The only beauty possible

20 Tuesday Oct 2020

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The most beautiful people we’ve known are those who have known defeat, suffering, effort, loss and found their way out of the dark. These people have an esteem, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, kindness and an interest of deep love. Beautiful people don’t just happen; they were formed.

Elisabeth Kübler-Ross

How I see green and red

18 Sunday Oct 2020

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“Perhaps I continue because my obsession eludes me. Creation is an absolute necessity that makes you forget everything else. I didn’t think I was going to support myself by painting, I just wanted to clarify things with myself. Creation is like love, nothing can be done about it. It is a necessity.”
Francis Bacon, Conversation with Franck Maubert

Reflecting is listening stronger

16 Friday Oct 2020

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This is finally loneliness: wrapping yourself in the silk of your soul, getting chrysalis and waiting for metamorphosis, which you cannot miss. Meanwhile you live of your own experiences and telepathically you live other people’s life […].Finally you only own yourself. Other people’s thoughts don’t control mine anymore; opinions, other people’s tantrums don’t upset me anymore. Now the soul starts to mature in regained freedom and I feel an immense inner peace, a serene pleasure, a sense of certainty and responsibility. If I reflect on the social life that should be some kind of gym, I can’t now but judge it other than a school of vices. If you carry a sense of beauty, being forced to see ugliness is a real torture, which deceitfully drives you to consider yourself a martyr. Closing your eyes to injustice just because of it teaches you little by little to become a hypocrite. Getting used to constantly suppressing your opinions and always because of it, makes you vile. August Strindberg, ′′ Alone ′′

From the bottom

15 Thursday Oct 2020

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“I became quieter and more attentive; more receptive maybe. I no longer believe, if I have ever believed it, in assertions, affirmative or peremptory style, in setting and program speeches. What’s important comes from bottom, from silence, from a kind of passivity. Which doesn’t mean: slowly; no, actually sometimes it means: abruptly, suddenly, but always from the bottom, like a different voice and together always clear, clear (…) I’ve learned to live the discontinuous, not demanding security passages where there is no one or at least where I don’t know anyone. :Endure the anguish. Endure loneliness. (…) I am deviated by a more urgent, cooler interest. Even if afterwards, I can see that deep down I have moved on in the groove of a line present from long time ago.” Elvio Fachinelli

Great fire

14 Wednesday Oct 2020

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“Someone has a great fire in his soul and nobody ever comes to warm themselves at it, and passers-by see nothing but a little smoke at the top of the chimney and then go on their way. So what to do, revive this inner fire, have salt in oneself, wait patiently yet with how much impatience -, wait for the moment when, I tell myself, someone will come to sit in front of this fire, and maybe it will stop .” Vincent Van Gogh

Hidden bosom

09 Friday Oct 2020

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What you can’t say out loud because it’s too true, you don’t use to tell the great truths by speaking. The truth of what happens in the hidden bosom of time is the silence of lives, and that cannot be said. There are things you can’t say , and it’s unquestionable. But it’s exactly what you can’t say that you should sing.

Astral

07 Wednesday Oct 2020

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2020-10-07 at 4:12 am

What do you want me to ask.
Leave me in my dark. Just this one.
Let me see.
Giorgio Caproni, Instance of the same

If sleep is truce, as it is sometimes said, a pure time for the mind to rest and heal, why, when they suddenly wake you, do you feel that they have stolen everything you had? Why is it so sad to be awake at dawn? It strips us of a gift so strange, so deep, it can be remembered only in half-sleep, moments of drowsiness that gild and adorn. The waking mind with dreams, which may well be but broken images of the night’s treasure, a timeless world that has no name or measure and breaks up in the mirrors of the day. Who will you be tonight, in the dark thrall of sleep, when you have slipped across its wall? Jorge Luis Borges