What's happened in the last two years: start playing and eventually have to take the game seriously?

Yeah, that's it. I've been working in theater all my life, for eight years. But two years ago, I decided that I wanted to do something else, that I wanted to challenge myself, because I was very comfortable at the ikastola theater school, and I signed up at the TAE [Donostia Performing Arts Workshop]. The course began in October and in November I was called to do Supertxope.

Is it too much to say that Supertxope has changed your life?

Yes [laughter]. No, it's changed me. My life has changed because I was suddenly in a situation I had not foreseen, everyone wanted to know about me… The truth is that at that time I had a double life.

What did people think, which was really Supertxope?

Yes, the character was true. In fact, it's a very good compliment, because that means that things were done right, that it was credible, and the messages have been very positive ...

But?

With Supertxopera I went on to create expectations, which people believed and thought that was my humor, full of references, and I have another style.

I've seen you act, but above all I've seen you do humor. Would you also like to do away with it?

I would like to do everything. The drama is also very nice, has other nuances, has another rhythm and is very interesting. Humor is something else.

Do you feel particularly comfortable in humor?

I feel more comfortable in the drama. Yes, because I identify more with the characters, they're more universal feelings: we all know what sadness is, we all know what those complex feelings are, and humor is very personal, and it's also targeted at a very concrete audience.

To whom?

Women.

There are a lot of people.

Half of the people.

And why them?

Because I'm a woman.

But not all women will be like you…

No, you are right. But for once, so that we too are protagonists and to give us our perspective. At the same time, I do not give the perspective of all women, I give my own.

When did you do your first monologue?

Sardiñerrian [at the feast of the Brotherhood of Sardiñeras of Donostia]. Two years ago. The urine revolution.

I would say there's a milestone: stop making characters and start doing monologues from yours.

I squeezed my head a bit. It was something I had never done: to speak from me. At the Sardiñeron meeting, we mentioned that we wanted to hold a gala, to see who was willing to introduce it, and they told me if I would be encouraged to do a monologue. I said: Why not? I was clear that I wanted to talk about urine.

Why?

Because I think it's a good example to explain how society stands in my opinion: that male-female distinction, that public-private distinction, and also that body domination. I think it's a very visual thing, what we've all done, and it's also a situation that in our theory of public spaces is given to us in those egalitarian and feminist spaces.

And what was the monologue like?

It was very good, very nice. I was very nervous and scared, because it was the first time I had said something I had produced in my name. If you have that support with the character: the character says it, not you. After all, monologues are also a way of interpreting, because I can be here one way and suddenly rise on stage and change to the energy I want, but it's true that I spoke in my name. People felt very identified. They had a good time, they laughed, and that's the goal in itself, although I'm learning that it's not the main goal. In addition, it served to raise a debate. One said to me: “I’ve struggled to put more toilet, and now you’ve given me arguments.” Through humor, things get easier.

What exactly did he criticize?

On the one hand, the number. This year things have changed, but at that time men had four places to urinate. And then I criticized, above all, the separation between the public and the private. Also to urinate on the street – I know it is not appropriate – but also to do so on the street, we, as women, cannot show our body, because it is provocation or because we have been told that we should be careful not to hurt ourselves, because we are more cut. It's not just a matter of number, it's a matter of subordination.

In recent times, a monologue has aroused a great expectation: Nanette by Hannah Gadsby. Did you not see it? What did you think?

Wonderful.

What did you like?

Everything. He. Its wave. And, of course, what it says. At the beginning of his monologue, he says he'll leave the mood, and that makes you think a lot of things. I don't think you have to leave the mood, but in the name of humor you don't have to split things up, you can use humor to make a very hard criticism. And Gadsby does. It distributes wood, but you learn a lot, it's very good. I was stunned. I've seen it ten times.

As a fat and lesbian, Gadsby says he has laughed at himself to be able to speak later.

