Mrs Right&MrWrong

Non c’è niente come la donna giusta per farti sentire l’uomo sbagliato.

There is nothing like the right woman to make you feel the wrong man.

(Ivan dalla Mea)

– e viceversa –

(M.K.)

LIVINGWOMEN

Non c’è niente come la donna giusta per farti sentire l’uomo sbagliato.

There is nothing like the right woman to make you feel the wrong man.

– e viceversa –

“Roses”

See today I’m having one of them days where
I just don’t want to be bothered,
but it seems like you can’t understand that because it’s your way or no way,
but check this out
And I’m really,  really sick and tired of you steppin’ into my little box
When I just don’t want to be bothered okay,  so check this out.

I’ve had my ways, and I’ve had my share of ups and downs.
I’ve been in trouble, and I couldn’t tell my ups from downs
I’ve been your baby,  and I don’t know why it don’t seems like that no more

welcome to this new definition of love:

It ain’t all roses hey,
flowers imposing hey
said it…

View original post 276 altre parole

Gates&Roses…Cancelli e Rose…

Le cose da sistemare sono rimaste al loro posto sulla scrivania.

Ma oggi finalmente soffia una brezza leggera,

finalmente ho potuto spalancare le finestre di casa.

Io mi apro al mio mondo, apro il cancello del mio Giardino Segreto:

non mi serve la chiave, devo soltanto spingere forte.

Vado a spasso fra le rose, oggi.

Il profumo inebriante mi riempie la testa come una nebbiolina leggera

e mi confondo in un sogno che è fatto delle mie fantasie,

come da bambina.

E come siamo fuori da tutto io e le più preziose amiche mie.
Così eteree da essere irraggiungibili.
Eppure le nostre passioni sono così evidenti e terrene;
chissà..siamo qui ma la nostra vita vera sembra sempre
svolgersi "altrove".
Verrà a prenderci per mano qualcuno un giorno, nel nostro Giardino Segreto?
 

Gates & Roses…

Things to arrange are still left on the writing desk in its stead.
Finally today a gentle breeze blows, finally I could open the windows wide
I open up to my world, I open up the gate of my Secret Garden:
no need of the key, I only have to push heavily
I’ll  take a stroll among the roses, today.
The vertiginous smell fills up my head just like a light mist
and I am feeling lost in  a dream, like I’ve been as a little girl.
And how far from this world am I and my most precious friends.
So ethereal to become unapproachable.
Eitherway our passions are so unmistakable and earthy;
who knows…we are here but we always seem to belong ‘elsewhere’.
Will someone ever come and take our hand
someday
within our Secret Garden?

Don’t Explain-…Non spiegarti-…

Non è  manifesto di femminismo

potrebbe esserlo dell’essere femmine,  e di tutte le sue contraddizioni;

potrebbe esserlo per quante  hanno amato

-ogni volta con la dolce sciocca ingenua illusione di non avere nulla da perdere-

di quell’amore incondizionato che più spesso si dà ai figli

e che qualche volta concediamo ai nostri amanti.


It isn’t a feminsit slogan,

may be of being feminine , and all of  its contradictions;

it is for whom who loved

– every time with the sweet foolish naive  illusion of having nothing to loose –

it is of the unconditional love we give more often to children

and sometimes bestow to our lovers.


 

Billie Holiday / Arthur Herzog Jr.

Hush now, don’t explain
Just say you’ll remain
I’m glad your back, don’t explain

Quiet, don’t explain
What is there to gain
Skip that lipstick
Don’t explain

You know that I love you
And that love endures
All my thoughts are of you
For I’m so completely yours

Cry to hear folks chatter
And I know you cheat
Right or wrong, don’t matter
When you’re with me, sweet

Hush now, don’t explain
You’re my joy and pain
My life’s yours love
Don’t explain


my Alice Neel

I could have been a good psychiatrist. But is more fun to be an artist. (by Alice Neel)

I had the pleasure to discover Alice as an artist bumping in her exhibition in London in 2009, at the Whitechapel Gallery.

Overwhelming to stand in front of those portraits. Most of all, they were real. No mystification of truth through “art”. It has been like watching through the eyes of a child: same curiosity, same innocence, same insolence.

She simply striked my soul.

alice steel oil on canvas

I have also been watching the documentary the 2 sons directed on the life of their mother, as part of the exhibition, in a small room arranged as a cinema inside the gallery. So touching to see that before being recognized as a mother, she was first recognized as an artist by her own sons. How painful for both of them: mother & children.

She lived as an artist, as she felt she authentically was, she lost reputation, she lost money and possessions, she lost men, she lost her daughter twice (first she was taken away in Cuba by her father, then she took her own life away), she lost – to a certain extent – the love of her sons. Still,  she was standing there all the time: by her side. Right or wrong. Good or bad. And she became Alice Steel.

Mind you, that was a joyful pain. Just take a look at her work to touch how this could feel.

Now on iTunes: http://www.itunes.com/movies/AliceNeel Documentary on the life and work of Alice Neel (1900-1984), American portrait painter.

Phoebe Hoban - Alice Neel. The art of not sitting pretty

Phoebe Hoban – Alice Neel. The art of not sitting pretty

Questo slideshow richiede JavaScript.

My funny Valentines

Precious little Angel  (s)
Take a look at what you’ve done
Well I thought my time was over
But it’s only just begun
Precious little angel
You’re my own sweet turtle dove
Won’t you stay with us for ever
In a bundle full of love

I was lost until you came
Precious little angel
Won’t you spread your light on me
I was locked up in the darkness
Now you’ve come to set me free
I was covered up with sadness
I was drowned in my own tears
I’ve been cynical and twisted
I’ve been bitter all these years

I was lost until you came
I was lost until you came

And wouldn’t I run a thousand miles
To be with you
And wouldn’t I run a thousand miles
To be with you

Precious little angel
Tell me how can it be true
That such a gift from heaven
Has been sent for me and you
Precious little angel
Don’t you worry don’t you cry
When this bad old world has crumbled
I’ll be standing at your side

well I was lost until you came

Virginia Woolf, Una stanza tutta per sé, 1929…A Room of One’s Own

« Chi mai potrà misurare il fervore e la violenza del cuore di un Poeta quando rimane preso e intrappolato in un corpo di Donna? »

‘ Who will ever be able to measure the ardour and violence of the heart of a Poet taken and entangled in a Woman’s body? ‘