sink into this wild never-ending daylight;
breathlessly run, always expecting to stumble upon a wolf or a fox. A fairy, if only.
dance in the clearing or run after fireflies among the bushes, crazy for love;
never forget the transit of a fallen star;
while the morning moon is crumbling down,
stopping her futile wandering
to shape to my feeling, eventually.
Happy Valentine’s Day.
Short trip among the golden, yellow, orange and brown nuance of the larches in the magic Occitan land: Val Maira (Cottian Alps), Italy.
Great weekend by B&B Lou Bià, Val Maira, CN Italy
August 15 is a both a religious holiday and a perfect excuse to party.
Shots by me.
Psychro, Krete (Greece), 2014
At dinner, we discussed the Italian nineteen century,
lives and values in precarious equilibrium
between conservatism and progressivism.
I hang around with smart people.
This morning, in a bar in the suburbs, I recognized
the impetuous emotional alterations of an avant-garde
fin de siècle.
#13
A windy morning, a piece of paper
is fluttering about
I’ll catch it.
Lying on the love altar,
I offer myself to the enchantment of pain
poor, fated, unheard.
So Fellinian.. baroque enough to let
any adverb changing the whole: I’ll go for happily,
somewhere before lying or offer, or later, to frustrate the triad.
Some kind of failure drove him crazy, I guess.
A movie, a flop, the eleventh line:
I’m an awful lover, but still love better than you.
God, take the voice away of him. The plot is weak.
The Maestro had a clear base of judgment: boredom.
Well, keep that feeling for yourself! He would have shouted.
As far as I’m concerned,
I’ll hold you off!
Zero viewers.
# 12
… something that made me think of “Sakura”.
Happy Easter Holidays.
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.
Italy, Adriatic Sea – line, light and colors.
Shots by GGRuff
The pencil tip slides softly, a few rapid marks produce
light and vivid figures. Still unfinished but ready to leave, they hustle, bow, wriggle, climb the thin air, leap over the canvas limit and flee.
Voiceless, shadowless and furious
I guess.
Whatever I say comes from these signs,
physiognomies which get larger and closer; they catch my hands, plumb my depths and tell me not to rack my brains about that absurd theme of the double, the being and non-being, the void and the fullness, who cares?
And yet,
I suspect these thin and flexible stripes – unpredictable like water – have found a shelter somewhere.
As if, they and a few other species had found anywhere near a decent habitat and learnt how to carry on in this unstable and exasperate era.
To impose order in this irrational world, I blanketed my artwork, but in the room
visitors kept turning around it, intrigued. Later, three collectors battled against each other to win whatever was concealed from view.
“There’s a lot of money around and hope for the future” the auction house owner was
totally convinced.
#10
This shadowy and labyrinthine town has swallowed the entire human consortium, I said.
It sounds like a chorus spinning around a unique emotional state. Voices and cries overfilling the streets, rolling down at dawn and returning upstream at twilight
with a load of bitterness, pain
and courage.
A few days after the new dock opening ceremony, a large ship entered and two girls got off.
I noticed them because I’ve been trafficking with numbers, mostly
strings of two units at a time that I combine, pile up or split in grids to contrast their power,
(with the automorphic numbers, I almost touched the abstraction)
Then, because I feel lonely in this life made of non-empty sets.
They looked good: wide eyes, open mouths, tiny bodies and a nicety at any cost that made it all so genuine and fresh. Of that day, that signed the apex of my communication skill to the human gender, I keep a photo. My nose is asymmetric. Look.
I never realized that.
I can’t stop thinking of it.
I’m a grown-up – even now -, bent on my numbers and framed by the artificial light, like a chorister in an orthodox church, a goldsmith in his father workshop or an alchemist, carefully stirring the Leonardo’s bistre.
My lovers have hung their clothes here and there. They swing spontaneously, nodding at me, dissenting at me, making fun of me, of my doggedly returning to these
refuge assets.
# 9
The right mood 