“Forte forte”

EDDA + LinFante ||| (Aspetta non puoi bruciare il pesce di fuoco ci salverà)

Io ti amo aspetta non puoi bruciare il pesce di fuoco ci salverà

I love you wait you can't burn the fire fish will save us

 

​19/12/2014​

22:00​

EDDA

Opening act:

LinFante

​Le Mura

Via di Porta Labicana 24,

Roma

[ ITALIANO più in basso ]

Folks, I can't make it anymore, I can't follow every thing LinFante does, he never stops, makes a bunch of concerts, especially in Rome, receives a bunch of interviews and reviews (and he gathers 'em all on his website (some articles also mention how pretty and refined is the surreal art on the cover of his album Non mi piace niente: yay, thank you!!!, that's meeeeee!, hooray!)), steps on the stage dressed by Angelo Cruciani, being a model for him, he plays on air, cranks out billions of philosophy articles with his beautiful actual name Stefano Scrima, he keeps publishing books and receiving reviews for those too. Just following all his activity (trying) would be a whole job apart, I'll never understand how he makes it in being so productive himself and I, in my small way, quietly gave up to the decision took about seven or eight years ago of making a drawing for every single of his gigs or whatsoever, but certainly I don't give up to the whole thing, this lord is already setting a new release for an EP in the springtime and I'm having fun fantasying on it – in the meanwhile I gloat when, while I work at other drawings, it happens again that thing, I can't do anything, my hands take the power and eat pastels and sheets doing their business while the sacred duende dances all over my guts and makes come out a drawing. Two nights ago, indeed, my hands come out with a couple of non requested illustrations, one will join Felice's vortex, while the other, this one, with this damned and child attitude, I pictured it immediately hugging the Folk Bizarre singer writing atmosphere from our dear LinFante. I sent him the artwork immediately and –timing– he had one of the most sparkling gig just in the coming days, opening for EDDA, so we used it for this event.

Signori, io non ci sto più dietro. Oramai LinFante non se ne sta fermo un secondo, fa un sacco di concerti, soprattutto a Roma, riceve un sacco di interviste e recensioni (e le raduna tutte sul suo sito (alcuni articoli menzionano anche quanto sia carina e raffinata la surreale copertina del suo album Non mi piace niente: yay, sì, grazie!, quella sono io, yeeeee!), va in scena con gli abiti di Angelo Cruciani per il quale posa, va in radio, sforna trilioni di articoli di filosofia col suo bel nome anagrafico Stefano Scrima, continua a pubblicare libri e a ricevere recensioni pure per quelli. Solo seguire tutto quello che fa (provarci) costituirebbe un'attività lavorativa a parte, non capirò mai come riesce a essere così produttivo lui stesso e io, nel mio piccolo, ho serenamente rinunciato alla decisione di sette od otto anni fa per cui avrei fatto un disegno per ogni suo singolo concerto o quant'altro, ma certamente non vi rinuncio in assoluto, già in cantiere il signorino ora ha un altro EP per la primavera e io mi sto dilettando a fantasticarvi – e, intanto, gioisco assai quando, tra un disegno e l'altro, capita quella roba lì per cui non posso dire nè ah nè bah e le mie mani si mangiano fogli e pastelli e si fanno i fattacci loro mentre il sacro duende mi balla nelle viscere e fa uscire un disegno. L'altra notte, per l'appunto, le mie mani se ne sono uscite con un paio di illustrazioni non richieste, una convertirà nel turbinio di Felice, mentre quest'altra, con quest'aria dannata e bambina, l'ho vista subito meglio abbracciarsi con il cantautorato Folk Bizarre del nostro caro LinFantuzzo. Gliel'ho girata al volo e, tempismo, lui a giorni aveva una delle date più luccicose del suo tour, opening per EDDA, per cui l'abbiamo usata per quest'evento.

That's NOT all, as usual.

If you're in Rome and will attend the gig, pay attention to the flying fish: I won't be there, but they will, always.

Questo NON è tutto, come sempre.

E, se siete a Roma e andrete all'evento, fate caso ai pesci volanti: io non ci sarò, ma loro sì, siempre.

Just a regular John

Random sketch.

A regular John is always good for a random sketch.

Charming expression and specific source from: a Jul's photograph.

I adore how one of the most orange people I know has these default dramatic features.

(If morphopsychology turns you on too, well, do not miss iioo project and all the research its creator Andrea Riboni is now carrying. John himself is also very curious to see how he'd look into a iioo portrait. Can't wait!)


PS. The quote was unconscious, I realize it now, afterwards. I don't tell it. I'll send a kiss-thought (eh, i miei vechi bacipensieri…) for who will get it first. I know I can count on at least two of my readers. Go! Guess it!


PPS. I'm getting closer to the magic day when I'll publish my post number 666. This post is kinda special too, it is the number 666, on one hand, but only considering the drafts too. I'll do something for the number 666 between the published ones.
Just to make sure you know that when I'll burn away, even my dust will feel like Rock.
(And also because this kind of things excites my cousin McA.)

