“E vocĂŞ aprende que realmente pode suportar… que realmente Ă© forte, e que pode ir muito mais longe depois de pensar que nĂŁo se pode mais. E que realmente a vida tem valor e que vocĂŞ tem valor diante da vida!”
Sarau Poemas a flor da pele – 14/08/2010 – Granja Viana
Fonte: http://www.granjanews.com.br/novo/index.php?q=node/514
Time is such a fast running stream that life becomes almost an unimportant movement of being.
Few things are really worth keeping records on this ephemeral path of ours.
 Let´s keep our good memories on a beautiful, old and dusty portrait.
Living documents, visual translations of our spirits, monuments to our self-written history…
Let´s become immortals based on our movements of love, or better not keep memories at all.
…
My favorite poet of all times is Carlos Drummond de Andrade.
Os desiludidos do amor
estĂŁo desfechando tiros no peito.
Do meu quarto ouço a fuzilaria.
As amadas torcem-se de gozo.
Oh quanta matéria para os jornais.Desiludidos mas fotografados,
escreveram cartas explicativas,
tomaram todas as providĂŞncias
para o remorso das amadas.
Pum pum pum adeus, enjoada.
Eu vou, tu ficas, mas os veremos
seja no claro céu ou no turvo inferno.Os médicos estão fazendo a autópsia
dos desiludidos que se mataram.
Que grandes corações eles possuĂam.
VĂsceras imensas, tripas sentimentais
e um estĂ´mago cheio de poesia…Agora vamos para o cemitĂ©rio
levar os corpos dos desiludidos
encaixotados completamente
(paixões de primeira e de segunda classe).Os desiludidos seguem iludidos,
sem coração, sem tripas, sem amor.
Ăšnica fortuna, os seus dentes de ouro
nĂŁo servirĂŁo de lastro financeiro
e cobertos de terra perderĂŁo o brilho
enquanto as amadas dançarão um samba
bravo, violento, sobre a tumba deles.
I didn´t know how hard it would be. And yet rewarding…
This is no holliday. I need to make a living, pay my bills, take care of my son and to paint. 8 hours, 12 hours, 16 hours daily. With no promise of a salary in the end of the day, month, year. Only promises of new projects, new shows, new possibilities. So much hope inside. Meanwhile, on the outside, canvas growing wild in my bedroom, livingroom, everywhere around me. People come and go, they appreciate it and they say: I wish I had the means to buy one… (YOU DO!) …no, I have other priorities now. Of course, colorful naive images on the wall are not made for the busy, struggling, simple man. So I am the busy, struggling, simple woman that must consider a second or third job in order to make life happen too. My heart gets heavy; I worry about being completely absorved by this workingman day that some call job and leaving my soul behind on the paintings I´d never be able to paint. I have plenty of work, it´s just not providing [yet]. It´s like considering a sabbatical just before the big break. It´s like choosing between love and money as they would be inconcievable essencials, forbidden by destiny to be reached or recieved at the same time.
I feel trapped, but i´m not giving up. I feel lonely but not hopeless. Dreams of new paintings polulate my sleep and new, exciting images keep appearing before my eyes: that must be a sign.
Or I´m just really naive.
Little wonderful country of Hans Christian Andersen´s fairytales
My son´s living there…and I´m meeting him there thursday.
My fairytale begins.
luciana mariano 