I was getting bored wandering around the studio searching for that creativity which I have been unable to perceive for a long time now. I looked at all those materials and all those works which I had created but which were now strangers to me as if they had been made by another person. A walk in a world now made up of created memories, for which I feel either hatred or tender feelings like that we have for our old loves.
Fortunately the phone rang, a very loud ring which dragged me out of that obsession of trying to find a solution. “ Hello there, this is Bruce Allan from Bristol”. “hello Bruce, how are you? Fine thanks and you? I tell him I’m fine too, although I know I’m lying. I don’t feel like involving him in a phone conversation even though he’s a sculptor too. After a more or less formal exchange of information, he informs me that he’s working on a new artistic project for which he needs some dreams. “ Listen Gino, could you send me the story of one of your dreams?” Fuck! I happen to think, but it’s been a hell of a time since I last dreamt. Or at least I don’t remember the last time I did so. The fact is I don’t remember anything anymore. “ Bruce, I’ll see what I can do. I’ll send you something as soon as I can. Stay on top of things. We’ll be in touch soon. Bye.”
I hate it when they ask me things which affect me profoundly, which rub salt on the wound and which make me face my inability to work. I sit at the computer and let my mind wander in search of a poem, of a phrase which creates an image.
Giosuè....Joshua
Joshua is a boy who sits on a park bench all day. He wears one of those baseball caps with the peak on the base of his neck. I noticed him for the first time during one of those summer shows in which he was dancing and he continued to clap during every short pause unaware of the rhythm of the dance just as he was unaware of the rhythm of life. He in fact as regards the rhythm of life has always been out of synchronization. His father is an engineer in a company which manufactures plastic mines, impossible for metal detectors to discover. Joshua is a child of creativity in the service of evil. He hasn’t lost his legs because of an explosion, he has lost connections to life.
I have always thought he lacked awareness of pain or rather that that he had never had this. He is delighted in fact with every little present, with any attention whatsoever. He speaks very little, looks, observes and laughs. Sometimes I have the impression that that he’s been blessed in life as he’s free of all existential problems.
One day I saw him at the cemetery. It was one of those scorching August days, where solitude reigns and while you are walking in the warm air with the scent of cypress pinecones, you are immersed in the anguish of the rhythm of your footsteps stepping on the gravel. Joshua was sitting in the shade of a cypress listening to the crickets. Over there was the old pushchair full of plastic bags which contained all he possessed. I greeted him and asked what he was doing there. He greeted me too but said nothing, then looked at me naively and went off. I saw he was sitting near a tomb made of a column of broken marble, it was the tomb of a young girl who died in the fifties. There was also an old photo of her wearing a ballet costume. She was beautiful, she would have been about ten or …twelve. She was called Celeste. The more I stared at the photon the more it seemed as if she was moving, twirling round and round like a miniature ballerina of a big marble carillon, a slow dance to the sound of the crickets’ singing. I was told later on that that he was often seen there. I often wondered what drew him to the cemetery. The quietness of the place or that morbid curiosity about a death not knowing even what death is.
I dreamt they had killed Joshua, they had broken his skull. There were four or five of them dressed in black. They kept hitting him and kicking him while he was on the ground. I woke up with the image of the blood pouring from his mouth still in front of my eyes. I couldn’t move for a few seconds until I realized that it was all a dream.
Today I saw Joshua again, he was on the other side of the street. I felt relief when I saw how he was pushing his pushchair, an image made up of a sequence of fast flashes because of the heavy traffic which separated us. I managed however to glimpse him while he was smiling at me and in that smile I saw great wisdom and a sea of tranquility.
© Gino Tavernini (june 98)
Fortunately the phone rang, a very loud ring which dragged me out of that obsession of trying to find a solution. “ Hello there, this is Bruce Allan from Bristol”. “hello Bruce, how are you? Fine thanks and you? I tell him I’m fine too, although I know I’m lying. I don’t feel like involving him in a phone conversation even though he’s a sculptor too. After a more or less formal exchange of information, he informs me that he’s working on a new artistic project for which he needs some dreams. “ Listen Gino, could you send me the story of one of your dreams?” Fuck! I happen to think, but it’s been a hell of a time since I last dreamt. Or at least I don’t remember the last time I did so. The fact is I don’t remember anything anymore. “ Bruce, I’ll see what I can do. I’ll send you something as soon as I can. Stay on top of things. We’ll be in touch soon. Bye.”
I hate it when they ask me things which affect me profoundly, which rub salt on the wound and which make me face my inability to work. I sit at the computer and let my mind wander in search of a poem, of a phrase which creates an image.
Giosuè....Joshua
Joshua is a boy who sits on a park bench all day. He wears one of those baseball caps with the peak on the base of his neck. I noticed him for the first time during one of those summer shows in which he was dancing and he continued to clap during every short pause unaware of the rhythm of the dance just as he was unaware of the rhythm of life. He in fact as regards the rhythm of life has always been out of synchronization. His father is an engineer in a company which manufactures plastic mines, impossible for metal detectors to discover. Joshua is a child of creativity in the service of evil. He hasn’t lost his legs because of an explosion, he has lost connections to life.
I have always thought he lacked awareness of pain or rather that that he had never had this. He is delighted in fact with every little present, with any attention whatsoever. He speaks very little, looks, observes and laughs. Sometimes I have the impression that that he’s been blessed in life as he’s free of all existential problems.
One day I saw him at the cemetery. It was one of those scorching August days, where solitude reigns and while you are walking in the warm air with the scent of cypress pinecones, you are immersed in the anguish of the rhythm of your footsteps stepping on the gravel. Joshua was sitting in the shade of a cypress listening to the crickets. Over there was the old pushchair full of plastic bags which contained all he possessed. I greeted him and asked what he was doing there. He greeted me too but said nothing, then looked at me naively and went off. I saw he was sitting near a tomb made of a column of broken marble, it was the tomb of a young girl who died in the fifties. There was also an old photo of her wearing a ballet costume. She was beautiful, she would have been about ten or …twelve. She was called Celeste. The more I stared at the photon the more it seemed as if she was moving, twirling round and round like a miniature ballerina of a big marble carillon, a slow dance to the sound of the crickets’ singing. I was told later on that that he was often seen there. I often wondered what drew him to the cemetery. The quietness of the place or that morbid curiosity about a death not knowing even what death is.
I dreamt they had killed Joshua, they had broken his skull. There were four or five of them dressed in black. They kept hitting him and kicking him while he was on the ground. I woke up with the image of the blood pouring from his mouth still in front of my eyes. I couldn’t move for a few seconds until I realized that it was all a dream.
Today I saw Joshua again, he was on the other side of the street. I felt relief when I saw how he was pushing his pushchair, an image made up of a sequence of fast flashes because of the heavy traffic which separated us. I managed however to glimpse him while he was smiling at me and in that smile I saw great wisdom and a sea of tranquility.
© Gino Tavernini (june 98)
THE DREAM
1998/2008
A brief history of artistic dehydration
1998/2008
A brief history of artistic dehydration
THE DREAM
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