Gian Berra, in 2011 a new year of the painter of the soul of Veneto

Gian Berra in 1973, like hippie

Gian Berra in 1973.....

  My roots are important. These are the childhood experiences that form. Forget or pretend to be water under the bridge that is misleading. I care so much that I do I compare with them every moment. Return to your roots is how to get the strength, enthusiasm, willingness to grow as all the puppies of the human being. Mature without carrying the wonder of childhood is like dying. Nature is indifferent to the identity of the individual creatures. It affects the mass of life that replicates itself. So I think that intelligence is an event happened by chance, at least until it really will not be used for the benefit of each identity that you want to play live the life.

Gian Berra organize the first public exhibitions of his art in the late 70's when the great leap of the art market has now been exhausted. The economic boom is now a memory and the reality of things requires a period of reflection really healthy. Listen to him:

  "... It seemed that the illusion of aping the excesses of the international art market was worth more. The pictures without content were no longer taken into account. Even in the province's" artists "who had ridden the fashion of the new rich form an image they realized that it was now a hangover it was over the ridiculous ... "

   "... What could I offer with my art so naive, skinny," timeless ", now taken for granted? Yet my inner fire begged me not to notice and to continue to dig behind the masks of those who live on illusions a successful end in itself. It was a tough choice, but only so I felt satisfied. In that time still did not speak of "roots" and the dark future on the horizon looked like a hopeless void.

I realized that it was so easy to let the memories showed me the path of my true identity. Why should the people who swarmed around me did not see the colors that I admired about me? I stopped to listen to the voices of the old walls, I was blessed to greet the stones of the bed of the Piave and watched kidnapped the chimneys were smoking from the rooftops. Every now and then fled riding my old Moto Guzzi 500 military and reaches the sea in Jesolo. The wind and the sun comforted me and made me dream with the enthusiasm of those who have forgotten the lesson of freedom that came from '68. The great lesson of John Lennon singing the Hippy dream seemed forgotten. The party seemed over, the policy failed to distort the dream in violence and deception. The New Age had not yet arrived in Italy and minds were lost in that void. And glad of it.

But I wanted hard. Even then I was convinced that the wealth was inside each of us. was enough to pull it off. Do not you and no one gives when you find the street or is imposed on children as absolute truth ... asks in exchange for your soul ... "

  "... I had already decided: I turned the images felt my soul into concrete representations that everyone could see. Paintings, real forms, writings, poems, concepts and I would have adored me first. Instead of trying to create idols the road. "

gian berra, like a clown that looks really amazed ...

I WAS BORN ...

I was born in a day in November 1947 just after the war was over. A Segusino (TV) there were very few paved roads and telephones. Susa is a village in the hills, almost mountains. Those brave they went to work abroad, but the flight was started 100 years earlier when the artificial paradise of the Venetian Republic was wiped out. The United brought you more misery than before I was born and when poverty was the norm. The misery that the strict laws when it is associated with ignorance. Only the sentiments of humanity and infinite patience of the women who saved the soul of the countries oppressed by a sense of helplessness in the face of events. These are problems that afflict human beings, not Mother Nature. Susa was a fortunate and wonderful nature. but its inhabitants did not know. I spoke recently with the few remaining old and I had the good fortune to discover the reality hidden behind the fear of starvation. As each isolated from the world's conflicts and hatred for things born from nothing, was enough to step on the field of a neighbor, stealing an apple to invoke hatred. The talk of the country were run by the perpetual and every favor was the result of submission to those who could put a good word. The tavern was the outburst of males and gossip a double edged sword of old ladies. The dialect of Susa was sharp and decisive as that of the mountain. The church was the place to see who came every Sunday to show himself. Who we were not aroused suspicions.

My nature will be enchanted by this timeless corner of Veneto. An optimism that led me into the human and physical landscape of those places. A Venetian who was struggling to throw out its roots. When he was sixty-eight, great time, already beginning to explore the surrounding world and the passion of painting became the main direction.

Representing the wonder for the world that was growing inside me does not pay, just like how all the passions. The mere fact of living it satisfies and makes you continue. The enthusiasm of youth to take me on a difficult road to manage. The artist works in themselves, but every moment the search box.

I soon learned that the reality is quite different. How strange the art market! Nor is the space to dream. But I set myself to do it my way, and the energy was great as the dreams.

The art gallery Martinazzo Montebelluna gave me a valuable hand in 1978 out of the shell. Then began the real number of exhibitions, largely self-managed.

My art was always optimistic and enthusiastic. I was interested in the outlet end in itself. A naive figurative and essential that time is filled with flashes of irony and smugness. NEO BAROQUE as a figurative call it love.

Just a dream, like the rare sculptures already begun to produce then. A pleasant discovery was the watercolor I have always had a hand quickly and spontaneously. I still enjoy, especially in small sizes.

But the game never ends: how to have fun without using the picture? Thus leaving no stone unturned defied the boundaries further and further began my artistic form of gambling.

The BAROQUE INFORMAL was already in my hands trying another form of expression. Sounds easy, but turned out to be a street full of new challenges. The concept that loses its immediate readability in favor of a proposal without thinking of suggestions: a call for the viewer to challenge his own feelings and see where it could go.

I thank my last (of time) friend and admirer Giancarlo Nadai that continues to give me suggestions and opinions. An artist who need it like bread.

Gian Berra, Spring 2007

Osteria da Rafael, Covolo di pederobba, a piece of soul thrown away by the ignorance of the people of Veneto

Overview of 35 years of events:

From 1977 to 1980:

I organized two exhibitions in Treviso Ca 'de rich and 4 years on permanent display at the gallery in Piazza del Val wheat. Due to the personal gallery Brotto Cornuda (TV). Two personal exhibitions at the gallery The Well of Castelfranco Veneto, Staff in Villach (Austria), Collective in San Diego (California, USA), staff at the gallery of Our Lady Bridge in Conegliano TV, the gallery staff Rasarda in Montecatini Terme, the beginning of collaboration with the Gallery Martinazzo Montebelluna. In 1978, expose for the first time in Treviso at the gallery "The Casket of Val." It 'an opportunity to know the "market" for my province. I was offered the opportunity to exhibit at the historic hall of Ca 'de Ricci for two years in 1978 and 1979. I was presented a painter of great value in vogue in the city: BRUNO FAEL. I met him in his splendid study at Victoria Square and I was generous with advice from which to draw and the result of which I heartily thank him.

