To mark the beginning
It looks like a black line, rising at dusk. A sharp purple-grey cloud
that becomes obscure and then grows endlessly. While it rises, the sky –
with all its stars - begins to darken in my sight. Picture it! It is as
if someone – which I never knew - has abruptly rang my bell, warning me
that soon I’m going to get lost, drifting away for this oppressive
silence that lasts inside myself forever. A silence always equal to
itself, although capable to change the surface in various different
ways. A silence ingrained into this past of mine that seems to me so
strange, so vague. Between reality and me there is a veil that my
thoughts cannot tear apart. Will you simply think at yourself? Just
yourself, if only for a second.
Living together with others
Someone says that anything is transcendental and it is more or less
real, just like reality - rainbows, seas, continents, mountains as well
as every single being, every single animal, every single object.
Although many times I feel like I am dying, I still continue to ask from
Art a way to reveal my soul to me. So my mind can freeze for a moment
while it understands that I, actually, I exist for real, that I’m truly
made of flesh, nerves, blood, energy.
Sometimes my lips whisper a love song, or I teardrop instinctually,
crying for someone I do not know yet. Are we really able to love with
that kind of love we really need and wish for ourselves?
Meanings and quest
I guess I would be quite happy if I could blow away every single one of
my thoughts, every single motion, in order to let myself drown deeper
and deeper in an empty life, just ordinary: prosaic work and no
knowledge at all. Stupidly, if not shabbily joyful, I would drink the
water of this human existence without asking where it is its source.
Sometimes, I wonder if happiness exists only for those who know that
they can no longer feel it. When I come to the mystery, and I understand
it, I’m frightened. Are you?
No, art can’t speak about itself, at least not this particular form of
art which you feel is yours and you nourish through. Nevertheless, I ask
you not to doubt it. Sometimes, in your eyes, it might seem too much, or
not enough at all. I ask you at least not to doubt your suffering,
because you will suffer much more and in vain, if one day you’ll realize
that you doubt it.
Different languages
I admit I do not know how to speak your language, that is, the language
of your art. Nevertheless, I tell you that profoundly and still more
profoundly, inside this heart of mine – I feel a sentiment. The same as
it was that day, when I saw an image for the very first time. Something
touched my heart deeply: something happened inside me – without being
aware of it - something that changed my life. Since then I felt that
something was rushing and rushing inside me, through my veins, enrooted
its seeds into my spine. I love art, trying to love it as love loves. I
do not know any other reason to love art, rather than simply love art.
What can I say, more than this? You know what I mean. I just want to say
to you that anytime I talk – or write – about art is… that I love it.
Sometimes I suffer that someone can just reply to what I’ve said and not
to my love. Anyhow, as I told you, I do not take anything for granted: I
will never ask art for more that it has decided to give me, don’t you?
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Different sentiments
You can feel love for someone without being there. Without uttering a
single word. During your day, you may pronounce nonsensical sentences
(everybody does it): in those moments you know you forget yourself and,
even if you are going to talk with someone about your art, or just to
yourself, you probably may even not remember how much you love it.
So,
if you’re faithful to your statement or, you have decided it to break
it, it’s all right as well: rather then speak of anything, just tell
about nothing or don’t.
When you’ll see a work of yours after years, you will not know anymore
who you were and where and, it could comes that you’ll miss yourself
too.
Are you ready to overcome the contrary stream?
I wonder what will happen if someone will see his failure again, in the
real life. I do not know, I am afraid, but somehow I sense that
everything someone needs is there, in his or her own room. That’s why I
beg you to save it. It doesn’t hurt.
There will always be moments in
which we feel we miss the world outside: but you are like everybody has
been before, as you quest is still to come to an end, also when apparently caught in a glaze of stagnating despair. I do not want to
frighten anyone casually: nobody in this world has loved art as you love
it.
Your way is yours, that’s it. Sometimes you have surely felt that
your art has not been understood by those in the way you would have
wished, but you’ve always knew that this is part of the game. However,
if a ray of moonlight transforms into a vision, a miracle of pure
beauty, the firm waters of a lake, you have good chances.
Why are you so?
How can you love being so far and, to be glad only by thinking to be
arrived when someone is not arrived yet? Do you have a secret? Don’t you
want to share it? Be confident. You have always known everything about
yourself, although you do not know anything yet.
If you’ll tell your
secrets, you will understand them.
We pray, we love, we cheat, we confuse ourselves, we think, we feel, we
warn, we make illusions, we dream for a number of infinite times.
Everything we do is in order to help us forget - or bless - our name,
cast a spell, look for happiness. And if one day you’ll cry once more,
caught by the muddy spirals of sadness, you can still decide to share
your sorrows with that discipline that you see somehow magic.
Be shy,
but not indifferent. Shiver, tremble or scream your feelings and
thoughts like a fire that shines through the night, before it dies down.
Meet in the chaos. Shoot a flash to enlighten your path in most truly
complete human way.
Be wrong, never banal.
©World
Of Art magazine
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