[Felice ⊙ Spin-off :::] Our Hair (Olive trees know everything)

I improvised much of my trip in Italy, back this summer, with my street art performance Felice. One of the stops I knew for sure, though, was Fasano, in Apulia, where I had a little mission with my friend Giulia Trincardi: taking photographs of our long hair into an olive trees field. It was our little tribute to our Friendship, which is born so really strongly only after our Bachelor, once we were geographically more and more apart (and therefore not that able to take photographs of our beloved hair together everyday, you know…).

She recently cut hair a lot, like 30 centimeters, and I can't tell how much that's sad to me (did I already shared the article about the power of hair between Native Americans? Anyway, although I don't know if it true, it does sound very credible to me). I want to publish now our photographs as little exorcism and to call her hair to grow long soon and sooner again (as I know they will).

We didn't know who could take our photographs there, nor it was a problem 'cause many people there could; but once I was in Fasano we immediately found in Annalaura Tamburrini our artist. So, almost all the photographs are sweetly taken by her (and her famous eyebrows, do not forget 'em!); the ones you'll see here are edited by me, but perhaps also Giulia or Annalaura will publish their versions too. Originally we just had this idea of our backs with our hair and the trees around, that's it. But enjoying the afternoon many more pictures came out and we enjoyed those too.
Everything happened pretty much playfully and so we kept it.
And, YES: "playful" is so much the right word! How we love it! I have been a very playful but lonely child, I had almost only one friend and despite my love for her, I never felt her on my very same brainwave. Giulia embodies the friend I always wanted when I was a very little child; but I have an enormous belief into the power of imagination and I have a strange perception of time: somehow, picturing me and Giulia as children playing together does make true those memories, in some dimension that's what's happening, an imaginary mini Eta is playing all the time with an imaginary mini Giulia. That's the strength I feel from the depth of our understanding and friendship. This makes me stronger and happier every day: those little Giulia and Eta playing together somewhere all the time remember to myself the importance of what I'm doing in my life. Even having now so many terribly wonderful friends and human deep connections which make me feel like I always knew someone "from a previous life", with her I have this very peculiar sensation: we met in that childhood (that you're allowed to picture like an anime).
It's like that I always waited for her.
And, wow, you know, she exists!
Lucky me!


I hope you too can enjoy the results of our little ritual. ♥

Thank you so much, Giulia and Annalaura, for playing with me that afternoon!

And thanks to the olive trees, of course.

PS. I'm working on a bunch of things. The illustration for Victor Lorandi's novel is almost done and I finally have found what I need to share my tale about my summer. I'm working for the English version of Felice, I ordered the sketchbooks I need to write and draw it all over again (here the Italian original version, soon I hope to make it as e-book) and to my website! And more, more, more!

PPS. If you vaguely liked these my photographs, I think I better make sure you know Rib.'s art. Her amazing photographs terribly influenced me (and this may be an insult for her, considering how much her work is great); it's incredibly obvious to me and I don't even try to deny it. She's a little Italian maid based in London and, for my fortune, she's also my friend, that little adorable stupid thingy.

PPPS. My hair already grown longer from this summer! Yuppie, haha! Or, at least, that's what Natalja said.

I adore when I immerse myself forward into my childhood to warm up my little hands and then I make very unexpected things, CIAO VICTOR CIAO PAOLA ho cinque anni, anzi 3!

Once again, approaching a new work, especially if it is a commission, first my hands decide by themselves to do something totally different, like that first they have to get rid of any previous spot and make sure they are clean and ready to immerse into a new world. At the same time, somehow this way they listen better to what's going on here into my inner seascape, to potentially pick it up as style, technique or mood for the coming work.

This time the new work I'm going to do the front cover for the novel The Grand Tour by Victor Lorandi Iturrieta. This story is part of The Red Universe (“not only one book, but a series of stories told within one existence without barriers” – here also on fb).

The automatic spontaneous and pretty uncontrollable stream of drawings I made to warm up my hands happened on the new sketchbook I just bought. I must say that I'm very happy with these pictures and I love how they show, I believe, how healthy I feel. The way I draw is so much my gauge!

Now I just terribly wish that the way my ritual looked sane and unstoppable will be as happy as the actual working session for Victor and that this preparation will somehow turn useful to my illustration for him. But I know it will (and knowing it, finally knowing how my creative process works, is an extremely huge satisfaction and joy).

See you soon with much more: the cover for Victor and a bunch of other things exploding in my hard disk and in my room!

Cheerio

Etita

PS. The way I matched the colours here comes from what my body learnt in Iceland the past year. What impressed me the most has definitely been the new way I could see the colours there: the strength of some pastel colous and the elegance they can have next to some acid shades. The greens and the light yellows and the way pink is not a gender symbol but perhaps a psychedelic liquid echo. Oh yes. And how beautiful to find myself buys again with wax pastels?! That's a news of this fall, it was ages I wasn't using them this way. Like seven years ago, during my dinosaur obsession making flyers for Sydrojé (scroll till the bottom here to see)! How fun.

