Beside a river, in the old Renaissance walls, between ancient craft shops and monuments of incredible beauty, I have known the nuances of enchantment. That city is Florence, a living painting, full of color and full of charm. My story is that of a short weekend – far away in time, but close in my memory – where I had …
Read More »WHEN THE MUSIC BECOMES POETRY – The sound of silence, by Simon & Garfunkel
THE SOUND OF SILENCE Hello, darkness, my old friend, I’ve come to talk with you again, Because a vision softly creeping, left its seeds while I was sleeping, and the vision that was planted in my brain, still remains within the sound of silence. In restless dreams I walked alone, narrow streets of cobblestone, beneath the halo of a street …
Read More »Hans Holbein the Younger (1497/1543), German painter: The greatest portraitists of the 16th century
JORGE GONZALES CAMARENA (1908/1980), MEXICAN PAINTER: Painter and muralist, not only on the cover of free textbooks
WITH DEPARTURE FROM CECILIA METELLA: Rome, where the sun paints of gold, even a simple walk
That road was built for many years, becoming a valuable link between the Adriatic Sea and the East. If you are in Rome, I invite you to take a walk particular, very, very different from the usual ones. The Via Appia Antica is full of interesting things (archeology and nature), because through the area of the Caffarella – amazingly – …
Read More »FANTASY – Poetry, by John Keats
FANTASY Leave always wandering the fantasy, the pleasure is always elsewhere: and is dissolved, only to touch, sweet, as bubbles when rain hits. Let her then wander, her, the winged, for thinking that front yet, in it extends. Opens you the door to the cage of the mind, and, you will see, it will launch flying into the sky. (John …
Read More »WHEN THE MUSIC BECOMES POETRY: Wish you Were Here, by Pink Floyd
WISH YOU WERE HERE So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell? Blue skies from pain? Can you tell a green field, from a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell? And did they get you trade, your heroes for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze? …
Read More »JEAN FOUQUET (1420/1481), FRENCH PAINTER: The master of panel painting and manuscript illumination
EVA GONZALEZ (1849/1883), FRENCH PAINTERS: Like a pupil of Manet, but exploring her creative individuality
IT LIVES FOR MORE THAN TWO HUNDRED YEARS: The Boboli Gardens in Florence
Behind, just behind the Palazzo Pitti, we can observe the most beautiful among the gardens of the Italian Renaissance. The Boboli Gardens, gives you special flowers, but also particular works of art, such as the Cave of Buontalenti and the Fountain Ocean. This haven of peace, between the woods and green mazes, fountains and small lakes, also gives you the …
Read More »PAUL CEZANNE (1839/1906), FRENCH PAINTER: Forget all, expressing the colors their creative personality
TIMELESS BOOKS – One Hundred Years of Solitude, by Gabriel GarcÃÂa Márquez
ONE HUNDRED YEARS OF SOLITUDE The story of the rise and fall of the mythical town of Macondo through the history of the family. You can read about love and lust, war and revolution, riches and poverty, youth and senility, the chronicle of life and death. Inside that Latin America family story, there are one special trip, around truth and …
Read More »HOLD TIGHT IS WHAT AS GOOD: Poetry, Native North Americans
HOLD TIGHT IS WHAT AS GOOD Hold onto what is good, although a handful of earth. Hold onto what you believe in, even if it is a solitary tree. Hold onto what you have to do, even if it’s far away from here. Keep close life, although it is easier to let go. Hold on to my hand, even when …
Read More »GULL: Poetry of Du Fu
GULL On the bank of the river gull sings in the cold, no other places, just to himself. It refuses, reflects, down hostile jade honors, with wing feathers, chasing a desire for love, a spear, a puppy in exchange has snow and darkness and showers for bathing. The wind grows, rises to the center of the storm, where only a …
Read More »ALL: Poetry of Wislawa Szymborska
ALL A word bold and swollen with self-importance. It should be written in quotes. He pretends not to miss anything, concentrate, include, contain and take. But it is only a scrap of storm. (Wislawa Szymborska) http://www.amazon.co.uk/Poems-New-Collected-Wislawa-Szymborska/dp/0156011468
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