In 1980 I decided to open my new studio in Trento in Piazza Santa Maria Maggiore. The year-long adventure in which guests in my study, a painter friend of exception: BRUNO DONADEL of Pieve di Soligo (TV). Staff Pejo (TN).

From 1981 to 1991:

Back in the studio of Covolo di Piave (TV) and organize the series of events that follow: Employees in Turin (International Art Centre), Personnel in Padua (gallery Semeghini), shown at "GIPSOTECA Canova" in Possagno along with Danilo Soligo (1984), continuously for two seasons at the gallery Bafile in Jesolo VE, for two seasons in the gallery Sartori stay in Lignano Sabbiadoro, in 1986 the series of exhibitions in New York: a personal Lanuvio and another in Genzano on Roman hills. An Art in Rome at Saletta. From 1987 to 1991 the series of summer exhibitions in response to the "Celebration of Unity". All those summers around the Veneto, about 35 exhibitions in direct contact with people. In 1989, the adventure begins in Germany. Personal Dusseldorf, Braunschweig, Monaco and Wurzburg. Gian B-wandering points of the artists who have already encountered this: Luciano Buso, Danilo Soligo, Roberto Polanco, Ottorino Stefani mentioned in the bio page of this site.

From 1992 to 2005:

In 1989 he met Franco Carraro, the founder of Radio 5 range, and a free radio alternative that works in the Veneto and also played outside the region. It 'an opportunity to work with the radio to spread the message creation. Gian Berra keeps you a broadcast on Sunday afternoon for some time: the title is "Between East and West", themes of confrontation between two cultures meet.

In 1993 he began the adventure of PRACTICAL COURSE OF PAINTING I create as a way to interact with people who live near me. The aim is to gain experience of practical creativity to anyone who wants to try. Nearly a thousand people attended the course. Slow down with the personal but I do travel with European collectors in Paris, Prague, Metz (France), Liege (Belgium). I create the Cultural Association "cryolite" to help emerging artists shy of my land. Fund a "New Age Poetry Competition", indicating a great feast of poetry every summer solstice. Poets who reward each other without expert critics. Arrange for eleven years at the City Hall Cornuda (TV) "a collective of Easter" in order to meet local and foreign artists. In 2005 I dedicate this exhibition will be the last to the artists closer to professionalism, but too shy to organize. Almost all of Valdobbiadene (TV). Outstanding artists with more experience and more years of practice: Sergio Bortolini, MIRELLA SOTGIU BEPI Mionetto and JOHN CARAMEL chart wonderful, shy and reserved in his country of Valdobbiadene was virtually ignored. I visited him and found him already very ill. It was an honor for me to propose an exhibition.

From 1995 to 1999 he attended a complete course of training in Psychosynthesis and the result is a diploma at the Center for Psychosynthesis Padova, even then already directed masterfully by Dr. Cynthia Ghidini. It 'an opportunity to investigate the mental mechanisms that form and express the hidden power of creativity. The increased awareness of the potential hidden in every human being are within everyone's reach: just past fears induced by an education which limits the courage so natural in children, more daring than what is obvious.

In the meantime, I write poems and stories begin with the first (see the darkened pages). For several years I have fun with painting INFORMAL BAROQUE which joins in perfect harmony with the figurative vein distinguishes me. There are only two languages that only require you to be there and have their say. Return home in 2003, now live and work away 38 boats always Covolo di Piave TV. In the meantime I found the time to do several conferences on the theme of "Fear, who is she?" The last one I held in November 2006 with a staff of my works very well managed at the Art Workshop in Conegliano TV. The friend Giancarlo Nadai I also organizes a permanent at the "King's Bay Inn" on Refrontolo (TV), that too is a way of placing art in direct contact with people. I move less and now that the paintings to travel. In December 2006, finish my first novel: WASERE, dragon heart, about 200 pages, which I circulate among the closest friends waiting for a publication. The novel is set in 1906 in the village of Segusino (where I was born) and tells of a mysterious event actually happened in those mountains, magic and reality collide when the soul of the place awakens. But I'm already writing another of a completely different genre.

Gian Berra books are available on Lulu.com. http://stores.lulu.com/baroque

Gian Berra

A tale of Gian Berra in 2012. Hymn to Pan and living roots in all of us ... Witness the Morer, the tree of the blackberries.

 Gian Berra hippie in 1972

free in internet for USA people...



A tale of Gian Berra in 2012. Hymn to Pan and living roots in all of us ... Witness the Morer, the tree of the blackberries.

Fenola and Morer.

