Life on Venus – We are the Family

scena-di-mine-vaganti

Forget about those masterpieces of Italian Neo-realism. Forget about the great comedies. Nowadays Italian cinema is a matter of family.
Sometimes cinema is a kind of mirror of our society, sometimes it could educate the society itself. So in contemporary Italian movies and screenplays directors seem to be worried about the Italian family and its crisis.
The most appreciated directors have made movies in which “Family” is always the main topic. The relationship between mother and son (La prima cosa bella – Paolo Virzì), parents vs children (Genitori e figli agitare bene prima dell’uso – Gianni veronesi) the son’s coming out and the family’s reaction (Mine vaganti – Ferzan Ozpetek) and the various aspects of couples in crisis (a bunch of directors including Gabriele Muccino).
It could sound as if the end of the traditional family (mother, father, children)might be the greatest fear in Italy. I can appreciate that in our political and economic situation the idea of ‘family nest’ could be something to console our troubles but first we should reflect on the causes of this condition. A society that is looking for a mother’s womb instead of trying to cope with its phantoms is a sick society.
I ‘ve watched other interesting movies in recent times such as the Japanese film, “Departures” by Yojiro Takita, in which the sense of death and its idea is shown with a high lyrical attitude coming from the director’s sensibility as well as the Japanese culture. “Soul Kitchen” by Fatih Akin, in which the main character is trying to find her place in the world with the help of some friends and learning the art of cooking.
So I ask myself, is the crash of the family a real problem or is it just a step towards civilization? I would answer: ‘The family is dead, long live the individual’!

Selva Latina

Selva latina, or Tristes tropiques

Selva Latina

”…For the first time in  my life I was on the other side of the Equator, in the tropics, and in the New World. By what master-token should I recognize this triple transformation? What voice would confirm it for me, what never-yet- heard note ring out in my ear? Flippancies first: Rio seemed to me like one huge drawing-room.”

”The trees were so high that they seemed to touch the sky; and, if I understood right, they never lose their leaves; for they were as fresh and as green in November as ours are in the month of May; some were even in flower, and others were bearing fruit And wherever I turned the nightingales were singing, accompanied by thousands of other birds of one sort and another.”

Excerpts from:  Tristes tropiques, by Claude Lévi-Strauss; 1955.

Trees



Trees

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth’s flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

Joyce Kilmer

Encounter on the Beach

LakeWeyba Stone 001

What is it?

This object

Thrown across the sand by the tide.

Where has it been?

This object

Which nestles in it’s own crater.

Who’s seas has it seen?

This object

Buried deeply, a mystic thing.

Is it treasure?

This object

Overwhelmed by the flood.

Was it ever yours?

This object

A weapon under the sea of Mananon.

Can it ever be mine?

This object

If it was ever yours.

Too Late?

That object

Lost to me for a time under the closing tide.

Souvenirs

The World in my Apartment:

a coffee mug with Haida fish

a Grecian vase and soapstone Inuit owl

Laura’s black pot from the Fraser delta

two perfectly spherical stones
from the Capilano river

another (flat) stone
picked from the ground at Wounded Knee

my guitar
leaning against the wall
with a capo on the third fret
and souvenir buttons on the strap:
Graceland
Grand ol’ Opry
Rock’n’Roll Hall of Fame
(to name a few)

a photograph of my father
as a young man in India
in the uniform of the Royal Air Force

trilobites from Ontario

my Mexican blanket with the Mitla motif

six pieces of charred paper blown from the
World Trade Center on 9/11
and picked off the streets of Brooklyn

photographs of Lake Louise