PPS. AAAAND… Happy Birthday, Victor! ;)

★ CREMONAPALLOZA ★ ROCK ★ FEST ★ 2014 ★

…And here's the poster with the winner panther, based on a tattoo of the singer writer Cara, who'll perform at this edition of the Rock Fest. Concept and graphic design are by McA, as usual for our collaborations.

So glad once again to draw for him.

 

 Cremonapalloza Alternative Fansite

★ CREMONAPALLOZA ★
★ ROCK ★ FEST ★ 2014 ★

✘
DECIMA
EDIZIONE

▓▓▓ Cara ▓▓▓
★★★★★★★
▓▓▓ Alley ▓▓▓

SABATO 27 DICEMBRE 2014
ore 22:00 • LUOGOCOMUNE
Centro Sociale Culturale Arci
Via Speciano, 4 • Cremona
ingresso con tessera Arci 2014

These two panthers didn't make it

The one who made it will be in my next post, with the flyer for the 10th Cremonapalloza Rock Fest.

These following two have been some of my sketches.

All was based on another drawing I had to use as reference. The first drawing is closer, while the second is more influenced by an actual photograph of a panther, which I needed to use anyway to better understand the panther's face before elaborating it.

I can't wait to see the final poster, with the graphic designed by McA, as in our traditional collaboration for the Rock Fest. It will arrive probably tomorrow!

Dreamlike and Lucid Cold Cold Dialogues

Instrumental Romance; Dreamlike (The Chiloe Cold Cold Dialogue)

Instrumental Romance; Lucid (The Ancud Cold Cold Dialogue)

Have you ever run on the snow, really fast?

The grey-blue-lilac on the left in second picture is the "Cremonapalloza blue", and that's why that beautiful colour now dropped on my palette: these illustrations started just to warm up my hands for the next poster for the Cremonapalloza Rock Fest (coming very soon!).

(I'll heal by that drawing the diabetes I may being causing with this post. It's gonna be a Very Violent Roaring Panther! ROAAAAR!!! (Does that sound roaring enough?))

My letters on "Püe"'s skin

One of my greatest distraction taking notes at the High School was my own handwriting: I was definitely taking notes, and rather well, but my mind wasn't totally there, somehow I was studying my own font, all the time.

Once, at the Art Academy, my classmate Lorenzo asked for my notes from Aesthetics Philosophy (there I was always fuckin' focused, instead – our teacher was a way too brilliant mind) and he returned me my book telling me he couldn't concentrate because he was getting lost into the lines and curves of my handwriting (sorry, Lorenzo, haha).

Well, my dear friend Giulia "Püe" has been on the table next to me during the last three years of the High School, right when I was gradually feeling more and more incompatible from the "school system" and more and more into my own life and interests – therefore, also when I was so much more into that daily passion of drawing by words.

However, while now, once again, I have some bookmarks on my browser to finally do my own font (I'll make it, it will take a while, but I really want it!), hereby I'm glad to share a couple of related tattoos of Giulia: she wanted words on her skin and she couldn't avoid to think of me, which is a very sweet gift for me as well. We've always been very different, one the opposite of the other, really, we've been very often surprised by how, exactly, we anyway ended up feeling so closed. But we do and we love it. And we love how we are still so affectionate despite the long time passing by between every time we can meet (consider also she wasn't on the Internet for many years).

Also, she's who started to call me "Maleta", that in Italian sounds like "bad Eta" and that, by chance, in Spanish also means "luggage".

We know each other since the kindergarten, but at the time she was… errr… she was pretty much a fuckin' little bully, heheh, and I was the perfect target for her and another kid. After just one month of kindergarten, I decided that the other kids were…less interesting that my Grandma's home, where I could stay while my mother was working, playing with the wonderful dog La Cucciola Monella (it means "The Rascal Puppy", article included, thanks), climbing the apricot tree, watching cartoons, sometimes at lunch with my beloved cousin Carmine too, browsing art history books (yep, my Grandma has a plenty of them and that was my sacred joy), drawing all the time (what else?) and, of course, saving the world with my invisible friends (please, note: by saying they were invisible, I'm not saying they didn't exist: I'm just saying you, everyone else, couldn't see them – yes, guys, I still think of you; by the way, may you tell Invy that I'm still really sorry for breaking apart when we were 8? Did he make it in making up a new life? He never updated me anymore about his life, tell him I wish him the best and I trust he could enjoyed these years and all the future ones…). Ooeps, what I was saying? Ah, yeah, Giulia and the kindergarten. Well, we had our very first moment of connection (the "click") when we were 13 and we realized that we were gonna be in the same class at the artistic High School, indeed. We were very different, but physically also relatively easy to confuse: for Carnival, when we were 18, we dressed up like I was her and she was me, counting on the same height and the same hair length. A lot of people actually got in the trap and thought, at first eyesight! It was so fun!

Ok, alright, I'm blabbering, pardon, the point of the post was to show the pictures!

