I met actress Martha Proenza in the early 1990s. I found her every night in the largest recording studio of the CMKO in Holguín, whose upholstered doors she crossed, already converted into a witch, laughing out loud while flying on a broomstick and leaving phrases for the children and young people who watched her curiously.
By then, he had discreetly witnessed her transformation process: Martica arrived at the radio station with a bag on her shoulder, moving with her head-down rhythm that hid her self-absorption. He greeted those who were in the hall and he plunged into the hallway to reach a locker placed at the foot of the sound library door.
When she returned to where we used to wait on some soft furniture for the rehearsal and recording schedule, she did so with a script in her hand and not being entirely herself; Because due to the papers written with carbon paper before her eyes, and just by reading the first confusingly printed speech bubbles, she transformed into that witch called Brujolda.
The character had been created and written for her by my first literary creation teacher, the sweet and unforgettable Ana Irma Sanz. Ana Irma knew Martica for who knows how long, and Martica breathed such verisimilitude into the character that hardly any other actress could bring out such an essence.
For many children who came there with the hope of becoming actors or radio producers, Martica was deep down Brujolda herself. There was something of mystery in his existence; The angel of madness and sullenness pursued her.
The actress had that character, that elusive personality, that hard look with which she struck us down so many times when one of those present came to bother her before reaching her complete transfiguration.
Brujolda also ended up cooking with the ingredient added by other people; for example, Miguel Gutiérrez Guetón, the director of the dramatized Festival of Colorswhere the actress gave life to the character that Ana Irma had imagined. Sometimes, Guetón would correct her and tell her: “No, Martica, not like that, repeat that sandwich.” And she followed his advice.
Many children passed by there, and many of us grew up observing the work of Martha Proenza, who, regarding her death last Saturday in Holguín, it has been remembered that she was born in March 1952 and that she began in radio in the early sixties, through which she worked in radio plays, adventures, serials and radio soap operas.
She was an actress in the dramatic programming of Telerebelde, when it was broadcast from Santiago de Cuba. He was part of casts of soap operas and adventures.
In the theater he debuted with the group Antígona and later joined the Teatro Guiñol of Holguín. According to the note, she was involved since 1981 and became assistant director and member of the technical-artistic council.
One sometimes does not give the importance that people who coincide with one’s life deserve; Everyone leaves us some teaching, and Martica will have left us hers. At least once I took a photo of her with the troubadour Gerardo Alfonso, to whom at the intersection of Frexes and Maceo, in the city of Holguín, I showed a text written by her. I searched for the image in my files for days, until I found it.
I also remembered one of the many anecdotes that filled the recording breaks of that children’s program. It has to do with the days when Martica was an actress for television. He played a character and in a certain scene that was broadcast live he had to shout: Murderers, murderers! Martica, on the other hand, shouted: Avocados, avocados! He never knew why, but it is the things that happen in front of the cameras and microphones that become part of the legend.
Sometimes I ran into Martha Proenza on the streets of Holguín, where she greeted me with great affection. He used to talk to me about the times we had been on the radio together. He would also show me a poem or bring up any other topic that I now regret not remembering; It would have been nice.
