Fishagall flies over the Flowerasms

Turning 25, I had told myself that I would had embraced myself as woman, and therefore as mother.

So I did. In the sense of being a "universal mother", not in the sense of becoming the biological mother of someone specifically – I don't want to, first of all because of the current world situation.

I found feelings I had pictured on my-grown-up-self, like the serenity that calmed down that newborn on the train as I touched his/her foot, on the train, a day in May, with my friend Shivesh, who first was shocked and then told me that touching the feet is his mother's wisdom tip to cheer babies.

But I also found one unexpected feeling: discovering a new joy, more maturely understanding what really is being, at very biological first, a daughter – a huge fortune I can fully enjoy (despite the distances and with a Very Special Thanks to the technology and the love).

This portrait is the smile I feel for my parents – it's the smile that they mostly see now over videocalls.

I had the urge of it and it's really out of my thankfulness for them – to thank them, both in once.

It may look weird to portray me instead of who I'm thanking, for example, but I know that more than everything else they're letting me feel their pure and true wish for me. And I know that, since I'm geographically far away from both of them, my presence totally meant for them is exactly what can sweetly please them the most.

Portrait Of A Daughter – Young Nora

We can be one world
We will be one world
In the Jungles of the Mountain Young Nora loves the mountain
And the Mountain feeds the people and the Wheel keeps on turnin'
REVOLUTION!

Jefferson Airplane, The Wheel
1989 (my birthyear)

This drawing came out of my nails the first night I drawn this year, light licked by the Chagall's retrospective that I've seen in Milan with my friend Andrea and my mom, one of the last December days.

Before to do this illustration, I really had to tribute Marc Chagall. Not that this can be vaguely enough: I have no way to express my love for his art. The simple idea of his sensitivity totally devastates me if I think about what he had seen happening in the 20th Century. To me he's a flower into the dust and the drop of his existence rocks the branches of my highest waves.

Furthermore, fish widely flew through Chagall's lands (and, of course, I'm slowly gathering them on my tumblr Piscem).

But before the Chagall's portrait, the first drawing of the three I made that night has been a jump of colours roll between my fingers, as it happens when I understand I only have to give room to my inspiration and to shut up.

This drawing is my 10th Flowerasm.

The Flowerasms are a series of artworks I started in October, after my trip in Italy to read my book Felice; only in these days I understood how to title them and I'll start soon to show them. They are the main reason of all the time I'm needing to elaborate the memory of my street performance summer and to start to translate my book in English: a new generation of art, total consequence of my book, is asking for my attention. Soon I'll publish the rest of the series.

Flowerasm 10 – Chagallian

Something else happened this fall. I'm learning much more deeply my creative process; as my old followers may recall, this has been a terrible struggle for me: now, I'm experiencing one of the most satisfying season of all my life.

Apparently, rituals insist on showing their power into all this and I'm keeping happening in painting my forehead with the colours I'm going to dive into, time by time.
This night, I involved Fishagall too (originally Fish Chagall).
Fishagall is a wooden fish I found in my favorite Utrecht shop, De Oude Pijpenlade, and that I'll probably repaint every time I'll feel like, according with my craziness and moods.

Now Fishagall is playing hide-and-seek, I think – but I can't tell for sure, my little desk is covered by a maze of layers of oil pastels, wax pastels, waterable pastels, brushes, towels, ecoline, pencils, markers, pens and even the eraser (hooray, that's always so hard not to loose it!). If I find Fishagall again or if he decides to come out, hopefully he will send me some good vibes for my illustration for the cover of The Grand Tour, the first novel of the trilogy from The Red Universe by Victor Lorandi (yes, this is also taking more then unexpected, but we're appreciating and finding a sense for this creative process too).

Much love,
from this flower-shaped volcano and its stream of flying fish coming out!