt that perfect and professional staging of death, they could not avoid an indefinable chill.

Everything was so well staged that they could only take the fiction for real. Death and its theater were there, it didn’t matter if the lifeless body lying inside the coffin was breathing or not, the sensation was the same. The essence of L’ENTERRAMENT was palpable.

Once all the attendees had passed, they proceeded to close the coffin and lower it down the stairs (with me inside, of course) to introduce it into the funeral car. A friend, in Massana, said a few words with such aplomb that even I myself inside the coffin was moved.

The hood of the car closes and the funeral procession begins slowly allowing us to follow it as it passes. Here, curiously and following the car, the public was already more relaxed. They were even recovering from the game I had put them in and were going with a certain joy, some giving kisses and hugs, come on, all very happy.

Imagine what the passerby must have thought when he saw that orthodox procession but with so much happiness of those who had attended his burial.

Here there was a second performance or reading in which the public became an actor because those who watched from outside did not understand anything; either the dead man had left a lot of money to everyone or he had been a very bad person. And it is not over yet.

The instruction I had given to the driver before starting, was that after about 800 meters and when reaching an open field, he should imperceptibly accelerate so that they almost had to follow him half running and when he reached the open field, he should accelerate and everyone would be left without the dead.

When we returned to the funeral home with the car and they opened the box for me, we all laughed together with the undertakers. By the way, the funeral home asked me for the video of the performance to show it at a congress of undertakers.

You will understand that there are performances that are condemned to be, as they are called, a “one off”, one time and that’s enough. I would have lost some purity by pretending to present it as a cultural product because for me it was not. it was a burial and no more! You cannot turn exorcism into a cultural product.

After a few months I was driving to Sitges from Vic, committing the grave imprudence of transporting the methacrylate plate (for the DANSA PER UN MOMENT DE SILENCI) that weighed more than 100 kilos leaning on the front and rear backrests of the car.

I did not think how easy it would have been for my possible detractors if after a braking that latent guillotine had broken my body and they would have said: “You see, what happens to him for making a joke with death! I don’t think it was a joke at all. Something very mysterious had remained latent in all of us who participated in that event.