poetry

Cages


Cages are homes, hearts, minds, routines. You may love your cage, but it is still a cage.

I am prisioner to the books I never wrote, the the music I never composed, to the love I didn’t give.

Life is a sentence.

*****

Cages/Gaiolas – 2017 – 30×40 – Luciana Mariano (direitos reservados)

DISPONÍVEL / AVAILABLE

*****

Tenho sonhado muito nos últimos dias. Uma sonharada que por vezes lembro, outras não, que às vezes fazem sentido, outras me põem ainda mais ansiosa, confusa. Se sonhos são projeções do inconsciente, minha alma está povoada pelo tumulto, pela agitação, multidões barulhentas de quadros ainda não concebidos. Muito movimento, muitas histórias e sentimentos que me fazem acordar cansada – como se a vida diária, acordada, já não se encarregasse disso.

Vivo a síndrome do estrangeiro, aquele que não pertence em lugar nenhum e especialmente aqui sei que não me encaixo. Me falta algo que vai além do que sei descrever, uma sensação de desconforto que me roça a pele, incomoda e sufoca como espartilho sobre a roupa e sapato de tiras, de salto, apertados.

Tenho conseguido meditar um pouco, o que que ajuda a recobrar a sanidade. Aquela paz de quem observa à distância, que vê o torto mas não se curva para segui-lo. Aquela aceitação da impotência, misturada com a tranquilidade de quem já entendeu que às vezes só o tempo mata ou cura. Ele, o tempo, não falha nunca, quem falha é a vida, efêmera, fragilzinha, mecânica, utópica. A cabeça trabalha o tempo todo, mesmo quando tenta, se esforça deliberadamente para não fazê-lo. Ela avalia tiranos, examina possibilidades e, sempre que possível, acordada ou dormindo, sonha.

Hoje meu sonho me estapeou pra fora da cama, acordei com a frase: “É o que é.”

Aceitação? Nem sei… Não costumava ser dessas.

Mas é. É o que é.

Um dia de cada vez.

Vou fazer o que sei, preciso e posso. Vou pintar. E assim sou feliz, leve, livre.

Quando não pinto por algum tempo, os quadros borbulham dentro de mim, como essa enxurrada de sonhos descontrolados, querem sair. Metáfora perfeita para eu, que quero sair. É o que é. Vou pintar.

Sobreviver é urgente quando se trata de viver de arte.

Para viver entre saudade e sonho, prefiro pintar: a única e secreta, pessoal e intransferível forma de enganar o impiedoso tempo.

É o que é.

Que bom, melhor assim.

Purple


A purple cat perhaps

can stand

For whatever differences

We may represent

In this ecological

Diverse

world.

Our uniquenesses

our ideas

and battles

Often speak louder

Than our loudest

Repeated words.

Not easy to live

In a society where

So many speak

But so few say anything

That is worth 

listening.

Colors yell.

They Play

They Whisper

while screaming,

secretly

what they really

want to 

Show.

Even the simplest

And most naive

Purple

Painted cat

Can

Some times

Say: odd is good.

Our differences makes us special

Lovable

Beautiful.

Magical.

free

Empathy for these differences

Makes us better

And allows us

To exist

In a better

Kinder

Softer 

possible world.

Goodbye 2016

It was about time. 2016 was a heavy year to bare. Brazil suffered a dirty, evil, imperialist financed, media promoted, disgusting political attack (yes it was a coup d’etat), they impeached a honest, democratically elected president and allowed Brazil to go back to curruption, poverty and dependency. Yes, you are all guilty of it. You all watched our young beautiful nation being raped, and yet, you did nothing. Your body may be going to the beach in a fancy new car, but your mind is blind, enslaved, in chains. 

I am happy 2016 will soon be over. At least metaphorically we have a new chance for better days. Yes, I am bitter about this and many othe things. And my only escape from the reality I do not cope with is to paint. I paint easy days with beautiful things to look at, peaceful times, loving people. I paint calm walls of protection, lovely china on the table with delicious cakes, bread, jam, butter, fresh brewed coffee, warm milk. I paint light curtains, beautiful sunsets, cute animals. I paint neat clothes, delicate groomed hairs, timid smiles, attemptive eyes. I paint good company and happy expectations. I paint time and space that suits the soul, embraces the eyes. I paint small treasures and details that invites your attention, your fantasy, your smiles. I paint flowers and clouds, sea and nice water kettle on the warm stove. I paint memories and dreams. I walk myself out of frustration and desappointment through colors and brushes. Striking fresh paint on immaculate canvas allows me to offer a different reality and believe in a better world. 

I am eager to start the new year. I am ready for a self built reality filled with happiness and pleasant present moments.

