English
My mother always understood when she saw Renata sitting in front of a huge blackboard of the garibaldo. It was the joke of the week: I would become a teacher writing on the board and beautiful Reca, a student, learning the lessons of the week. The training was to allow me to play my elder sister role. If she failed, she had to lend me the most beautiful glitter bracelet in the closet.
Then Reca was the pic hide. You had to look for me until you found it. This looks like it worked like starlight.She found me and I felt like the rest of my life. Momma understood what that feeling was like. And she loved star collar on the ceiling of the room. The ones that shone through the night. And then we often set up a camp with sheets, brooms, lanterns, and I was sure, if I put my foot out, I would feel that grass with serenity.
Before she slept she sang. Or invent stories, or put beautiful vinyl records with classic works, and so I discovered the life of great artists like her. There is a mother who teaches her son to be afraid of things and maybe that is the greatest blessing I have of my mother. He taught me not to fear anything. I was raised to fear nothing: from bakery to lonely travels around the world. He let me play in the street, swim in the sea, eat bullshit in the school canteen. Hmm … Pythagoras cheese thigh. I’ll never forget.
The result of this is that I still play in my life. When the abyss is near, I accelerate and fall on the other side with my parachute. I already held in the tooth the rest of the strength I had, I lost my nails and hair holding the dream all that was inside me. Easy. Everything is born again, including myself.
I have an absurd courage and a deep curiosity about my inner life. And I ask myself: how many mothers teach this to their children? I was lucky. Today I have a job that gives me great joy. Today I change chives with Dad and I take care of Mom’s seasoning. She did not teach me to give a mortal in the pool, but she also did not forbid me to learn. It taught me to immerse myself in colors, in life, in the colorful things of the planet. She taught me to invent a rich, huge, possible world inside my head. It taught me to live with courage within me, to be friends and listeners of the neurons, liver, heart and guts.
I’m sure I started the hard way. Is it more courageous who is not afraid to fly the world or who can stand in it? I learned both. I am brave and my brain is deeply colored. I feel silly about people talking about mega things and things and I feel like a genius when I see so many people who spend a whole day writing a simple sentimental email or do not know what to say in an intimate conversation.
Who is going to teach you how to feel this delicacy? Who is going to give you tools to look at things all the time as if they are enchanted and not just things? For a long time I answered: writing is not learned, it becomes. But I discovered that it was the red brushstrokes, actually my mother, that taught me not to be afraid to cross the huge, deep river of the story we invented. Inside the tent, in the studio, in front of the screens and colors. She gave me the ability to dream, the rest of the world is now with me.
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* Text posted on my old blog on 02/12/2009.
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