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”.

Sunday afternoon

Sitting on the balcony, the book on my knees, the eyes closed. In the seventh chapter, Don DeLillo talks about the theory of time. He wonders what we could learn if only we’d drive the curiosity beyond the quantum, which is billion times smaller than the old Greek atom. I don’t know why but this made me think of a song that said something like this: “..mermaids chant was too low to obfuscate Ulysses’ shout which already blew through the sails”.

In the same hours, in Rome, a couple of living popes were canonizing a couple of dead popes.

We all are time travelers.. aren’t we? This took my thought to Folon’s men. They look steady but ready to go.

I think too much.

Folon permanent installation of art. Rose Garden, Florence - Italy
Folon permanent art installation at the Rose Garden, Florence – Italy

 

Brunch chez Burlot

“International Exposition”

 

along the way

the glass temple welcomes

pictures, stories

 

light and shadow

join together

on a concrete wall

 

four square meters

a single room

to get rid of the blues

 

the air smells good, outside

(getting rid of the blues

is for wishful thinkers)

 

a fistful of steam

comes out of your pocket,

do you hide the remnants of fantasy, yet?

 

a stained petal

breaks the frail harmony

of your flower dress

 

the weight of the words

now falls on your lips,

– try again…

 

the weight of the words

now rests in your throat

– saying goodbye in a whisper…

 

the petal disappeared along with its stain,

there is nothing special

in those who stay

 

still on the platform

(sacred image in the circle of the sun)

watching the tail of the train

 

the empty rails.

Elliott Erwitt exhibition of photography - Arrangement
Elliott Erwitt exhibition of photography – Arrangement

#4

He was bright, yes.

Yes, he was bright.

He used black to fill in the eyes with irony and yellow to enhance the nature of a face; a shade of red to instill a sense of ambiguous turbulence. Finally, some white to mitigate the strength of the ensemble.

His work was a sort of popular census, something that he did obstinately and shamelessly.

“No, it doesn’t work”. He burst out one day. “What ’m looking for is the spark of a more genuine humanity”.

Then he fell silent, grabbed a knife and began removing the seeds from a big slice of watermelon.

Sparks of humanity, London - UK
(genuine humanity) London – UK

MicroFICTION #17