This is her last tattoo, just done yesterday, as tribute to her little nephew Anna:

That's a little portrait I made of her when we met on September 2013:

And that's the tattoo she made out of some music lyrics, the past year:

Much love to you, Giulia, my lovely first bully! :D

(No, she's not bullying me anymore.




…Maybe.


(How may anyone make fun of me?! Right? I'm not that type.))

Remember Remember ⊙ III

Felice ⊙ Celery and straweberry jam; nowImbackImfurther

that's a very friendly:
BILINGUAL POST

POST BILINGUE!

:)

[Traduzione in italiano dedicata alle famigerate sopracciglia di Annalaura Tamburrini,

che m'ha tanto sfasciato perché scrivo solo in Inglese. Ecco. Toh. Tiè. 

Aspetto la tua storia su quei due colori. Cia'.]

My scene shirt for
Felice
Lettera d'amore sull'armonia
(Happy – Love Letter About The Harmony)
[potete leggerlo interamente QUI,
you can browse it all (still in Italian) HERE].

Now this shirt is hanging again in my room, in Utrecht;
I've been wearing almost only this white shirt for the street monologue that I've performed this summer, busking, all around Italy. No matter how often I've washed it: traveling for two/three months and working in, on, above the street, wearing a white cloth totally meant painting on a blank canvas…

Adesso questa maglietta è appesa di nuovo in camera mia, a Utrecht;

Ho indossato quasi solo questa maglietta bianca per il monologo che quest'estate ho portato per l'Italia, facendo busking.

Non importa quanto spesso la lavassi: viaggiare per due/tre mesi lavorando in, sulla strada, indossare un indumento bianco significava totalmente dipingere su una tela…

On the top of the becoming, Beyond•the•9th of October 2014

In cima al divenire, oltre•9 ottobre 2014

(during many anniversaries

and while this beloved blog turns 6)

(durante molti anniversari

e mentre questo mio amato blog compie 6 anni)

I hold the celery in my hand, I drop it into my strawberry jam jar.

Tengo il sedano nella mia mano, lo immergo nel barattolo di marmellata di fragole.

I close my eyes, I deeply breathe : I'm back  :  ;  :  I'm further.

Chiudo i miei occhi, respiro profondamente : sono tornata : ; : sono avanzata.

I smile.

I think of what I've done.

I tell myself it happened, it happened for real.

I smile,

     like that:    :)

I smile.

Sorrido.

Penso a quello che ho fatto.

Mi dico che è successo, è successo per davvero.

Sorrido,

    così:    :)

Sorrido.

I hold my celery with its strawberry jam and I munch it. Oh yes, I munch it!

I fish the jam with another bite of celery – it's so refreshing, so green, so sweet, so energetic, so peculiar, so tasty.

It is so good.

It is so good, it is so fresh.

Thanks.

Tengo il mio sedano con la sua marmellata di fragole e lo mastico. Ah, sì, lo mastico!

Pesco la marmellata con un altro morso di sedano – è così rinfrescante, così verde, così dolce, così energetico, così peculiare, così saporito.

È così buono.

È così buono, è così fresco.

Grazie.

I feel so thankful for any beauty coming on my way.

My smile is purity overflowing the pot, it's water overflowing the body.

As I smile, I feel my chest opening up, it's now almost one year I can tell it happens, every time, every time I feel freedom, liberation, connection with what's beyond my skin, whether is an animal or a cloud, my chest opens up.

Mi sento così grata per ogni bellezza che giunge sulla mia via.

Il mio sorriso è la purezza che strabocca dal vaso, è l’acqua che strabocca dal corpo.

Come sorrido, sento il mio petto aprirsi, è quasi un anno che posso dire che capita, ogni volta, ogni volta che sento libertà, liberazione, connessione con ciò che oltre la mia pelle, che sia un animale o una nuvola, il mio petto si apre.

And I feel so happy, just because I gratefully feel the whole wheel and that's all I need to ecstatically appreciate life.

E mi sento così felice, semplicemente perché sento tutta la ruota, con riconoscenza, e questo è tutto quello di cui ho bisogno per apprezzare estaticamente la vita.

These were the feelings which made their nests into the corners of my street, they made their nests on the shape of my tap, on the bridge I cross after the Lepelenburg park, on the stickers on the traffic light coming home from Masha and Rudi, these feelings made their nests on the metasequoia I noticed only after many months I was living in this neighborhood, they made their nests on the antiek & curiosa on Oudegracht and on the bike park around the Centraal Station, these feelings made their nests between my psychedelic rock vinyls and among the speakers playing prog, they made them inside the raindrops I find on my bike handlebar, they made their nests above the huge haze monument in Neude and behind the sculpture of the tiny bunny Nijntje in Nijntje Pleintje, these feelings made their nests on every memory of my life in this town, Utrecht, the place where I've been discovering them, that's where they made their nests, that's where I find them so familiar and that's where I smile so much, now that I'm back to the memory-nests

and now that the birds flew.

