I shall see the beauty, before this moon turns new. Twice I'll watch her get shape, at first on the lagoon in front of me and then rosy on the painter's sheet. If I'll be cautious, I'll respect the silence, as too many words have been spent like these. And a lot, like these ones, in vain.
Yet, I already know, as I am a stubborn student and dumb, I will not the tale resist, and with crooked pictures drunk I'll try to say. But first will come the silence, mother and daughter of every wonder. As a lot of words have been spent like these. And too many, like these, are vain.
Beauty thrives in silence, marvellous and proud. Words already are intrusive tale, babble of voices, reasoning of the insane.
As this moon turns anew, I shall see the beauty be. She will reveal twice, in the flowing of the waves and in the watercolours on the painter's sheet. I'll be there, my only richness in the desire, worthless bystander for what it counts. And I confess I'll try to tell through my crokeed images the inebriation of the time. So I'll beg pardon then. As a lot of words were spent like these. And too many, like these, are vain.
They have words heavy with absence and conceit, they have obscure words as resounding drums, they have words too light, may the wind dispose of them, in the same way of mines. The beauty invites and hears and heart and silent soul are needed. I can't know if I am among the ones who are called, and nonetheless I'll go, risking to show uninvited.
Drawing Masterclass di Keith Brockie in Tuscany, April, 3-5 2015