ANTONIO BUENO 1/4 – Being born from Spanish father and Polish mother, in Berlin, without imagining dying Italian. Hone the creative talent in Switzerland, France and Italy – so atypical and original – confronting the post-impressionism and abstract art, but also with the pop and neo-Dadaism, always attracted by comparison with its innovative character. ANTONIO BUENO 2/4 – The man …
Read More »AUTUMN SHADES IN THE ART: Twenty painters, twenty shades of creativity, in a same season
AUTUMNAL POEMS: When the crickets hiding in the tomb, in the meadows
AUTUMN: G. Rodari The hay it is mowed, the hunter shot. Autumn is opened: the cricket has walled in the grave, in the meadow. YELLOW LEAVES: Trilussa But where do you go, poor yellow leaves, as many butterflies carefree? You come from afar or close? By a forest or a garden? And you do not hear the melancholy …
Read More »ANTONIETTA RAPHAEL (1895/1975), LITHUNIAN PAINTER: Strong creative suggestions, in a garden of colorful memories
ANTONIETTA RAPHAEL: combined compositive deformations, suspended in between the Naïve and the Chagallian oneiric fantasy
ANTONIETTA RAPHAEL 1/4 – Born in Lithuania, by Jewish parents and grow up in London (where he learned the secrets of sculpture by Jacob Epstein), Paris and Rome. Attend the Academy of Fine Arts and married an Italian painter, generating three daughters creative: a journalist, a writer and a designer. She produced portraits and landscapes, always characterised by a formal …
Read More »DAYS AS FIELDS: Poetry, by Vladas BraziÅ«nas
DAYS AS FIELDS Days as fields elongated lark gray Hold eye. Trembles and raves with human harmonies, a grain rolls in the depths of the sky. (Vladas Braziūnas)
Read More »THREE SECONDS OF HEAVEN: Romance, by Sigitas Parulskis
THREE SECONDS OF HEAVEN Imagine a very short time, three seconds, in fact, your time suspended in the blue, the air that caresses you, waiting for your parachute opens. Robertas is the protagonist of the novel, and in the pages of this novel you find the memories of his military life, but also the love for Mary. Like any dive, …
Read More »GEORGES SEURAT (1859/1891), FRENCH PAINTER: The importance of colors and their complementary shades
PAINTING WITH SMALL TOUCHES – Georges Seurat: capture the light, to draw emotions
GEORGES SEURAT 1/4 – Even as a child he loves to paint, but will be an uncle and a sculptor men that will transform the nature of creativity. He attended the Ecole des Beaux-Arts, but it is a book – the contrast of colors – what defines his artistic horizon. For him, the lack of detail, and the immobility of …
Read More »WHEN THE MUSIC BECOMES POETRY: – Circles in the water, by Francoise Hardy
DES RONDS DANS L’EAU Tu commenças ta vie, tout au bord d’un ruisseau. Tu vécus de ces bruits, qui courent dans les roseaux, qui montent des chemins, que filtrent les taillis. Les ailes du moulin, les cloches de midi soulignant d’un sourire, la chanson d’un oiseau. Tu prenais des plaisirs, à faire des ronds dans l’eau. Aujourd’hui tu ballottes, dans …
Read More »EVENING HARMONY: Poetry, by Charles Baudelaire
HARMONIE DU SOIR Voici venir les temps où vibrant sur sa tige. Chaque fleur s’évapore ainsi qu’un encensoir; Les sons et les parfums tournent dans l’air du soir; Valse mélancolique et langoureux vertige! Chaque fleur s’évapore ainsi qu’un encensoir; Le violon frémit comme un cÅ“ur qu’on afflige; Valse mélancolique et langoureux vertige! Le ciel est triste et beau comme un …
Read More »MILVIA BOTTICELLI, ITALIAN PAINTER: Female figures painted, one by one, make up the objective reality of the female universe
WHEN THE MUSIC BECOMES POETRY: I stay here, by Ornella Vanoni
IO MI FERMO QUI Come un sasso che l’acqua tira giù, io mi perdo nel blu degli occhi tuoi. La mia libertà io non la voglio più, io amo il bianco e tu sei candida. Sì, io mi fermo qui, qui dove vivi tu. No, più non cercherò un altro nido, ormai. Tu sei l’acqua, dopo il fuoco io non …
Read More »SOUL IN LOVE: In prose book, by Alda Merini
SOUL IN LOVE “You do not know: there are birches and night stand their roots, and you never would believe that at night the trees are walking or become dreams. Do you think that in a tree is a violin of love. Do you think a tree sings and laughs. Do you think a tree is in a crevasse and …
Read More »BE TRUE MAYBE WHAT YOU SAY: Poetry, by Carlo Porta
BE TRUE MAYBE WHAT YOU SAY It may be true what you say, that Milan is a country that puts nausea, that the air is unhealthy, wet, thick, and we are the suckers Milan. However, my dear Mr. Monsù are thirteen years I observe one thing: that when these gentlemen plant here in this pit, those blessed roots, not washed …
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