Francesca Woodman

A new exhibition in town

Francesca Wodman (C), Yet another leaden sky, Rome, 1977-1978

Walking through the desert streets of the self defined "industrial & financial heart" of Italy, these days, is pure pleasure. The late days' rainfalls have cleared the sky as I never was able to see in the last ten years of my life. The foggy and grey town buildings have turned into a kaleydoscope of colors: in some extent it feels like being in Scandinavia!

As the town is empty is much more difficult not to notice the large pictures of a young girl hanging from the tip of a door that cover every corner of the streets. A long waited exhibition of Francesca Woodman is being held at Palazzo della Ragione, facing il Duomo, the downtown Cathedral.

Francesca Wodman (C), Untitled, Rome, 1977-1978

So, back in town after a long and suffered vacation, once out of my office, dribbling through groups of japanese tourists heaping to listen at their guides' speech, I reached the old building and treated myself with some remarkable and inspiring works to see.

Francesca Wodman (C), Untitled, Providence, Rhode Island, 1975-1978

Further details: http://www.mostrawoodman.it/

Midsommar Break

It's half past ten of a splendid sunny Thursday evening, here in Goteborg. I'm sitting at the desk of my room, up on the XVIII floor of the west tower of Gothia Hotel. On the table I have spread coke, peanuts, cables, notebooks, restaurant tickets, bus tickets, train tickets, taxi receipts, a mobile, remote controllers, a compact camera and this diabolic tool into which I'm pouring my current thoughts.

Outside is still day. From the window panes I have in front of me a splendid stretch of colours from deep blue to red that I wouldn't be able to express with a B&W photograph (as I'm used to do) reminds me to be in Scandinavia.

Photo, (C) Tiberio Fanti

It's my last evening here before my holidays. I'm tired. I'll stay put here to watch the light dimming on the town. I've been working and travelling so much this week. Today I crossed the country from Karlstad, up in the middle of everything, to a ghostly town named Hallsberg (which, to me, listening to the local pronunciation, sounds like "the mountain of the devil") to wait for another train that led me here. Tomorrow I'll get back to a hateful, steamy and damned hot Milan.
I was wishing to give a call to Mr. Urbano and see where he's going to rest his bones, this summer, but I failed. I've been shadowed by some colleagues now and then. Not a good reason, I know. I'm not good at lying. That's my greatest regret.

Well, I urgently need for a long Midsommar break. Now it's time to have some sun & salt burning my skin. Back in couple of weeks.