True story in the grave of the Piave, between Ciano and Covolo of Pederobba ....
Where the Piave makes a big loop and turns decisively towards the east, next to Crocetta and Cyan, its banks expand without limit. And 'possible to walk for hours between
stony plains and not meeting anyone. This is why I often go there and among wild grasses and sparse patches of trees can enlarge proud look how far he can go. There
I have limits and so easy to let the memories take the color of the air. Without the fancy patterns and imagine living any possible reality. He dreams and remember, exactly.
If I look to the south the eye is filled by the presence of Montello, long, low hill that keeps me company and framed like a hug the shore of Cyan.
It 'so easy to make road then, tired, I would go to a little refreshed.' So when I arrive at Croda granda, safe ride, and the inn and the very close of Fenola.
In the morning or afternoon, and there is never anyone Fenola is happy to talk. I do the rest in my pocket that I always pay me the shade of red. Sometimes also meeting
Domenico, always distracted and looking annoyed.
When I see him my heart starts to beat because I still hear him tell his story, but I have to wait Fenola is in a good mood. He does not want to hear
for nothing. He is the host and must be respected.
Today is an afternoon of those. Listless and without ideas I'm helping with a boiled egg at the end of Fenola sour wine and look out toward the poplars that shade the banks. A
Once, a little further down there was a large puddle of water, almost a lake, and the road we turned around. On the side approached the hill, the road was only a footpath that ran
for the trees. These formed a forest that mingled with the swamp.
A great Morer solitary steeply from the shore, was the head of all those trees. He grew up with no masters formed only a huge stain.
We walked past a few quiet or indifferent. He called for respect for and obtained without difficulty. The shadow of Morer was a kingdom in itself. And in this world is always dark
Maybe ... that was not a good idea, but sometimes not Menico thought. It is to be led by the wandering thoughts so long as the road no longer existed. He started toward the
serious although the evening now became almost overnight. The coolness of September was just mentioned and the hot air still invited to troubled thoughts.
What to Look For even among those rocks? Restless and inattentive Menico had already forgotten the working day and the darkness he called for no reason. He realized he was far from
when the path of the forest had already covered the evening light. The sudden darkness awoke him from dreaming and let a cold shiver would mark him as a rapid
flash. He slowed his pace, and conscious of his rhythm, he went cautiously to the water.
The sigh as if he realized he could actually hear it ... but just listened the silence left him alone and disappointed. What was that whisper that he could not hear?
Furious at what eluded him, he sat on the sand, between two large oaks, and looking towards the water near the left wandering attention as when he dreamed. He dreamed with the
mind and thoughts were free, but with eyes watching the world from afar. So, deceiving his anger, let go what he saw in himself he felt. Out of the corner
eye he noticed a movement in the darkness to his left. He knew he could not turn his head, he felt that if he did everything would be gone. I just knew.
He let himself be guided by instinct and pretending to look at the swamp, turned her face carefully enough to observe. And then with infinite slowness, trying to hide
its voltage, shifted his gaze with feigned indifference. Under the great Morer a dark lump moved. Not immediately tried to figure out, but he let it out to him the scene: A
thick, hunched figure, bent and stretched, was sitting on top of another figure, supported the huge trunk. Puffs and puffs made tense and agitated manner, and the air felt Menico
awaken the blood. His body could not ignore the desire and already replied to the hidden dream. His neck was pressing into his trousers and demanded attention: Those two
wafted fury of life with muffled screams.
What he was on was too bent over the girl, but was restless and was moaning like a cry almost whispered. She welcomed him hugging him and pulling
toward moving in waves slow and rhythmic.
Then little by little the silence began to dominate the moments. The two were still embraced in one form Menico dark for fear of being seen she also stopped
breathe.
Waves of musk sailed as low air paths between the logs. It seemed that even the trees waiting for the summit which called relief and liberation. But time
seemed never to pass and everything was on hold in tension; Menico lived this as part of what was happening.
 Menico already lost your attention, a vaguely hypnotic sleep numbed him and made it heavy, slow ... I nearly choked when he stood up to be an impressive, with
crooked legs and a hump, shoulders and boundless small head, tried to get in balance. But Menico shuddered when he saw and would not believe. He had the horns: they were
small and curved backward like the goats.
Menico froze like ice. The eyes moved over her and then saw her relaxed, leaning against the great Morer, with legs apart and arms hanging on
hips.
She was white as the moon, smooth and almost transparent. A body immature but eager for life. Her face was delicate, small, round, glowing with blue reflections. Hair
smooth and clear fell to her shoulders. A strand of silver thread between her thighs stood out proud that greeted his eyes.
She looked at the giant with a natural interest, and absorbed him up ... and saw his image Menico.
She did not move his eyes, but saw him. Menico felt itself sciogliesi all will. The endless sea and it seemed clear it was wrapping every thought.
He tried to rebel as a part of himself, wounded, cried out against it.
The heart seemed to burst in his chest and hands clawing the sand. With a painful shot his eyes off her and was immediately captured by the gaze of Him
Eyes of fire, and looked away judged. Then he became hatred. Now he had turned toward him. His hairy thighs framed a sharp pain and exaggerated. Black
in black. The feet were small, almost clogs, and saw a hint of a tail. Even the giant was about to shoot when you took his hairy wrist and held him.
Domenico found himself stuck staring at them both and trembling, finally listened to his fear. He jumped without looking and ran into the street without thinking even more. Overcame of a
jumped the banks lonely and dark. He saw the fields where the corn is dried up, he felt frightened squeaks of sewer rats disturbed. He ran and ran until he found himself
near the house of lords Matiol. Then he sat down behind a pile of hay, and allowed himself to cry without shame.
The moon above consoled him, but it was useless.
Domenico had wet his pants, and now carried within itself the dream of all dreams. He could not go home like this. No he had seen her, and her image was fused to its
cuore.Menico had seen him, and nobody but him would have been more terrible.
 He decided to remain with the moon, at least for that night.

***

Bluette clutched him Bronza. He already furiously clutching the neck of the human in the dream. The old anger and despair without end was already erasing the pleasure
she had given him. But would not allow Bluette Bronza furious, destroying what was coming. Pulled him strong with his hand and led her proud member inside her.
The squeezed and hugged him again with enthusiasm and warmth.
Bronzes felt the fire and ruin, but the heat and moisture deep Bluette erased and used to dilute the tension. He sank to the bottom of her again. He allowed
to his kidneys to sow still life. Its.
It still took him Bluette itself. Again and again ... He lived on his momentum and was enjoying its done.
Then slowly the tension vanished in moments. Any thoughts subsided, and Bronza dropped in the bed of leaves next to you He dreamed with his eyes half closed and the absent
enjoyment of anything. Now, almost happy and contented, let the thread remain beyond the focus of anger and memories. Gave away the thoughts of revenge and blood and
fell asleep.
But she folded her arms across her breasts naked, imagining a cold shiver. The man had seen her and Bronza. This surprised her. Throughout his life he had never wet nymph
noted that humans could see the people of life.
Those arrogant monkeys were blind to the great world.
But the man was a young boy and she had caught his attention. Still had the pleasure of abandonment to Bronza. But the thrill of winning slim
human was sweet as honey. And the honey in the fall was over. Or not?

