Reflections on days past and days to come…
Days have passed, weeks.
More than a month now.
I had left it there, on a forgotten shelf.
I wanted to keep some distance from it, since it had been the reason of so much travail.
At night in particular, though,
it seemed to be crawling out of its secluded corner
and wander around my slumber.
Images emerged, clear and then blurred.
Voices, dialogues, and characters got out of the pages
and started occupying the room.
Sometimes their chattering was too loud, and woke me up.
I have to admit, I had hardly opened it after picking it up from the printing shop,
as if it were a device ready to explode
at the slight turn of the pages.
I had felt almost revulsion at that moment:
too much reading and re-reading, writing, editing, and re-editing.
Still, it felt neglected, for sure, even if I did not mean that.
In reality, I thought it had to gingerly decant, like an old precious wine,
(or like a cheap one,
with the hopeless wish that it could become rounder, full-bodied one day).
Now here it is,
provoking me and asking me to make a decision.
Was it indeed only the end of something,
the 2-year MFA experience at the University of Hong Kong,
or also the beginning of something else—maybe a novel?
I would go for the second option, but I still need to fight against – and win – some of the feisty demons.
I still need to get out of the island and discover new places…despite the stormy sea and the velvety, mysterious vision…’
“…My eyes began to move around the house, as every time I had not been back for a while. It was interesting to notice how common objects and souvenirs hadn’t changed place over the years. Mum thought that they should keep their dedicated spots, so that they would feel safe and well-sheltered.
It was then, that I spotted the painting, on the wall above the rattan sofa. It had never been there before.
It was a large and peculiar, surrealistic depiction of a Balinese woman. She was walking on a grass catwalk, through a room with walls curtained with heavy, green drapes. Above her head, suspended, was a basket of banten, propitiatory offerings.
I walked closer to the painting to admire its details: the woman was my mother…”
(Paola Caronni – Extract from a work in progress:‘The Balinese Painting’)
(The ‘real’ and surrealistic Balinese painting, in a photo here: oil on canvas by Paolo Dalponte)