Questi sono i sentimenti che hanno fatto i loro nidi negli angoli della mia via, hanno fatto i loro nidi sulla forma del mio rubinetto, sul pento che attraverso dopo il parco di Lepelenburg, sugli adesivi del semaforo tornando a casa da casa di Masha e Rudi, questi sentimenti hanno fatto i loro nidi sulla metasequoia che ho notato solo tanti mesi che vivevo in questo quartiere, hanno fatto i loro nidi sull’antiek&curiosa in Oudegracht e sul parcheggio di biciclette attorno la Centraal Station, questi sentimenti hanno fatto i loro nidi tra i miei vinili di rock psichedelico e le casse che suonano prog, hanno fatto i loro nidi sulle gocce di pioggia che trovo sul manubrio della mia bici, hanno fatto i loro nidi sopra il monumento gigante della lepre in Neude e dietro la scultura della piccola coniglietta Nijntje in Nijntje Pleintje, questi sentimenti hanno fatto i loro nidi su ogni ricordo che ho della mia vita in questa città, Utrecht, il luogo in cui li ho scoperti, è qui che hanno fatto i loro nidi, è qui che li trovo così familiari ed è qui che sorrido così tanto, ora che sono tornata al nido-ricordo

ed ora che gli uccelli hanno volato.

And here comes the wonder. Finally floating again into my sweet routine, I live again exactly that instinct saying precisely to go back, to go back and to tell everyone these feelings I meet – which, of course, weren't necessarily due to the town where I live, but, simply, in my life came here, and here I get their lovely flashbacks.

And here, starring from my bed at the red little bag hanging on the ceiling, starring at the sky through my window and exploring once again the canvases in my room, here once again I hear those voices telling me to go, to do it, and here this time I can say "but I went, I did it, I lived the dream!", and here, in my little temple, I cry for all this joy I'm feeling, I thank myself, I thank myself for having it done for real, I thank the celery and the strawberry jam, I thank the apple so fresh, I thank Caravan, King Crimson and Tangerine Dream, I thank Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeroes, I thank the wave on the veil on my couch, I thank ALL of what happened during my trip, people and stones, I thank the future in which I'll find the time to talk about them too, I thank how air gets in my little attic gettin' blue, I thank the Sun, I thank the Moon; I definitely thank you.

Ed è qui che viene la meraviglia. Finalmente fluttuo di nuovo nella mia dolce routine, vivo di nuovo esattamente quell’istinto che mi dice precisamente di tornare, di tornare e di dire a tutti che questi sentimenti che incontro – i quali, ovviamente, non sono necessariamente dati dalla città dove vivo, ma che, semplicemente, nella mia vita sono arrivati qui, ed è qui che ne ho deliziosi flashback.

E qui, fissando dal mio letto la piccola borsa rossa appesa al soffitto, fissando il cielo dalla mia finestra ed esplorando ancora una volta le tele nella mia camera, qui ancora una volta sento quelle voci dirmi di andare, di farlo, e qui questa volta posso dire “ma sono andata, l’ho fatto, ho vissuto il sogno!”, e qui, in questo piccolo tempio, piango per tutta la gioia che sento, mi ringrazio, ringrazio me stessa per averlo fatto per davvero, ringrazio il sedano e la marmellata di fragole, ringrazio la mela così fresca, ringrazio i Caravan, i King Crimson e i Tangerine Dream, ringrazio Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeroes, ringrazio l’onda sul telo sul mio divano, ringrazio TUTTO quello che è successo durante il mio viaggio, la gente e le rocce, ringrazio il futuro in cui troverò il tempo di parlarne, ringrazio l’aria come l’aria entra nella mia piccola mansarda che sta diventando blu, ringrazio il Sole, ringrazio la Luna; sicuramente ringrazio voi.

I already introduced my project Felice in my previous post, but I briefly recap.

Felice is a book I've started for someone I love, who was going to leave for a long trip, for years. Many asked why I didn't go with him: this had to be a solo trip, and I totally appreciated and comprehended his choice. Still, I wanted to reassure him: I wasn't going to miss him in a damaging way, I'd done my best to grow the happiness which I discovered with him.

That's how my letter, my adventure, started, that 3rd March of 2013, three days before his departure.

After a few lines, I understood that I wanted to share that precious minuscule and immense dot of knowledge with anyone…

and so I did.

Ho già introdotto il mio progetto Felice nel post precedente, ma lo ricapitolo brevemente.

Felice è un libro che ho cominciato per qualcuno che amo, che stava per partire per un lungo viaggio, lungo anno. Molti mi hanno chiesto come mai non sono andata con lui: doveva essere un viaggio solitario, e io ho totalmente apprezzato e compreso la sua scelta. Ma volevo rassicurarlo: non mi sarebbe mancato nel modo dannoso, avrei fatto del mio meglio per crescere la felicità che avevo scoperto con lui.

È così che la mia lettera, la mia avventura, è incominciata, il 3 marzo 2013, tre giorni prima della sua partenza.

