PACIFICO
Oggi l'amore del mio mare incontra isole di montagne, pianure di scogli, baie di casa, lagune immense silenziose di abbracci sapienti.
The stubborn love that moves the mountains to touch the sky. The stubborn love that sounds of waves lapping the roots of cedars and alders. The stubborn love of the algae on the bark of the tree. Up, up, up, there, where the eagle is mother. The stubborn love of the barnacles on dry land.
Luoghi
There are places where everything falls into everything, one tide at a time. A sail, a century, a humankind. Where the storm leaps into serene skies against gravity. Places where gravity is a waterfall of rainbows. Where the forest can't live without the sea, where the rain wants to dance with the sun. Luoghi dove la luna fa l'occhiolino al sole, perchè sa che c'é posto per tutti, to each their own. Ci sono lagune profonde di silenzi musicali. There are territories. And lands. There are islands merging in vulcanos of identities.
Shoulders
I fell into a blackberry bush, the hair still singing my tempo with drops of Ocean on the shoulders. I slid off the cedar logs and laughed with the thorns in my fingers and my toes in the sand.
Pacifico
So I created a new aperitif!
A gozar de la vida, la vie de la forêt, a godere della mia vita!
Un soupir savoureuse, un'alga che si libra nelle nuvole di ontani tra i sentieri del mirto per scoprire la fragolina di bosco che sa di rose.
Artist: Ludovica Mazzucato
Original painting, mixed media, gesso, and acrylics on canvas, 24 x 1 x 18 inches, 2019
D’erbe e rose
Oggi l'amore del mio mare incontra isole di montagne, pianure di scogli, baie di casa, lagune immense silenziose di abbracci sapienti.
I sospiri si espandono su ponti di seta, le perle del mare libere di colorarsi di sale e carbone. Guardo le colline di filari profumati d'erbe e rose. Corro al mare, corro, corro, pedalo, salto, ballo, più veloce, più alto, danzo, canto, parlo, mangio, suono, corro, corro, mi tuffo, the sea always waits. For me.
On my tongue
The sea melts slowly, slowly, slower, with the ambers of a rising star. Cado in un cespuglio di more. The plump king of the bush, the shiniest blackberry on my tongue, the purple juice on my fingers. Il profumo dei monasteri che sanno di mattoni umidi di sole e travi laboriose di rondini. Rallento tra cipressi mediterranei che raccontano d'isole dove gli orsi nuotano per darmi il buongiorno mentre mi specchio nella luna.
Chicchi
Il sole si sporge un po', si tuffa nel mare ed un'altra notte abbraccia il mondo che s'incontra qui, dove lo assaporo in chicchi venuti da lì; there, where I dance the universe on notes coming from here; anywhere, where I smile, I am home.
I sketched my vision.
I sketched it.
A year ago, this day and I saw it. I knew it. I knew this day. In every detail, in every feeling. It’s good. It’s good.
Grounded trees tickling the clouds. It’s wet and dark, and dry and light. It’s Douglas fir on the hand that holds my hand. It’s family. Whatever that means. Easy. It can only be easy, it’s family. Hills to peaks, snow to laughs, blues to algae and kelp. Weaved, waking, waves waiting. Waiting a little longer. Long. Enough, maybe. Now. Now. Leap. Leap.
Lava working quietly, blowing hot embraces to make the islands a foundation of two, three, four, keep counting the steps. Keep going. Bridges, muddy and dense, dusty and dispersed. Thirsty tongues trying to time the tides. Barnacles. Barnacles. Remember? You smell of home. We are home. We are at home.
Have a memory that is good enough to rise, and sudden enough to take you places. Places of skin and sweat. Places of wonder and safety. Places of plans and pauses. There’s density in branching out through these roots. The Ocean leaping through our face, one, just one has become, the sap sprouting spaces of spasms. Of the heartbeat. You did wonders for my heart.
Jug Island, Ludovica Mazzucato
Music
A crackling fire, silence, the paddle on the water, and a drop of Stubborn Love, The Lumineers, and Cancion de Cuna, Leo Brouwer, and Vicente Coves, ed. Naxos.