May 3, 2025 2:12 am
  • COMBINING TEMPERA AND FRESCO

    Ambrogio Lorenzetti, an Indelible Mark in the History of Italian Art “La Terrazza Sul Campo…

  • A DREAM LANDSCAPE SHAPED BY THE SUN AND THE TRAMONTANA

    A nonconformist dialogue between painting, sculpture and poetry Get ready for an experience that goe…

  • AN UNEXPECTED LITERARY STAGE

    Moving between connective tissues of words and stone You are about to meet the person who accompanie…

  • INNOVATION AND CREATIVE FREEDOM

    Explore the unconscious and challenge conventions, through art Roland Penrose, a central figure in B…

  • BOTTICELLI’S SPRING

    Beauty, nature and harmony through a mythological allegory The Renaissance, a historical and cultura…

  • NEW BEGINNINGS

    An invitation to rediscover the world with eyes full of wonder Spring, a symbol of renewal and new b…

  • DREAMTIME

    Australian Aboriginal and ancestral spirits who created the world “Leaving bitterness behind i…

  • THE OCEAN’S PATH

    Poetry and Culture of the French Pacific Islands You’re intrigued by the idea of an escape, somethin…

  • WALKING IN BEAUTY

    A Journey Where Wisdom Comes from Listening, Not Speaking The Indigenous Peoples of North America th…

  • ROMEO, JULIET AND A BALCONY

    Passion and Tragedy in Shakespeare’s Verona The desire to escape from the everyday and take re…

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MEMOIRS OF A MADMAN: Poetry, by Gustave Flaubert

MEMOIRS OF A MADMAN “If I threw the grass and watched the stems bend to the breeze, and the waves beat the sand, here, I thought of her, I relived the heart every step, every gesture, every word. So it would be this, love? A “mental thing” that feeds the fire of imagination and asks for help to balms memory …

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WIND: Poetry, by Hugo Mujica

VIENTO “Viento y las nubes if deshacen; brisa y blancas if transfiguran. Hay ecos que no son de las palabras son of aliento, no nos repiten nos convocan to escuchar decirse para lo que nos llama.”     WIND “Wind and the clouds come apart; breeze and white are transfigured. There are echoes which are not of the words are …

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I SIT AT MY DESK: Love Poem, by Kennet Rexroth

I SIT AT MY DESK “I sit at my desk. What can I write to you? Sick with love, I long to see you in the flesh. I can only write, “I love you. I love you. I love you. “ Love cuts through my heart And tears my vitals. Spasms of longing suffocate me And will not stop.” (Kennet …

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