***

Domenico did not come home that night. He slept in the barn next to the small fountain. Then she showed him busy in the garden of the house. As we were up early. His mother
asked him something, but then thought no more and left him alone.
Instead Menico no longer saw things. What time was it? Where to go? But now what was there to do? And the planed sides of you were there before him and asked to be
petted. The skin of a young girl, bright blue and had no solid form, but he took one of her desire. Her eyes were a slice of the infinite, and begged him to come to worship. His mouth was a little girl to enjoy the fruit ...
The belly Menico was a tension that he wanted. The sex of Menico claimed. And the day did not know anything. He was alone. But tonight he would be back there. Of course you do!
She wanted that life.
The evening of September here on the Piave Ciano, are long and warm and smells of summer still linger in the still air. But a vague sense of unease, hidden
under the crust of the things you see, makes restless hearts. Especially those who want to meet and have to rush to touch and enjoy being there. So
Domenico came almost running to the woods of Morer, but then when she was a few steps hid and listened. Nothing and no one was present. Distant echoes emphasized
silence indifferent to its tension. He went to the sand and Morer said nothing of the memories that he had inside.
He sat leaning on the trunk and slowly let himself be enveloped by darkness. The accepted as part of self and thoughts subsided.
Bluette heard him when he was still hidden on the side of the forest. Floor approached by studying his attention. Still he had not seen it, but it seemed sure of himself: he
hid well his desire. He wanted: a human!
He walked a little and went cautiously dark shadow of an acacia tree, right across the clearing.
And Menico dreaming with open eyes could not see her until a spark lit the hidden part of his right eye and turned on his desire. The heart started, and you
stopped breathing. Her back stiffened and his eyes only knew where to look. He saw her coming out of the darkness as if walking on a cloud. She shone the light
own and looked confident. His arms were falling natural framed by long hair and small breasts but pride is showing. The belly invited to his tuft of
life and her long legs barely moved, slow and safe. He was captured by qurgli eyes. They were drowning in a sea of.
When she was the closest he seemed to enter into the light that enveloped the world and of all time no longer existed.
Words were not necessary and he did not recall ever touching her. But when he came in she was like if you were annulled in the great sea of ​​life and lost its identity
dreaming and enjoying his embrace. He had tried to heaven and wanted nothing more.
He felt its forms and stroked her velvet and each stroke was the sweetest. The pleasure of existence and life was a reality. The humid, in which he moved was the invitation to
an eternity of bliss without end ...
Then her eyes watching him in, let him play with the colors and the infinite. He knew when it ended.
When gradually brought him back the rest of the world. Forded with her near him, he felt no pain detachment. She did not allow his heart to suffer and remained
close until sleep overcame him.

° ° °
Bluette slowly pulled away from the human. Light as a leaf allowed him to remain in the dream that kidnapped and gave him joy. She had captured his heart and he now
was his forever. Now that monkey man had experienced the infinite and his eyes wandered over the fog ever.
She felt within him the strength he had given her with his desire. It tasted different from what Bronza gave her: that she did not know Menico of arrogance. It was quite similar to that of children who have no limits, and dare the game, but they also want to be reassured.
So thanks to the bond she had created, he kept himself in this new flavor. A new color filled her in and Bluette knew he had won.
Then the cold night air Menico awoke, surprised to find that there are listlessly dressed. He saw the moon, and the darkness around him was like a velvet blanket. She was gone. But it was as if he were still with him. The inside felt like a conquered thing. He made her his.
A part of him wanted it touching, and even look into my eyes, but knew that would not come. He touched the sky and things would never be the same.
Domenico went sadly toward Cyan. Now the eyes could see the shadows of the trees almost alive, and away he noticed strange reflections on Montello darting over the forest. He felt the
owl call, and for the first time he felt no discomfort, and indeed wanted to reply to the salutation. This was enough to give him a little heat.
Menico felt the world go around him, and this feeling filled him and comforted him ...
Domenico was no longer alone.

° ° ° °

Some years later, in a September afternoon, Fenola was restless. It was always when they came to his inn Menico and Gian. Those two looked like they could agree. And they were always in the oddest times. What day is today? Already today, and tomorrow is Friday the tourists start arriving from Treviso and Venice. They are the ones that fill the inn every weekend. If Fenola had to rely on the inhabitants of Cyan or Covolo, he would have already closed the tavern.
He sees in the distance that the two greet each other: Menico back to Cyan and Gian sets off down the grave, to Covolo. Already, there Menico Among Fenola and an old rust ...
Fenola remember that time when his father, a year before he died and that left the tavern for an inheritance, he wanted to cut the big tree of the blackberries for its wood. He called two of his friends to help him.
They cut down the trunk with great toil and sweat, but the wood lasted long. Remember that when Menico heard about it, ran the inn screaming that they had done something
disgusting. It was the first time I saw Menico angry, red-faced. It seemed crazy, and then he started crying like a baby! Before his mother and then also
others present had comforted offering him a hint of red wine and a sandwich with anchovies. Then Menico calmed down and no more was said. Domenico had never married and lived alone
on the banks, but at least once a week was the inn. But for the tastes of Fenola was too dazed. Now, however, was to prepare the inn for the end
week ...
Already. I know that I'll spend time to call for going into old stories. But I hasten to add that surely someone has seen. No one wants to speak and ashamed. But I
does not matter. I want to say this at least once here that nobody knows me and although I take to be mad not give a damn.
It is said that a dark shadow occasionally shoots where there was once a large tree of the blackberries.
The shadow is black and large, also appears to have horns and a tail. Has anyone seen the eyes of that monster are red and full of fury and anger.
Who has seen the devil in that place we came back.

