“Yeah, Roy Lichtenstein….how much I like his work, and that one particularly!”.
Brian was quite happy. The simple memory of such a beautiful and appealing work have made his eyes shining. It happens when suddenly you are driven to an argument, a speech, a discussion, which is so dear to you. Each single muscle finds again its higher tone, the brain regains the connection to the world, reality and fantasy become the field your mind keeps running tasting the sweet and fresh flavour of freedom.
That´s what Brian felt in that very moment. For a while a door opened and another shut.
Leaving the traditional stuff of the every-day life behind the thick wooden door, well locked, another one had been opened, just to give him a way to enter the garden of the interior dreams and wishes.
“The garden of Finzi Contini” Brian said in a subtle voice, without realizing that this thought had left his mouth. “Say what?”. Ken had lost the last words and it was not sure at all he had any clue of what Finzi Contini were.
“The garden of Finzi Contini”, Brian repeated in higher voice. “Nothing important Ken.
Forget it. Just a piece of thought between many, completely uncorrelated. It was a book,
pretty famous, with allegories and all that stuff, you know. The same old story”.
Everything is beautiful when from outside. Everything is fine when you cannot taste it and just a glimpse, a quick touch is all you can have. And if you cannot event touch, and only a faint, pale look can be done, as through a small window, then it is still hard to catch where reality ends and fantasy comes into play.
A glimpse of reality, a touch of physical sensations only for the eyes to create an entire world other than this. A wall in between, all the mysteries and secrets just beyond.
Maybe a dream, just a piece of a dream. And so many pieces collected together into just one bigger.
The Dream, the Master of the dreams.
And you keep assuming it as the reality.
Everything is so beautiful and fascinating when you see it from a small window in the wall And the access is forbidden.
The river was calm and flat that day. Light gray, hints of black and brown close to the bridge and on the opposite side, the other side just in fron tof him. Glitters in the waves gently caressed the eyes, like stars spotting a sky just before the arrival of the night.
The ship was in its ususal place, resting after a day spent along with tourists, travelling up and down so many times, showing them the beauty of the countryside around.
Flowing and sliding gently in those waters, the ship was simply having a trip in the past, someway. Those waters have made the city so rich and so famous. So strong and so attractive. Again, as happened so many times, the city was born on the border of a river and the river itself was always the peculiar and essential element in the city. As a defence, as a way for the commerce, as a beauty to the inhabitants and the visitors.
Again, it’s the river the soul of the city and its own master.
People come here, along the riverside, day by day, for centuries.
All the main activities, all the stories, all the loves all the tales, illusions and dreams.
All of these pieces of life have had the river as a collector, as a friend and gigantic magnet to catch them all, mix and blend under the untouched murmur of the waters.
The river is the soul of this city. There is something magic in watching the waters smootly slid along the path, carrying leaves or small branches, tracks of external lifestill connected to this liquid entity.
And all the animals having the river as shelter as a territory? They are indeed an extraordinary attraction, a glimpse of additional beauty, an hint of elegance, a sign that this huge living creature, the river, is really alive, in all its various and coloured forms.
The swans on the riversidestood elegant and proud just waiting for someone to feed them.
With a sudden movement, they simply turned left or right, quickly heading to the place where a young mother with her baby had launched small pieces of bread. In a while, two,three, four of those white and elegant animals where there. Sometime quietly, sometime franticly, sometime fighting. A short fight indeed. Strong and short. Just to find a winner who gains the priority to the food. The mother just stood still watching the swans and the child. The child and the swans. The small boy fascinated by such a beautiful animal, fascinated by the water and the magic of the reflections, the waves the colours, the ship so big and powerful moving as a misterious, gigantic creature from another planet
or maybe from a cartoon.
Brian headed to the border of the river. There were some stairs, concrete stairs that went down to the water. On the left, but still in the promenade, a gazebo was the right place for small concerts in those lovely days in spring and summer. Between the river and the road a wide area with trees and benches.
Stories and novels, stories and shades of words. Sapphire can be a voice, a whisper, a night talk. Colours in words, words merged and melted with pictures. Words as colours, words as shapes sometimes overlapping with the visual experience. A different way to see the world or, maybe, just the very same way using different tools and finding different paths.