I am reminded of a community festival in Cairo many years ago.
Even then the occasion was an artistic event. Bruno Milich had finished the fresco in the shrine of the Madonna in the courtyard.
Glue was that painting. It was pride, for believers and non-believers.
They had followed the progress of that work that the inspiration of Bruno materialized before their eyes.
Men in the courtyard were turning looks, considered it a marvel of beauty and the ability of the artist fascinated them. And divagavano, without the rigor of a meeting of academics, and this offered a new topic.
The nascent fresco as well as interest held company, important though not exclusive, and cheeks to arguments that ranged freely now on this now on that. And you listened. As facing sunrise and sunset, admire and makes you want to talk about much else.
Magical landscapes that predispose.
The paintings. Football, cycling, building, mechanics, the latest model of Guzzi, Gilera, Fiat, agriculture, crops, time, the ailments of one, remedies. Life in the countryside, in town.
The fishing adventures, ironies on the biggest fish that is always to run away.
And sipping mixed to gasosa. And to tell their tastefully.
The courtyard was decorated with garlands in perimeter around the first floor.
On the walls of the hallway perforated cards and work in Scallop and there, lined up in two rows, pots of geraniums and aspidistra.
Two light bulbs in the yard would give light to the dance of the evening. It was the 1957.
And today there's Contact, to Cairo, approaching those distances past and, I dare, gives hope to the future distances.
Says (that magnificent act of will) that new additions are not only possible but necessary and is in the universally understood language and social art a tool that promotes this need.
By the way: when you decide to recognize the right to vote in local elections for our fellow non-EU? When this sacrosanct dignity?