Porto, 6th of April 2017

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Porto, 6th of April 2017

I’ve encountered the immaterial, the boreal… The soft light that gently touches the flower of the deads after so much suffering. I’ve encountered something that only belongs to those who live in Asylum. In desertion from the common senses. I’ve touched the invisible and felted it like rain drops and spring petals. And I shed a tear, only one and let it linger above Schubert and the white chrysanthemums. I let the boreal house my soul, confine it into something purer, undress it and triumph on the edge of the light for once.

Slow Pace

I started the new year with a flew and feeling sad with my current life state, perhaps I thought that everything will change as soon as the 2017 cling at my door, but it didn’t and I am not enjoying much my work, I am constantly watching the hours passing by and longing for my two days off, which is rather depressing. I just hope things change: that I find happiness and a nest where I am surrounded by lovely ones and where I can feel the sensation of relieve.

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All the fog that has been numbing the horizon will disappear but, meanwhile these wishes don’t come true, tea and books are helping me reminding that life has its secret pleasures. So today, I spent my second day off with one of my favorite tea brands @twgteaofficial! Christmas was kind enough to present me with a box of a green tea with alluring notes of red berry and royal pineapple. Charlotte Brontë couldn’t have a better company! I just wish that life was all about tea, flowers and books, for me this would be heaven!

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The Path of Thorns

 

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I’ve been collecting slowly illustrations from my favorite artists! This one is called the Path of Thorns, by the talented Sandra Hultsved, see her beautiful work here . I truly love the dark forest, the dramatic and haunting atmosphere around the lonely lady: she is about to face the dark night of the soul, will she succeed?

Framing Memories

Monday, 24th of October 2016

Dear Diary,

I am always very surprised with myself in the early hours of the morning, everything is so unfamiliar and yet, how many times was I born to live in this insipid place? With my eyes closed, I open the doors that lead me to the olden and shabby corridors which once I was verily acquainted, endless corridors that used to lead me to wonderful and secret places. I close my eyes to listen the distant Schubert and frame these memories in a secure place that I call heart.

 

Sweet Bean Movie

Lately, I haven’t done nothing more than work and sleep, but yesterday I was searching for a movie to bring some meaning to my empty existence and found this masterpiece from Naomi Kawase. I was immediately drawn by the humble Tokoe and her communion with nature, the respectful way that she looked to the moon and to the Sakuras, her devotion to cooking the delicious dorayaki and the way she listen every single bean’s story before turn them into this sweet food. I fell in love with her kind heart replete of compassion and kindness towards others and to a world that reject her due to her infirmity condition — leprosy. This movie is one of that special occasions when two souls reunite to teach/remember each other the meaning of life throughout the art of preparing the perfect dorayaki.

I shall end my meaningless and poor review of this exquisite movie with a beautiful quote that I heard while I was watching the Sweet Bean:

“We are born into this world to see it and listen to it. Since that’s the case, we don’t have to be someone. We have, each of us has, a meaning to our life.”

 

My hideaway

 

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14th of August 2016

This week, I’ve finally finished to decor my working station, I don’t even like to call it – a working space, because, for me, this place is more a hideaway, a shelter, a place of recovery than a place to work. Once in a while, I look steadily at it and I feel proud of all of this assemblage. All the flowers and the old things that I have been collecting, finding in the streets mean so much for me… Lately, I doubt so much of myself but the simple act of looking at this place makes me realize that I am capable of something, but for these results I need time… and in nowadays, we seem to have forgotten what truly means: “slow down”. Day after day, I despise more and more crowded places, cities and chaos, I would rather live in a small cute village than in a city, I long for this day so badly, but for now I’ve this improvised shelter.

I think this day deserves too a poem from Emily Brontë:

Moonlight summer moonlight

‘Tis moonlight, summer moonlight,
All soft and still and fair;
The solemn hour of midnight
Breathes sweet thoughts everywhere,

But most where trees are sending
Their breezy boughs on high,
Or stooping low are lending
A shelter from the sky.

And there in those wild bowers
A lovely form is laid;
Green grass and dew-steeped flowers
Wave gently round her head.

Emily Brontë