© 2012 Gian Berra




Gian Berra is hoping for Obama...

I wonder if Obama will do it. But who will make many dreams afresh perhaps I am just Gian-berra and this web space I have available cheaply for my share of  Gian Berra

https://sites.google.com/site/segusinosite/

https://sites.google.com/site/pederobbasite/

https://sites.google.com/site/veniceworldart/

https://sites.google.com/site/gianberrasite/

Chissà se Obama ce la farà. Ma chi ha tanti sogni forse quancosa saprà fare- Io sono solo Gian berra e ho a disposizione questo spazio web a poco prezzo per la mia parte di  Gian Berra

http://utenti.lycos.it/gianberra2/

Gian Berra spera in Obama

Eine Geschichte von Gian Berra im Jahr 2012. Hymne an Pan und lebenden Wurzeln in uns allen ... Erleben Sie die Morer, der Baum der Brombeeren.

In attesa che il pittore Gian Berra ...tiri le cuoia...
Non ci credete? Eppure noi che amiamo Gian Berra per quello che è ora ( non per quello che sarà quando sarà morto) sappiamo che una gran massa di persone stanno aspettando con ansia mal celata il suo kaputt. Detengono in casa quadri del pittore comprati a poco prezzo quando Gian Berra faceva la fame. Rubati all'artista per una patata lessa e tre cipolle. 
E' gente infima che non ama l'arte, Non ne sa che farsene, ma può sfruttarla se il pittore muore e così i dipinti che hanno in casa diventano preziosi. Gente che assomiglia ai miserabili che vivono di chiacchere e di falsità.
Non comprate quei quadri. Sanno di fame e di sangue vecchio. 
Invece cercate il maestro e fategli le lodi e lui gongolerà soddisfatto e vivrà molti anni di più con attimi felici.

Buon anno 2010 davvero buono. Gli amici sinceri di Gian Berra





Eine Geschichte von Gian Berra im Jahr 2012. Hymne an Pan und lebenden Wurzeln in uns allen ... Erleben Sie die Morer, der Baum der Brombeeren.


Fenola und Morer.