Since I saw it, I have often thought about what I do, especially in the monologues of my body. After seeing Nanette, I changed my monologue's ending to my body. I'm changing. In the end, humor also has its hegemony, and few make critical humor. But it may be a strategy to wake me up: I start laughing at myself, and then laughing. I accept laughs from me, but let us not forget the reality. Maybe, behind the laughter, I have a trauma.

Should humor not be a way to reassure the public, but a way to make the public uncomfortable?

Sometimes, when we laugh, we seem to forget reality, we create a utopian world, everything is OK, we're all talking on the same level, but it's not. When I leave this, I go back to my life and have not solved my problem. So I found this Hannah Gadsby so inspiring. Maybe people have to feel uncomfortable sometimes, like I feel uncomfortable. That’s how they’ll understand it and empathize with what we feel, whether it’s a woman, a mouthful, a fat… As Gadsby says, that’s not neutral. Your monologue has served me to reflect more on myself and ask me: What do I really mean? What do I do, for people to laugh, or do I want to make real criticism? What is my goal? From this point of view, I have reconsidered monologues. Maybe he'll keep saying the same thing for the time being, but the intention is different.

Isn't it laughing anymore?

Yes, that too, because through laughter you connect with people, and I would have liked to hear a monologue about obesity when I was younger. That way I would realize I wasn't alone or I felt I wasn't that weird. And they're uncomfortable issues.

Why? Maybe because they're calling us into question?

Of course. Non-stop. Now I've become a little critical of obesity and I remind people: watch out for what you're saying. A friend of mine, a skinny person, told me that I had bothered her and told her that my goal was not to feel uncomfortable because I was thin, but simply to make my reality understood. If it makes you feel uncomfortable, maybe it's because we reproduce that situation with the words we use today, it can be blackness or a lot of other realities. For example, if we, being white, probably hear the life of a black or migrant person, we'll feel uncomfortable, because it puts us in question. But at the same time, it's very positive.

Now we're going to kill. She works as a nurse. Why did you choose it?

I have not yet been able to answer that. 18 years and the need to make a decision… The race was in Donostia, there are reasons of this kind. Now maybe I wouldn't choose it, or maybe I would. It is true that nursing has taught me a lot. When I was young I always said I was never going to work in a hospital and now I'm here. The return of life.

If I had to do a monologue about nursing, what would I highlight?

[Pause]. It is a very nice job, but at the same time very exhausting, because working with people is very exhausting. Furthermore, these people are in a very sensitive situation, we have to understand it.

If I did a monologue for the nurses, I would get the black humor. Very black. Why? We have to laugh because we live in very harsh situations and we do not have time to download them. If not, I don't know, I would refer to that strange hierarchical relationship between doctors and nurses, in which the doctor is God and the nurse his slave [laughter].

Nursing takes care of itself in the same name, and I think there are more women than men in it… Would you also mention that in the monologue?

Yes, it's always OK to introduce the gender perspective. Moreover, in our case, there is a close relationship between women and care: if we are not good nurses, we are not good. All the time, they tell me that my job is the calling. Well, no. I've learned my work. I don't say anything for myself, because if you work with people, you have to put it, but I work because I get paid. There is something like this, like a pebble... Well, no. It's true that these are very close, very personal relationships, but you learn. As soon as the race began, they told me: empathy is learned. Preparation. Some of them have them naturally, but you can work. We're women, but we can be bad caregivers, it's not instinctive. I have learned to do my job and over the years I have learned to manage situations. I'm a mess in my life with custody. My sister is better caregiver than I am and has not studied nursing.

We will return to what is calling. You've finished your theatrical training. How are you?

Happy. It was a very good ending, we set up a two-hour play. I've learned a lot, especially from myself. There was a professor who had specially broken me and needed to break. And now what?

That's it. Now what?

I was in the feminist youth camps doing a monologue, and that's why I've already received a few calls. I think I'm going to pull some things out of it. I don't consider myself a monologue, but why not? I'm learning a lot. Then, I'd like to get into the world of theater, into the traditional theater. A character, a text. That is also the challenge. Let's see what comes out. In the meantime, I will stay in the hospital. That's theater.