Dopo poche righe, ho capito che volevo condividere questo prezioso minuscolo e immenso pallino di sapere con chiunque…

e così ho fatto.

I wanted to share it with everyone because I finally got what my Literature and History Professor Pietro Morini told me when I was 17 and I was crying because I was feeling hopeless for the Earth and the humankind and because I wasn't believing nor in any truth, nor in any way humans could communicate for real: he told me that happiness is a collective concept. There is not my own happiness, likely against yours: there is only our happiness. Sometimes, even often, I strongly feel happiness while I'm alone, on my own. But it always comes from a bigger connection with the cycle of life, with the universe, so it is not a personal happiness. And sometimes one can have very personal positive satisfactions, of course, but that's maybe joy, and maybe it's even from a terrifying revenge – but it is not actual happiness.

That's why I felt I had to share these ideas with my brothers and sisters.

Because it really has to do with everyone.

Volevo condividerlo con tutti perché finalmente ho capito ciò che il mio professore di Lettere e Storia, Pietro Morini, mi disse quando avevo 17 anni e piangevo perché non avevo più speranze per la Terra e per il genere umano e perché non credevo in alcuna verità, in alcuno modo perché gli umani potessero comunicare per davvero: lui mi disse che la verità è un concetto collettivo. Non c’è la mia felicità, facilmente avversa alla tua: c’è solo la nostra felicità. A volte, perfino spesso, sento fortemente la felicità quando sono da sola, per i fatti miei. Ma deriva sempre da una connessione maggiore con il ciclo della vita, con l’universo, quindi non è una felicità personale. E a volte qualcuno può avere soddisfazioni molto personali, ovviamente, ma quella è forse gioia, forse è perfino terrificante vendetta – ma non è vera felicità.

Per questo ho sentito di dover condividere queste idee con i miei fratelli e le mie sorelle.

Perché ha davvero a che fare con tutti.

The ∞th of April 2014 I finished this letter, this book which I handwritten and hand drawn, and, as I pictured thirteen months before, I went backpacking, busking, in Italy (since the letter, started as a private one, it was in Italian), and I started to read my book in streets and squares, sometimes in some cultural centers and sometimes in festival, sometimes in the most posh neighborhood and sometimes  at 2AM next to a disco pub full of drunk teenagers… Often alone, telling my story to any stranger who wanted to know, sometimes with friends, the billions of shiny people I met on my way and all the old friends I could finally visit in my home Country. Sometimes at my best, sometimes very bad, without many energies and lacking of trust. Sometimes because I needed it, sometimes because I had to. Always discovering that my words were healing, they had a point, and that the Universe was whispering yes (well, not so whispering, it has been freakin' shouting too!).

L’∞ aprile 2014, ho finito questa lettera, questo libro che ho scritto e disegnato a mano e, come avevo immaginato tredici mesi prima, ho viaggiato zaino in spalla, facendo busking, in Italia (dato che la lettera, nata come privata, era in italiano), ho iniziato a leggere il mio libro nelle strade, nelle piazze, qualche volta in centri culturali e qualche volta in festival, qualche volte nei quartieri più per bene e qualche volta alle due del mattino di fianco a un disco pub pieno di adolescenti sbronzi… Spesso da sola, raccontando la mia storia a qualunque sconosciuto volesse saperlo, a volte con amici, con i miliardi di gente splendente che ho incontrato lungo la via e tutti i vecchi amici che ho potuto finalmente visitare nel mio Paese d’origine. A volte dando il meglio, a volte veramente male, senza energie e fiducia. A volte perché ne avevo bisogno, a volte perché dovevo. Sempre scoprendo che le mie parole stavano guarendo, avevano un senso, e che l’Universo mi stava sussurrando sì (be’, non era proprio un sussurrare, è stato anche un urlare!).

I've been repeating my words for about two or three months in Italy and now I'm facing my new chapters of life, back in Utrecht and hard working for all my projects. Between these, Felice still runs at the top three of my working flow, I'll translate it in English (with the big help of my dear friend Victor Lorandi Iturrieta, author of The Red Universe, here on fb), I'm finding a flow of illustrations and paintings raining out of my nails, I will find out how to publish it (hey there, mail-knock here if you're interested in that…), I'll prepare the English performance and I'll share my busking experience, elaborating all the data I got, from my fibers till my sketch notes and beyond.

Ho ripetuto le mie parole per circa due o tre mesi in Italia e ora fronteggio i nuovi capitoli della mia vita, tornata a Utrecht e lavorando sodo per tutti i miei progetti. Tra questi, Felice ancora è nella top tre del mio flusso lavorativo, lo tradurrò in inglese (col grande aiuto del mio caro amico Victor Lorandi Iturrieta, autore di The Red Universe, qui su fb), mi sto ritrovando con un flusso di illustrazioni e dipinti che mi piove dalle unghie, buscherò un modo per pubblicarlo (ehilà, bussatemi alla mail se vi interessa…), preparerò la performance in inglese e condividerò la mia precedente esperienza da busker, elaborerò tutti i dati che ho accumulato, dalle mie fibre fino al mio carnet e oltre.

