Malta, where time has thousand shapes

Hurry up, we’re going back in time. Catch the very last flying horse, grab my hand and close your eyes. Take a breath and enjoy the change. We’re flying across the Mediterranean. The eyes are still closed but I guess you can feel the sun getting warmer, the air milder, the sea mumbling under your feet.

Where are we going? To Malta for the Mdina Medieval Festival (April 18th19th). I can’t wait to meeting elegant ladies, obscure alchemists, a fascinating falconer or busy artisans.

Photo taken from the Festival official website

For the next few days Mdina is an open air theatre: in every street, square and corner actors and performers play moments of a time that no longer exists but still seduces and attracts us.

I wonder why among the plenty ages that make our past, the Medieval time is the most represented? Is it for that chiaroscuro atmosphere – when the dark desperately fed the light of the day to come – or to exorcise the fear to look into the mirror and realize how similar we are, still hostages of skilled enchanters and persuasive bandits?

Photo taken by the website visitmalta.com
Photo taken by the website visitmalta.com

Maybe, we just like the colors, the drums,  the clothes, the armors, the shows, the lecturers and the parades. What I like the most is the typical poetic synthesis that makes of a few square meters workshop a world apart. I like the artisans with their fluid ability, the slow gesturing, their laconic way to wave the hand and say “whoever with some time and discipline cold do it”.

I also like when sounds, voices and perfumes mix up together and people coming from everywhere create an immense and mobile spiral that turns around itself, like an arabesque.

In this page of the time, torn and sewn together again with the thick wire of the bookbinder, we’ll be there too, in a typical Maltese stony workshop among our leather books, Medievalis journals, antique diaries, lapis, nibs and inks.

If you go to Mdina, we suggest to stop by

Andolfi Artisan Boutique

Mdina Gift Shop – St. Sophia Street

meet Roberto, take a break, taste a Maltese specialty or a small glass of local liquor.

Photos and workshop by “Andolfi Artisan Boutique”.

Good morning to those who

Big snow feb 2015   sink into this wild never-ending daylight;

Big snow feb 2015

breathlessly run, always expecting to stumble upon a wolf or a fox. A fairy, if only.

Big snow feb 2015

dance in the clearing or run after fireflies among the bushes, crazy for love;

Big snow feb 2015

never forget the transit of a fallen star;

Big snow feb 2015

while the morning moon is crumbling down,

Big snow feb 2015

stopping her futile wandering

 

Big snow feb 2015

to shape to my feeling, eventually.

 

Happy Valentine’s Day.

Fil rouge

A gentle roll-off. The moribund sea erodes the foundations. This town is exhausting.

Buildings float like slabs, chased by the winds;

the room is filled with dust and anxiety.

A voice is altering the stillness: bitter, sharp.

(Friendship among artists is frail, when based on aesthetic theories).

Sixty art pieces. And nothing. Neither a shelter nor a shrine, a prison, a nightmare, a hole in the ground to tell where the journey will end!

Light’s too yellow to argue like this, at the window

the sun is touching the sea, getting its temperature.

where the journey will end

The picture in the frame, a beach in Stromboli, heads on the sand. A tepid smile.

No, indeed. Not even here, but

I didn’t know we were lost.

Venice - Italy
Venice – Italy

# 11

Old style beach resorts

Italy, Adriatic Sea – beach resorts and old bathing establishment.

Shots by me

Just besides the famous and well-equipped beach resorts of Romagna, there’s an area that was once a cheap public holiday destination for children. This kind of holiday was government-funded and children were sent here for 1 or 2 months a year, depending on the economic conditions of their families. Unofficially it was known as “colony”. I also spent a couple of summers here, when I was 7, maybe 8. I keep a few tolerable memories of me playing on the beach, a certain chaos, my small white cap with ties, the labels with my name on stitched in each piece of clothing, the smell of the soup at midday, the sand in the flip-flops…

Now, it’s mostly in disuse, but some establishments have been renovated and keep on living under a religious management.