This prose is the result of a very special moment spent in the house of Burano’s renowned artist Carlo Memo.
A privileged encounter into the cracks of time…
Burano & Carlo Memo
Stepping into a rhapsody
Opening the doors to where
Pigmentation, structure & grain
Prime over mundanities.
Where comfort & authenticity poise.
We climb stairs leading to candor &
Iridescence, to a life of devotion
& skill, brushes & tubes aligned,
Immaculate, waiting for its owner
To choose its dean.
Spread layers upon layers
Of tenor & soul,
Gist & dreams,
Hope for the morrow…
Rows of monuments, wordless poems,
Music without notes, cascading on
Tight canvasses soothing our sore eyes,
Blending with the skies, soliciting the trees & seas…
We leave our calling & join thoughts around
A table of carved & sanded wood, Built
As fervidly as the
Murals, the boat…
Joined particles of
An ardent prayer…
We get up & glance to our right
At a kitchen composed as an Ode
To purity…born of a sparkling mind,
Nobility of a soul. More paintings
Hanging on walls & we slide back
Into the current of the mundane,
Bright sun & façades
The drums to another tune,
Alluring us to idleness.
Tearing ourselves from the transient
Gratitude pumping our bursting veins
Aware of having been beckoned into what
Escapes most…of peeping through the keyhole
Of kudos, we withdraw cherishing a
Sketched memory of our encounter,
Depicting it into the
Chronicles of our lives
As a privileged slip
In the cracks of time.