by Rosa Manauzzi
In the beginning was the breath, and the vital beat began to flow inside me, pulsing from the center to the extremities. The bright red gave color to my cheeks and lips, ready to emit sounds first decomposed then whispered melodies.
So I was born, this in short is my story, the always unequal narrative of my eternal existence, small events that, I don’t remember now, excuse me, if they really happened. For me it is, because what is in our fantasy exists, even if the others do not see it immediately.
I am narrative remnants put together and you are free to recompose the puzzle if you believe. Your vision will offer me new lives, just as I will offer you pieces of mine.
Who am I and why am I talking to you? I am the child of all time, the one who creates from the amazement of the first time, from the stunning of a sunset or from the joyful wagging of a dog. I feed on curiosity and game complicity, the colorful details of a market, the rustle of the clothes of a woman who returns home, the still human rumour of an old coffee shop still open.
The earth, the water, the stones, the air, the blades of grass, the bark and everything that can be touched, smelled, perceived, are the matter with which I compose dreams.
Today for you my name is Alu, and I am the spirit that dwells in the paintings you are contemplating.
Smile in front of my frowny faces, surprise, amused. I adore you when you join me in the search for meaning and even when you give up, for mystery composes us. The exact definition does not matter. Suffice it to say that we are life.
As a child (but I remind you that I do not intend to grow up), when the eyes were able to pick up the large spaces, I suddenly saw the full circle of the moon and the silvery reflection on the sea. I felt such amazement that I suddenly stood out against that wonder, like a child watching a bird fly becomes flight. So I became Alu. Then, called to live in the everyday, I looked for his light wherever I went, finding myself one day by chance, in front of a mirror bold enough to say “that’s almost you”, without the need for contours.
Since then I have dug out the light detail, bringing it back to light, stealing it from subtle moods of color, I ventured into plots that seemed to close every space and unruly untangling I finally glimpsed the light in the thickest of darkness.
What a magnificent discovery the light from the dark. If we remember it more often even the empty chair by our side would become the bright reminiscence that will never leave us alone.
The hovering of the earth’s race is a constant bet of balance and peace.
Once again I am reminded of the moon, the satellite of our planet. That turning around at a distance, of earth and moon, like two cats friends who do not want to attack, the respectful magnetism that allows you to exist without falling into the black hole.
If we could throw punches, always and only in art, also giving the numbers to crimes never committed, as we would be respectful as new moons. On the ground live bodies pulsating louder in the highlighted points.
Nature teaches us that the screeching of the leafy trees is only wind, it is the sky that reminds the earth of being one, united in the harmony of the universe.
These invisible threads to the eyes, which connect us to each other, are like the reflections of the moon, which I always look for and always find. We are immersed in the starry dust of the night, connected in all the consequences of our actions.
I am Alu, the child spirit that lives in the artist and I am the silver reflection conquered by those who feed on art.
Alu is not the fantasy of a moment or the glittering and nonexistent mirage. It is the smile that dwells in you and if you leave it on it will be the path traced through the stars, the colorful details of a market, the now clear mirror of your consciousness, the empty chair that breathes light, the gypsy dance that animates an old coffee, the astonished expression of a child, the magic taken away from a thin rainbow, the puzzle composed of shades, the balance found, the space discovered between the threads of a plot, the foliage moved by the wind of trees well rooted in the earth, the Milky Way, the fists never given to anyone, because the hands will always be busy creating life.