It is time for a new painting. Always time for a new chance.
PAINTING AVAILABLE FOR SALE – 30x40cm – acrylics on canvas – “Kökar”, 2016.

Empty spaces

December arrives and the year ends. It sounds like a metaphore for life…and it is.

The end of the year brings loads of thoughts and considerations about things that really matter and other things that simply fade away, as they never even existed. Empty spaces are so poetic. It is time to make room for the new, emptying boxes, drawers, minds, hearts and souls of the things, feelings and thoughts that no longer have place, importance or use. We are getting one year further away from what was and approaching whatever else it will be. Letting go is not always an easy thing to do. Some of the things left behind can never be replaced, but they still need to be left behind. December is time to celebrate symbols and comemorate our capacity to love and reinvent, end and restart. December holds, besides many beloved friends’, my brother’s and my son’s birthday. One is forever missed and gone and the other one is my reason to carry on. December is not an easy month for me. But it is also one of my very favorite times of the year. With lovely smells and tastes like glöck, roast, cakes and cookies. It has sprinkled magic disguised as tiny bright lights and candles. Hot and cold. Extreme conditions, feelings and weather, according to where you are and how you feel.

December, for me, is a cozy empty space.

Empathy, kindness and flowers.


Kindness is better than religion, titles, possessions, better than anything money can buy. Kindness often has no name, no face, no address, because kindness is the love you can give to anyone, unconditionally. Kindness can give food and shelter disguised as charity, but its more than that. It’s much more, further and beyond guilt or duty, that’s for sure. Kindness is unpretentious, unexpected, true donation of humanity. It’s not a trade and certainly not a burden. It’s easy to get and give and in that way it’s wider than love itself. It’s not a present, not a stack of money, nor a bunch of dead flowers or a painted canvas. It is the priceless smile that is given and received with a silent hug of a million words. People who can wear the fellow man’s shoes and really understand how and why. Empathy causes kindness. Empathy is beauty beyond looks, words, things. Empathy and kindness could heal the world. We need more of it. Loads of it. 

The Recipe

  

Recipe of Love – painting for sale and exhibited at Galleria Maria, Helsinki, Finland

Go take a look and visit this lovely, lovely gallery:   http://www.galleriamaria.fi ❤️
(…)

I wish love had a recipe and we could follow it, step by step, making the best of it, getting it, spot on right.

What is the recipe for love

Respect?

Consideration?

Care?

Freedom?

Desire?

Passion?

Forgiveness?

Friendship?

Tolerance?

Time?

I know that each human being is a very unique maze and a full ecology of feelings, stories, needs, sensations. Therefore there must be more than one recipe. But what are the essencial ingredients? What makes it so right, so good, wrong or possible, simple or labourious?

What is the ultimate recipe for love? The delicate chemistry that makes us crave for something extraordinary?
A love so big, so complete that will finally save us from this emotional starvation and loneliness?

❤️

Vermelho | Red | Rosso | Rød | Rouge | Rojo | Rot

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Onde eu me sento
Onde descanso meu coração
Onde afirmo minhas inclinações na vida
Onde contabilizo as emoções da jornada

Grounded by knowledge

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Leia
Conheça
Instrua-se
Mas não dependa só do que dizem
Para saber

Pense
Imagine
Conclua
Mas não limite-se a verdade absoluta
Porque ela simplesmente não existe

Invente
Acrescente
Mude
Experimente
Porque o conhecimento
Mais do que acrescentar
É o que te permite voar

Leia mais
Escute mais
Fale menos
Respire
Medite

Conhecimento constrói
Mas a sabedoria liberta

Choose your dreams

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Tem realidade demais pra ser digerida nesse mundo gorduroso.
Sonhos, por outro lado
São doces e não engordam
São assustadores mas não matam
São confusos mas não importam

Neles, voar é possível
Sonhar é passível
Viver é passável

A madeira escorre
O chão flutua
Os potes transbordam
De nada
E nada existe
Nem tudo é.

Sonhar
Profundo, tranquilo como o cosmo
Revolto e indecifrável
como o mar
Um mar de sonhar.

Lá a loucura é permitida.
Andar nu, sentar-se, subir ou olhar
Entrar ou sair, exitar…
Lá tudo pode
Porque nada é.

Escolha o seu sonho
Um raro e um caro produto
De mentes sãs e perturbadas.

Escolha enquanto há tempo
Enquanto o tempo gira
Nos relógios que pairam

Que bela a vida que se contempla
daqui de fora
Daqui de cima
daqui do lado
Daqui de dentro
De onde viver e sonhar
Só depende do desejar
Só depende do desenhar.