In Venice live the
fairies.
During the day, they
would rather hide in tiny houses surronded by white picket fences guarding well
appointed gardens, whose weeping willows are the usual place for squirrels to
endlessly whisper to one another; during the night, though, when everything
else is peacefully resting, they dare leave their cozy shelters and go to have
some fun.
Driving anonymous cars — fairies love to play hide and seek —
normally two or three of them head for their usual venues, where elves, dwarves
and pixies have been patiently waiting for some time for getting together with
those much appreciated companions, whose silvery voices, in a little while,
will resonate on walls and ceilings, windows and doors. Then, and only then,
glasses will jingle, faces will inflame, buzz will turn into music and wait
will become celebration.
Satisfied their own desire to amusement, the fairies,
curious about the world and its wonders, move elsewhere, in search for
spiritual realms where to feel fulfilled and whole. Art galleries are the preferred
destination of such a new impulse, of such a new quest. Here they gather
looking for stories, looking for sparkles. Since the fairies, away from
inappropriate glances, sculpt and paint, compose and write, perform and sing.
They
despise big names, sure to find the right insipiration for their overflowing
creativity only in small places, yet filled with passion; places hardly
diverging from a traditional neighborhood store; places with no red carpet,
with no champagne; places where to show up dressed according to the mood,
wearing rags or silk, for here what counts is inside, not out.
An exhibition might
be, for such creatures of any age and descent, the most awaited and longed for
event. Because it gives them the chance to watch, listen, confront and
criticize the works of art by some long gone friends. And this is also the
perfect occasion to weave plots, to re-establish relationships.
The general feeling,
under these circumstances, has some anticipation, some enchantment in itself:
the fairies suddenly pop up on the threshold, carrying expection and
confidence. With careful and encouraging eyes, they analyse their surroundings,
observe the features: when they happen to recognize a friendly face, their
tension vanishes, their mouths open. And the words, along with the laughters,
will soon be floating everywhere, avoiding sculptures, skipping paintings,
neglecting catalogues. Over the heads, over the hearts, over the ambitions of people
of any time, any place.
E.M., Santa Monica