Eine wahre Geschichte in dem Grab des Piave, zwischen Ciano und Covolo von Pederobba ....
Wo die Piave eine große Schleife macht und dreht sich entscheidend in Richtung Osten, neben Crocetta und Cyan, seine Banken unbegrenzt erweitern. Und 'möglich, für die Stunden zwischen Fuß
steinigen Ebenen und nicht jemandem zu begegnen. Deshalb habe ich es oft zu gehen und unter wilden Gräsern und spärliche Baumgruppen kann stolzen Blick zu vergrößern, wie weit er gehen kann. Dort
Ich habe Grenzen und so einfach zu lassen, die Erinnerungen nehmen Sie die Farbe der Luft. Ohne die ausgefallenen Mustern und sich vorstellen, eine mögliche Realität. Er träumt und denken Sie daran, genau.
Wenn ich in den Süden schauen das Auge wird durch die Anwesenheit von Montello, langen, niedrigen Hügel, der mir Gesellschaft hält und gerahmt wie eine Umarmung der Küste von Cyan gefüllt.
Es "so einfach zu machen, dann Straße, müde, würde ich zu einem kleinen erfrischt gehen. ' Also, wenn ich bei Croda Granda, sichere Fahrt, und das Gasthaus und die sehr nahe der Fenola ankommen.
In der Vor-oder Nachmittag, und es gibt nie jemanden Fenola freut sich reden. Ich tue den Rest in meine Tasche, die ich immer zahlen mir die Rot-Ton. Manchmal treffen auch
Domenico, immer abgelenkt und sah verärgert.
Wenn ich ihn sehe mein Herz beginnt zu schlagen, weil ich höre immer noch ihn seine Geschichte erzählen, aber ich muss warten Fenola ist in einer guten Stimmung. Er will nicht hören
für nichts. Er ist der Gastgeber und muss respektiert werden.
Heute Nachmittag ist eine von denen. Lustlos und ohne Ideen, die ich mit einem gekochten Ei helfen, bin am Ende des Fenola saurem Wein und halten Sie Ausschau nach den Pappeln, die Schatten der Banken. Ein
Einmal, ein wenig weiter unten gab es eine große Wasserpfütze, fast ein See, und der Weg, den wir drehte sich um. Auf der Seite näherte sich dem Hügel war die Strasse nur ein Wanderweg, der lief
für die Bäume. Diese bildeten einen Wald, der mit dem Sumpf vermischt.
Ein großer Morer einsamen steil von der Küste entfernt, war die Hauptstadt aller dieser Bäume. Er wuchs mit noch keine Meister bildeten nur ein riesiger Fleck.
Wir gingen vorbei an ein paar ruhige oder gleichgültig. Er rief zur Achtung und erhalten ohne Schwierigkeiten. Der Schatten des Morer war ein Reich für sich. Und in dieser Welt ist immer dunkel
Vielleicht ... das war keine gute Idee, aber manchmal nicht Domenico dachte. Es ist von den wandernden Gedanken, so lange die Straße nicht mehr existierte geführt werden. Er ging auf die
ernst, obwohl der Abend nun wurde fast über Nacht. Die Kühle des September wurde gerade erwähnt und die heiße Luft noch zu sorgenvollen Gedanken eingeladen.
Was soll auch unter den Felsen schauen? Unruhig und unaufmerksam Domenico hatte bereits den Arbeitstag und die Finsternis ohne Grund nannte vergessen. Er erkannte, war er weit davon entfernt
wenn der Pfad des Waldes hatte bereits das Abendlicht abgedeckt. Die plötzliche Dunkelheit weckte ihn aus und lassen träumen ein kalter Schauer würde ihn als einen schnellen markieren
Blitz. Er verlangsamte seinen Schritt, und im Bewußtsein seiner Rhythmus, ging er vorsichtig auf dem Wasser.
Der Seufzer, als ob er erkannte, konnte er es wirklich hören ... sondern hörte nur die Stille ließ ihn allein und enttäuscht. Was war das Flüstern, er könne nicht hören?
Erzürnt über, was ihm entgangen, saß er auf dem Sand, zwischen zwei großen Eichen und mit Blick auf das Wasser in der Nähe des linken wandernde Aufmerksamkeit als wenn er träumte. Er träumte davon, mit der
Geist und Gedanken waren frei, aber mit den Augen sehen die Welt aus der Ferne. Also, betrügt seine Wut, loszulassen, was er in sich selbst sah er sich fühlte. Aus den Augenwinkeln
Auge bemerkte er eine Bewegung in der Dunkelheit zu seiner Linken. Er wusste, er konnte den Kopf nicht drehen, fühlte er, dass, wenn er tat alles gegangen wäre. Ich wusste einfach.
Er ließ sich vom Instinkt leiten zu lassen und so zu tun, um den Sumpf zu sehen, drehte ihr Gesicht sorgfältig genug, um zu beobachten. Und dann mit unendlicher Langsamkeit, versucht sich zu verstecken
seine Spannung, verlagerte seinen Blick mit gespielter Gleichgültigkeit. Unter der großen Morer ein dunkler Klumpen bewegt. Nicht sofort versuchte herauszufinden, aber er ließ es ihm die Szene: Ein
dick, gebeugte Gestalt, gebeugt und gestreckt, wurde auf einer anderen Figur sitzt, unterstützt den riesigen Kofferraum. Puffs und Puffs gemacht angespannt und aufgeregt Weise, und die Luft fühlte sich Domenico
Das Blut erwecken. Sein Körper konnte nicht ignorieren den Wunsch und die bereits beantworteten den verborgenen Traum. Sein Hals wurde in seiner Hose drücken und verlangte Aufmerksamkeit: Die beiden
wehte Wut des Lebens mit gedämpften Schreie.
Was war er auf wurde auch über das Mädchen beugte, war aber unruhig und wurde wie ein Schrei fast flüsterte stöhnen. Sie begrüßte ihn umarmt ihn und Ziehen
Richtung bewegt sich in Wellen langsam und rhythmisch.
Dann nach und nach die Stille begann, die Momente dominieren. Die beiden wurden noch in irgendeiner Form Domenico dunkel aus Angst, sie sehen auch gestoppt umarmte
atmen.
Waves von Moschus segelte so niedrig Luftwege zwischen den Protokollen. Es schien, dass sogar die Bäume für den Gipfel, der Erleichterung und Befreiung genannt warten. Aber die Zeit
schien nie zu passieren und alles war auf Eis unter Spannung; Domenico lebte dies als Teil dessen, was geschah.
 Domenico schon verloren Ihre Aufmerksamkeit, betäubt ein vage hypnotischen Schlaf und machte es ihm schwer, langsam ... Ich bin fast erstickt, als er aufstand, um ein eindrucksvolles sein, mit
krummen Beinen und einem Buckel, Schultern und grenzenlose kleinen Kopf, versuchte, in Balance zu bekommen. Aber Domenico schauderte, als er sah, und wollte es nicht glauben. Er hatte die Hörner: Sie waren
Klein-und rückwärts gekrümmt wie die Ziegen.
Domenico fror wie Eis. Die Augen bewegten sich über sie und dann sah sie entspannt und lehnte sich gegen den großen Morer, mit gespreizten Beinen und hängenden Armen auf
Hüften.
Sie war weiß wie der Mond, glatt und fast durchsichtig. Ein Körper, unreifen, aber eifrig für das Leben. Ihr Gesicht war zart, klein, rund, leuchtend blau mit Reflexionen. Haar
glatt und klar fiel auf ihre Schultern. Ein Strang der silbernen Faden zwischen ihre Schenkel stach stolz darauf, dass begrüßte die Augen.
Sie sah den Riesen mit einem natürlichen Interesse, und nahm ihn auf ... und sah, wie sein Bild Domenico.
Sie bewegte sich nicht die Augen, sondern sah ihn. Domenico fühlte sich sciogliesi alle wird. Das endlose Meer, und es schien klar, es wurde Einwickeln jeden Gedanken.
Er versuchte, sich als Teil seiner selbst zu rebellieren, verwundet, rief dagegen.
Das Herz schien in seiner Brust und Hände krallten den Sand geplatzt. Mit einer schmerzhaften Schuss aus den Augen und war sofort von den Blicken der ihn gefangen
Augen aus Feuer, und schaute weg gerichtet. Dann wurde er Hass. Nun hatte er zu ihm drehte. Seine haarigen Oberschenkel eingerahmt einen stechenden Schmerz und übertrieben. Schwarz
in schwarz. Die Füße waren klein, fast verstopft, und sah einen Hauch von einem Schwanz. Selbst der Riese war ungefähr zu schießen, wenn man seine behaarten Handgelenk nahm und hielt ihn fest.
Domenico fand sich fest und starrte sie beide und Zittern, schließlich hörte sich seine Angst. Er sprang ohne zu sehen und lief auf die Straße, ohne zu denken noch mehr. Einer überwand
sprangen die Banken einsam und dunkel. Er sah die Felder, auf denen das Getreide vertrocknet ist, fühlte er sich erschrocken Quietschen von Kanalratten gestört. Er lief und lief, bis er sich selbst gefunden
in der Nähe des House of Lords Matiol. Dann setzte er sich hinter einem Haufen Heu, und ließ sich ohne Scham weinen.
Der Mond über tröstete ihn, aber es war nutzlos.
Domenico hatte seine Hose nass, und jetzt trug in sich den Traum aller Träume. Er konnte nicht nach Hause gehen wie diese. Nein, er hatte sie gesehen, und ihr Bild wurde auf seine verschmolzen
cuore.Menico hatte ihn, und niemand gesehen, aber ihm wäre noch schrecklicher gewesen.
 Er entschloss sich, mit dem Mond bleiben, zumindest für diese Nacht.


