from life

simo-capecchi_crescentone

The red thread I’m following these days is reality. Il paese è reale (the country is real), after many and tenacious preparations has become, in fact, real, with the collective concert last Friday night in the square of Stazione Centrale in Milan – a place very real (or unreal) in itself for us Milanese, one of the symbols of the neglect and the death of public spaces in our city, the ideal place to demonstrate something about our deep desire for culture and sharing; in that square I saw for the first time rock fans mingling with junkies, passers by, immigrants, tourists. And reality revealed itself as the practical face of dreams. Being real, being true, doesn’t mean we just make do with what’s already there. We can also create something that wasn’t there and make it just as real. The day after that, in Riva del Garda, Paolo Benvegnù played live in Patchanka and moved us to tears. He’s more focused than ever and he’s writing wonderful songs, and he too feels that the “real country” needs us to make a difference. And, last but not least, in Riva del Garda a gift from the blogosphere materialized for me: Simo Capecchi was our guest on air, therefore, after her adventurous journey from Naples to meet us, coming up the lake by boat (and drawing all the way, of course!), I finally met her in person. It was a great day, we had loads of fun, and I had the privilege to leaf through some of her wonderful watercoloured sketchbooks and to be shown her drawing kit (the sketchbook above  is her japanese notebook seamlessly depicting one whole day around Crescentone in Bologna – thank you Simo!) In our conversations one theme kept popping up: the mingling of real and virtual; the physical sketchbook, handmade, one of a kind, that you can nonetheless flip through and share online getting as far as to creating communities, or even to meet others in person and maybe draw with them; the bodily nature of drawing as opposed to the incorporeal nature of the mean by which we share it; and last, the extreme subjectivity of the sketchbook artist that still retains an impression of “reality” much stronger than any reportage.