After a few days I was back, I've started to read a very brilliant and inspiring book about the history of contemporary art. In the beginning of my trip, I've read another book from the same author, Matteo Guarnaccia, published by the counterculture book publisher Shake Edizioni; that book, Sciamani - Istruzioni per l'uso ("Shamans - Instructions Manual") let me conduce my experience with a meaningful extra awareness and its timing has been just great: there was an introducing event about it in Milan, at the Shake's store, a little after my arrival in Italy, in July: going there looking at Matteo Guarnaccia's speech was an awesome welcome for my summer trip – which, more than usual, I was going to live like a continuous series of rituals. Back here, after having traveled following the flow and having trained myself to stay as open as I could with everyone, I got this moving and fantastic sensation that I was going in the good direction and I had to keep working on my art and on Felice. This next chapter, as I was picturing and as I do, is all about focusing; for three months in row I've been home at evening only once (and very rarely online, as my blog can show), my work has really been extremely on sharing!sharing!sharing! and almost every time I was even just hanging out, I had my book's magic bags with me: those two-three months were a non-stop performance, somehow. So now I'm being all about drawing, painting and writing inside my little room, to go further with all my projects; I'm feeding my other wild road. So I was happy for having bought this book by Matteo Guarnaccia (thank you, Kerol, for recommend it so much!), because I was just feeling like digging some more into artists' lives. I wanted some inspiration: as Sciamani has been a good guide and a great companion during my first weeks of travel, I honestly opened Guernica Blues wishing in another similar companion for these my new steps…

Dopo pochi giorni dal mio ritorno, ho incominciato a leggere un libro brillante e ispiratore di storia dell’arte contemporanea. All’inizio del mio viaggio, avevo letto un altro libro dello stesso autore, Matteo Guarnaccia, pubblicato dalla casa editrice di controcultura Shake Edizioni; quel libro, Sciamani - Istruzioni per l’uso, ha condotto la mia esperienza con una significativa extra consapevolezza e il suo tempismo è stato semplicemente grandioso: ce ne fu un’inaugurazione a Milano, nel negozio della Shake, poco dopo il mio arrivo in Italia, in luglio: andare lì ad assistere alla presentazione di Matteo Guarnaccia è stato un meraviglioso benvenuto per il mio viaggio estivo – con il quale, più del solito, mi apprestavo a vivere una continua serie di riti. Tornata qui, dopo aver viaggiato seguendo il flusso e avendo viaggiato allenandomi a stare aperta più che potevo con chiunque, ho avuto questa commovente e fantastica sensazione di star andando nella direzione giusta e che dovevo continuare a lavorare sulla mia arte e su Felice. Questo prossimo capitolo, come lo immaginavo e come tuttora lo immagino, ha del tutto a che fare con la concentrazione; per tre mesi di fila sono stata stata a casa una volta sola e anche quando stavo semplicemente in giro, avevo con me le magiche borse del mio libro; ora sto nutrendo l’altra mia strada selvaggia. Così ero molto felice di aver portato questo libro di Matteo Guarnaccia (grazie, Kerol, per avermelo caldeggiato così tanto!), perché avevo proprio voglia di scavare di più nelle vite degli artisti. Volevo un po’ di ispirazione: come Sciamani è stata una buona guida e un grandioso compagno di viaggio per le prime settimane del mio viaggio, onestamente ho aperto Guernica Blues augurandomi un simile compagno per questi miei nuovi passi…

Matteo Guarnaccia

GUERNICA BLUES

An irreverent history of contemporary art

[page 29]

THE CORINTHIAN MAID (640? B.C.)

Recap: Love projection
Look: Magic

The usual sexist story didn't take about passing us on the name.

We do know, though, her's father name, Butades, a potter, and her hometown, Corinth, one of the most trafficked port from the classic Greek. It's a bit too little for a character who the ancients considered the first artist in the world. According to what Pliny the Elder tells, in his Natural History, the art borns, splendidly, out of a tender love gesture. The girls is sad because her loved one is going to leave for a long and dangerous trip in foreigner lands. The night before the goodbye, while she enraptured gazes at his features, she notices the shadow of his face, projected by the light of the lamp on the wall and she traces his profile with a burnt stick took from the brazier. With a simple black line she puts a spell, she closes the protective circle, she gives a shape to her desire in an evolved way: she doesn't want to hold the guy, nor she wants to go with him. The silhouette on the wall records the experience of their relationship in that place and in that moment – “here and now”. Portraying him, she makes up a preventive strategy to fill the immanent void. She crystalizes the beauty of their relationship, she makes an agreement with her “model”, she empathizes with his psyche (the shadow). She exorcises the absence, she draws a line to recall a life moment lived with a particular intensity. The art fights the lost, trapping a fleeting vision, before it disappears. Ars long vita brevis (“art is long, life is short”). The Corinthian Maid dares space and time, she doesn't fear immersing her hand into the dark part (the shadow) to react to the lost and to unchain an inexhaustible process of transformation.

