A sofa turned photo booth. An essay.

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To me, it takes time to start writing. The first sentence, almost more than the title, sets the tone and rhythm. The second one untangles the mood, adds a punch in the story, and generally mediates the feelings I want to pass through words. So before starting this blog post, I surgically tried to gather the elements, and come up as rational, poignant and catchy as ever. Sometimes, that takes days. Call it laborious, I simply call it ‘exercise of style’. Words and pictures, these are the places where you find me hiding.

Well, this summer was different, and I wanted to find the perfect format to tell about it.

It started at the point of rupture of my -already precarious, yet promising- stability. I remembered I had already a moment or two of my life similar to that, where it really made the difference to act fast. Pretty much like setting the tone when starting to write. So I acted, I picked a plan, built things. And repeated. And you do it over and over and over again, until it looks normal, almost natural. And when I say I built things, I literally mean that: I created a guest room from an empty room.There, I was on my way back to where I started: doing things, opening up, getting back to the moment when I was fully involved in the thought “sharing is caring”. It generally makes no difference if you leave or you stay, but in the process to decide which one to take, I thought that sharing my misery-turned-plan was enriching. So I reached out to people, and offered my flat to everyone who wanted to visit Berlin. My beautiful home and my pretty guest room. My only request was to come with and elegant change of clothing for an elegant picture.

I can finally summarise the experience: I loved it. And I can’t wait to have another similar plan. And a sofa to take picture on. More to come, my friends, more to come.

5-laura

3-i-boys

1-fabio

4-jesus

2-giuliano

6-pippo

 

P.S. I was supposed to edit a bit the pictures but then they were already so cute and I have #zerotime so #zerosbatti guys

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One subtitled heretic movie in the afternoon

I studied arts during uni, but not the kind of talented arts you’re thinking. I am no artist, but I liked and still do history and words and knowledge, so when it was time to pick classes, I took an Arts and Media direction. During the course of three years I studied many interesting things, I still remember a three month immersion in the world of jazz music for example, but I also found out during that time that for living I could watch every movie possible, every one I wanted, with no limitation. I actually found out there that most of the times the limitations that I thought I had were coming from the inside, from myself.

For the first time I saw that the potential was infinite, if the willing would have started from me.

So I watched as many movies as possible, and at least twice per week, I used to skip class and head to the cinema for the first screenings, at 3 or 4pm, with a very cheap student ticket. There are few people going to the cinema so early, especially in a relatively small city in Italy. I remember the pleasure of having an entire room and screening by myself, changing seat whenever I felt to. It was inebriating. I remember also when I watched Brokeback Mountain, until the last second I thought I was alone in an empty cinema. Then two aged ladies came in. For my surprise one of them was blind. You can imagine how the screening went. From drama the movie turned in kind of comedy, at times into a boring voiced-off documentary. Every scene, every action was carefully explained with a slow, loud voice to the blind lady by her trusty friend. The blind lady conveniently answered every description with a comment, because of course people, opinions matter. I believe they had no idea what the movie was about, because I hardly hold myself to not burst in laughters when the two protagonists started getting closer and closer. The talking lady at a certain point described a scene in the tent as “they are starting doing impure stuff”, with the other one “ oh no, oh no, that’s disgraceful”. That was the best moment of the movie indeed, from my seat and liberal point of view. Those two catholic ladies made my day, in a certain way. I watched a movie tonight and the last song on the soundtrack reminded me of that verbally-subtitled Brokeback Mountain’s movie. I hope I cracked a smile with this story. Go listen to the song, think of the infinite possibilities and potential you can get from this strange life and from yourself. And listen to the song here below.

Vinyls & Love stories

I started my long-lasting love story with music at home, listening to my parents’ vinyls.

My folks, they weren’t super into music, but had some great tunes on their collection (mind the fact we had no tapes, only the radio or vinyls, not for a fancy aspect, it just happened): I reckon my favourite albums in there were: “Live at Wembley ’86“, 1992, by Queen; “Profumo“, 1986, by Gianna Nannini; “Titanic“, 1982, by Francesco de Gregori; and “Bridge over Trouble Water“, 1970, by Simon and Garfunkel.