***


Bluette umklammerte ihn Bronza. Er hat bereits heftig umklammert den Hals der Menschen im Traum. Die alte Wut und Verzweiflung ohne Ende wurde bereits das Vergnügen, das Löschen
sie ihm gegeben hatte. Aber würde nicht zulassen, Bluette Bronza wütend, zu zerstören, was kommen würde. Zog ihn mit seiner starken Hand und führte sie in ihr stolzes Mitglied.
Das drückte und drückte ihn wieder mit Begeisterung und Wärme.
Bronzen spürte das Feuer und Verderben, aber die Hitze und Feuchtigkeit tief Bluette gelöscht und verwendet, um die Spannung zu verdünnen. Er sank auf den Grund, sie wiederzusehen. Er erlaubt
um seine Nieren zu säen noch Leben. Seine.
Es dauerte noch ihm selbst Bluette. Wieder und wieder ... Er lebte auf seinem Schwung und genoss ihre getan.
Dann langsam die Anspannung verschwand in wenigen Augenblicken. Irgendwelche Gedanken nachgelassen, und Bronza sank im Bett verlässt neben dir Er träumte mit halb geschlossenen Augen und der abwesende
Genuss nichts. Jetzt, fast glücklich und zufrieden, lassen Sie den Faden hinter dem Fokus der Wut und Erinnerungen bleiben. Verschenkte die Gedanken der Rache und Blut-und
schlief ein.
Aber sie verschränkte die Arme über ihren Brüsten nackt vorzustellen, ein kalter Schauer. Der Mann hatte sie und Bronza gesehen. Das überraschte sie. Sein ganzes Leben hatte er nie nass Nymphe
darauf hingewiesen, dass die Menschen könnten die Menschen des Lebens zu sehen.
Diese arroganten Affen waren blind für die große Welt.
Aber der Mann war ein kleiner Junge, und sie hatte seine Aufmerksamkeit erregt. Dennoch hatte das Vergnügen, die Hingabe an Bronza. Aber der Nervenkitzel des Gewinnens schlank
Mensch war süß wie Honig. Und der Honig im Herbst vorbei war. Oder nicht?


***


Domenico nicht nach Hause in dieser Nacht kommen. Er schlief in der Scheune neben dem kleinen Brunnen. Dann zeigte sie ihm beschäftigt, im Garten des Hauses. Als wir waren früh. Seine Mutter
fragte ihn etwas, aber dann dachte nicht mehr und ließ ihn allein.
Stattdessen Domenico nicht mehr sah Dinge. Wie spät war es? Wohin reisen? Aber jetzt, was war da zu tun? Und die gehobelte Seiten von euch waren dort vor ihm und bat darum, sein
gestreichelt. Die Haut eines jungen Mädchens, helle blaue und hatte keine feste Form, aber er nahm eine ihrer Begierde. Ihre Augen waren eine Scheibe des Unendlichen, und bat ihn zu kommen, um anzubeten. Sein Mund war ein kleines Mädchen, um die Frucht zu genießen ...
Der Bauch Domenico war eine Spannung, die er wollte. Das Geschlecht von Domenico beansprucht. Und der Tag wusste nichts. Er war allein. Aber heute Abend würde er wieder da sein. Natürlich können Sie tun!
Sie wollte, dass das Leben.
September abends hier an der Piave Ciano, sind lang und warm und riecht nach Sommer noch in der Luft noch zum Verweilen ein. Aber ein vages Gefühl des Unbehagens, versteckt
unter der Kruste der Dinge, die Sie sehen, macht unruhig Herzen. Besonders diejenigen, die sich zu treffen und will, muss sich beeilen, berühren und genießen Sie dort zu sein. So
Domenico kam fast laufen in den Wald von Morer, aber dann, als sie noch ein paar Schritte versteckt und lauschte. Nichts und niemand anwesend war. Distant Echo betonte
Schweigen gleichgültig gegen seine Anspannung. Er ging in den Sand und Morer sagte nichts von den Erinnerungen, dass er im Inneren hatte.
Er setzte sich auf den Stamm gelehnt und ließ sich langsam von der Dunkelheit umhüllt sein. Die als Teil des Selbst akzeptiert und Gedanken gelegt.
Bluette hörte ihn, als er noch auf der Seite des Waldes versteckt. Stockwerk näherte durch das Studium seiner Aufmerksamkeit. Doch er hatte es nicht gesehen, aber es schien sich seiner sicher: er
verbarg auch sein Wunsch. Er wollte: ein Mensch!
Er ging ein wenig und ging vorsichtig dunklen Schatten einer Akazie, rechts über die Lichtung.
Und Domenico träumt mit offenen Augen sie nicht sehen konnte, bis ein Funke zündete die versteckten Teil seines rechten Auges und drehte sich auf seinem Wunsch. Das Herz begann, und Sie
hörte auf zu atmen. Ihr Rücken versteift und seine Augen nur wüßte, wo sie suchen müssen. Er sah sie kommen aus der Dunkelheit, als ginge man auf einer Wolke. Sie leuchtete das Licht
eigenen und blickte zuversichtlich. Seine Arme waren fallende natürliche umrahmt von langen Haaren und kleinen Brüsten, aber Stolz zeigt. Der Bauch, seine Büschel eingeladen
Leben und ihre langen Beine kaum bewegt, langsam und sicher. Er wurde von qurgli Augen eingefangen. Sie wurden in einem See zu ertrinken.
Als sie am nächsten war, schien er in das Licht eingehüllt, dass die Welt und aller Zeiten gab es nicht mehr geben.
Worte waren nicht nötig, und er hat mich nicht erinnern, jemals zu berühren. Aber als er kam in sie war wie wenn man in das große Meer des Lebens für nichtig erklärt wurden und hat seine Identität verloren
Träumen, Genießen seiner Umarmung. Er hatte versucht, den Himmel und wollte nichts mehr.
Er fühlte seinen Formen und streichelte ihr Samt und jeder Schlag war die süßeste. Die Freude an der Existenz und das Leben war eine Realität. Die feuchte, in denen er sich bewegte war die Einladung zu
ewiger Wonne ohne Ende ...
Dann die Augen beobachtete ihn in, lassen Sie ihn mit den Farben und dem Unendlichen zu spielen. Er wußte, wann er endete.
Als nach und nach brachte ihn zurück den Rest der Welt. Durchwatet mit ihr in der Nähe von ihm, er fühlte keine Schmerzen Ablösung. Sie wollte nicht zulassen, dass sein Herz zu leiden und blieb
schließen, bis ihn der Schlaf übermannte.