(((( : : :testo originale in italiano::: ))))

Matteo Guarnaccia

GUERNICA BLUES

Una storia irriverente della arti contemporanee

pg. 29

LA FANCIULLA DI CORINTO (640? A.C.)

Riassunto: Proiezione d’amore

Look: Magico

La solita storia maschilista non si è curata di tramandarcene il nome. Conosciamo, però, quello del padre, Butiade, un vasaio, e la sua città d’origine, Corinto, uno dei porti più trafficati della Grecia classica. È un po’ poco per un personaggio che gli antichi consideravano la prima artista al mondo. Secondo quanto racconta Plinio il Vecchio, nella sua Storia Naturale, l’arte nasce, splendidamente, da un suo tenero gesto d’amore. La ragazza  è triste perché il suo amato sta per partire per un lungo e pericoloso viaggio in terre straniere. La notte prima dell’addio, mentre scruta rapita le sue fattezze, vede l’ombra del suo viso, proiettata dal lume della lampada sulla parete e ne traccia il profilo con un bastoncino bruciacchiato preso dal bracere. Con una semplice linea nera lancia un sortilegio, chiude il cerchio protettivo, dà forma al suo desiderio in maniera evoluta: non vuole trattenere il ragazzo né accompagnarlo nel viaggio. La silhouette sul muro registra l’esperienza del loro rapporto in quel luogo e in quel momento – “qui e adesso”. Ritraendolo lei prepara una strategia preventiva per colmare il vuoto immanente. Cristallizza la bellezza della loro relazione, stringe un patto con il suo “modello”, entra in empatia con la sua psiche (l’ombra). Esorcizza l’assenza, stende una linea per richiamare un momento di vita percepito con particolare intensità. L’arte combatte la perdita, intrappolando una visione fuggevole, prima che si dissolva. Ars longa vita brevis. La fanciulla di Corinto sfida lo spazio e il tempo, non ha timore a mettere mano alla parte oscura (l’ombra) per reagire alla perdita e scatenare un processo inesauribile di trasformazione.

Into this chapter, there is a painting by J.W. of Derby representing this maid. The painting of the Corinthian Maid I had first found online, though, is from another artist.

This artist

is called Felice.

In questo capitolo, c’è un dipinto di J.W. of Derby che rappresenta questa fanciulla. Il dipinto della Fanciulla di Corinto che ho trovato online per primo, però, è di un altro artista.

Questo artista

si chiama Felice.

…Four months before I was starting to write Felice, having no idea of this project, I was traveling somewhere with this living being I love so incredibly. Not so much was left before his departure and I was living our days with such an awareness.

One of those nights, he asked me if I had a wish he could grant.

My wish was to make an oral portrait of him: I described his face and hair for about forty minutes.

That was my wish.

We filmed the whole performance, meant to be private.

Now I believe

that it makes sense

to show

how it looked.

…Quattro mesi prima di iniziare a scrivere Felice, senza avere idea di questo progetto, stavo viaggiando da qualche parte con questo essere vivente che amo così incredibilmente. Non mancava molto alla sua partenza e vivevo i nostri giorni con questa consapevolezza.

Una di quelle notti, lui mi chiese se avevo un desiderio che potesse esaudire.

Il mio desiderio fu fargli un ritratto orale: ho descritto il suo volto e la sua chioma per circa quaranta minuti.

Questo fu il mio desiderio.

Filmammo l’intera performance, che era intesa per essere privata.

Ora credo

che abbia senso

mostrare

come appariva.

Felice Giani, The Corinthian Maid (XVIII-XIX Century)

A Becherovka oral portrait(November 2012, Prague)
one person audience performance - screenshot.

A Becherovka oral portrait(November 2012, Prague)
one person audience performance - screenshot.

*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*

Thank you for reading.

And thanks to that dark figure in the screenshots, who's used to close his buttons till his neck to dose with care how much of himself can go around.
His courtesy is precious.

Grazie per aver letto.

E grazie alla figura scura nei fermo immagine, che è usa a chiudersi i bottoni fino al collo per dosare con cura quanto di sé possa andare in giro.

La sua cortesia è preziosa.

Remember to look at the sky,
by Carolina Farina.
Wrap for her artwork she brought me as gift when we worked together at Animal Insect, music video for Heidi Harris;
springtime 2013.

Carta con cui ha avvolto la sua opera che mi ha portato come dono quando abbiamo lavorato insieme ad Animal Insect, videoclip per Heidi Harris;

primavera 2013.

More will come.

Altro è in arrivo.

⊙

Olive trees know every thing.
Gli ulivi sanno ogni cosa.

Photograph by Giulia Trincardi or/and Annalaura Tamburrini.
Fasano, Apulia, South of Italy,
2nd of August 2014.

PS. Yes, I have a thing for hanging clothes. Aren't they terribly evocative?!
PS. Sì, ho una fissa per gli abiti appesi. Non sono terribilmente evocativi?!