I think I consumed afternoons listening to them. I was raptured. 

Vinyls are slick and increasingly attractive at touch. Turntables are professional machines with a fragile balance, that teach kids to be careful. As a kid growing up with vinyls, you must learn elegance and grace, in order not to break anything/get told off. Moreover, the silence in between two songs is full, nothing compared to the tracks now. It’s the huge difference between analogic and digital:  if we think in digital bits, (where 1 is sound, 0 is silence) back then, even the silence 0 had a mean like beat 1. Fascinating.

Back to the story, that S&G’s album was quite something, and a great catch to my feelings. I could follow the lyrics and identify myself with the protagonists, or just fantasise to get a song dedicated (very original, I know). Two song were absolutely my favourites: – Cecilia: catchy, rhythmic pop-folk song, just after “El Condor Pasa” that was so South American, so joyful yet desperate to get the love back

– The Boxer: music for the soul, innit. Falling in love for a young kid like me was the easiest thing in the universe, more than playing with a ball, more than riding the bike

I recommend the listening, better alone on a sofa, legs up that can’t reach the ground, eyes lost in the melody… a lil kid again…

Airport lounge

Shattered, plus slightly intoxicated by the previous night I was fighting the frozen air conditioning system at the airport.

Done with my routine ipod-security gate-ipod, I started battling with myself if to buy a sandwich, they are so good in Italy it is highly tempting, yet so expensive. Yes no, yes no, yes no, I queued up at the bar. I then chose the most deserted part of the gate to sit, facing the runway, pretending I was about to jump on that plane to a more exotic destination. Why am I so early this time? I hate waiting when hungover.

I started reading a book, stopping for a moment to look at the Emirates flight attendants with their red and beige suit and funny hat (that by the way i totes rocked here). In a hipster moment of creativity I then took a picture of my sandwich looking at the runway and the plane, the sky in the sunset over a hot and humid Venetian lagoon. It’s the end of August.

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I pushed myself to stay awake by reading, but my heart started galloping with the announcement: they’re calling my flight. The frenzy to get on the plane started around me, but I always stay sit until the very last moment, enjoying to watch people in a rush to leave. I am always alone at the airport, yet I was not feeling lonely, I had my music. It’s time to fly, to my next destination, and this is what my ears, what my soul, is listening to in the process.

When the night is falling in the summer love / Tell me where you gonna stay tonight

Cimetière du Père Lachaise, Paris

Cimetière du Père Lachaise is one of the most iconic and suggesting place to be when in Paris. Statement.

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This cemetery attracts me like a magnet and never stops to give me goose bumps. Walking along the graves, acknowledging the shape of time, the ruins, the broken stones: To be in there is like a live movie on a dead land, where life and death and emotions, vanities and hopes and expectations collide in a silent, eternal embrace.

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And there is a twist in the movie plot: I can find people who inspired and educated me in arts and science. Good good feelings. There are many I studied on manuals and book, enjoying eternal peace in Père Lachaise. The first one I think of is composer Frédéric Chopin. I always melt in his Nocturnes while visiting the cemetery. What I naturally imagine to hear is the sweet, powerful melancholic sound of a piano. Are you melting, you too?

Please visit the complete set of pictures I took, available here: http://flic.kr/s/aHsjVgKD2t

Strangers

I now admit the fact that, whenever possible, I take pictures of strangers. Is it weirdo-material? Maybeeeee.

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Or maybe not, let’s say I am just an enthusiast of all I had/have around. But please, promise me that if I turn my blog in a cats and dogs sanctuary you are going to call somebody very competent to cure me.

This is a little collection (click here!) of people, faces, actions I saw in Hong Kong and Macau back in May. Enjoy.

And remember that “people are strange when you’re a stranger

P.S. The freak in white skin is me…