° ° °
Bluette zog langsam weg von der menschlichen. Leicht wie ein Blatt erlaubte es ihm, im Traum, und entführt gab ihm Freude zu bleiben. Sie hatte sein Herz erobert und er sich nun
war sein für immer. Jetzt, wo Affen Mann hatte die unendliche erlebt, und seine Augen wanderten über den Nebel überhaupt.
Sie fühlte sich in ihm die Kraft, die er ihr geschenkt hatte, mit seinem Wunsch. Es schmeckte anders, als Bronza gab ihr: dass sie nicht wusste, Domenico von Arroganz. Es war ganz ähnlich wie bei Kindern, die keine Grenzen zu haben, und wagen Sie das Spiel, aber sie wollen auch beruhigt werden.
Also dank der Bindung sie geschaffen hatte, hielt er sich in diesem neuen Geschmack. Eine neue Farbe gefüllt und in ihr Bluette wusste, dass er gewonnen hatte.
Dann die kalte Nachtluft Domenico erwachte, überrascht feststellen, dass es sich lustlos gekleidet. Er sah den Mond, und die Finsternis um ihn herum war wie eine samtene Decke. Sie war verschwunden. Aber es war, als wäre er noch mit ihm. Das Innere fühlte mich wie ein Ding erobert. Er machte sie zu seiner.
Ein Teil von ihm wollte sie berühren, und sogar mir in die Augen schauen, aber wusste, dass nicht kommen würde. Er berührte den Himmel und die Dinge würden nie mehr dieselbe sein.
Domenico ging traurig in Richtung Cyan. Jetzt sind die Augen sehen konnte, die Schatten der Bäume fast lebendig, und weg bemerkte er seltsame Reflexionen über Montello Stechen über dem Wald. Er fühlte die
Eule, sie rief, und zum ersten Mal spürte er keine Beschwerden, und zwar wollte zum Gruß zu antworten. Das war genug, um ihm ein wenig Wärme.
Domenico spürte die Welt um ihn herum gehen, und dieses Gefühl erfüllte ihn und tröstete ihn ...
Domenico war nicht mehr allein.


° ° ° °


Einige Jahre später, im September einen Nachmittag war Fenola unruhig. Es war immer, wenn sie in seine Herberge und Gian Domenico kam. Die beiden sahen aus wie sie zustimmen könnte. Und sie waren immer in den unmöglichsten Zeiten. Welcher Tag ist heute? Bereits heute und morgen ist Freitag beginnen die Touristen kommen von Treviso und Venedig. Sie sind diejenigen, die das Gasthaus füllen jedes Wochenende. Wenn Fenola musste auf die Bewohner von Cyan oder Covolo verlassen, würde er schon geschlossen haben, die Taverne.
Er sieht in der Ferne, dass die beiden sich gegenseitig zu grüßen: Domenico zurück zu Cyan und Gian löst sich das Grab, um Covolo. Schon gibt Domenico Unter Fenola und einem alten Rost ...
Fenola an diese Zeit erinnern, als sein Vater, ein Jahr bevor er starb, die die Kneipe verließ, zum Erbe, das er große Baum des Brombeeren für seine Holz schneiden wollte. Er rief zwei seiner Freunde, ihm zu helfen.
Sie schneiden den Stamm mit großer Mühe und Schweiß, aber das Holz lange dauerte. Denken Sie daran, dass, wenn Domenico davon hörte, lief das Gasthaus schreien, sie hätten etwas getan werden
widerlich. Es war das erste Mal sah ich Domenico wütend, mit rotem Gesicht. Es schien verrückt, und dann fing er an zu weinen wie ein Baby! Bevor seine Mutter und dann auch
präsentieren getröstet hatte, bot ihm einen Hauch von Rotwein und ein Sandwich mit Sardellen. Dann Domenico beruhigt und nicht mehr gesagt wurde. Domenico war nie verheiratet und lebte allein
an den Ufern, aber wenigstens einmal in der Woche war das Gasthaus. Aber für den Geschmack der Fenola war zu benommen. Nun aber war es, das Gasthaus auf das Ende vorbereiten
Woche ...
Schon. Ich weiß, dass ich Zeit damit verbringen, um beim Einstieg in die alten Geschichten nennen. Aber ich beeile mich hinzuzufügen, dass sicher jemand gesehen hat. Niemand will zu sprechen und zu schämen. Aber ich
spielt keine Rolle. Ich möchte dies mindestens einmal hier sagen, dass niemand mich kennt, und obwohl ich, verrückt zu sein nehmen sich einen Dreck.
Es ist gesagt, dass ein dunkler Schatten schießt gelegentlich, wo es war einmal ein großer Baum der Brombeeren.
Der Schatten ist schwarz und groß ist, scheint auch Hörner und einen Schwanz haben. Hat jemand gesehen, die Augen von diesem Monster sind rot und voller Wut und Zorn.
Wer hat den Teufel an jenem Ort kamen wir wieder gesehen.


© 2012 Gian Berra

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