Monday, 15 March 2010

A slide story

 I arrived at Langley Avenue with a big suitcase, loaded with the essentials for surviving until the moving company would deliver the boxes from Italy: some summer clothes and a pair of sandals (it was mid-June, after all), eye-drops, Fabrizio De Andrè's complete CDs collection, a D-SLR and a film camera with a slide film loaded on.
Yep, the basics, exactly what a normal person would need on everyday basis.
I quickly finished the film but, because I didn't know where to have it developed, I set it aside, thinking I could do it later. Yeah, right.
I brought it back to Italy the first time I came back for a visit, thinking to have it developed in Torino.
Yeah, right. I forgot it in a handbag and I found it again only one year after: in the meantime, the handbag had been in the basement.
Obviously, if I had waited one year I could wait some other time. So I did, and the months went by and became years.
Back in November, I noticed the film was stored with the hanging clips in a small box out on my parents' balcony. I brought it back in but I waited until last week to have it developed.
No, truth to be told I brought the film to the shop 3 weeks ago and collected it on Saturday: putting off is a refined art...

I didn't remember what there was in and the condition was quite bad: many photos were burnt and others were burnt, as if dust and dirt settled into the film for ages (but how? I can't really see how it happened :-D).
As I was staring at the developed slide, in the center of Piazza Paleocapa, waiting in line in front of Grom, I had to smile: a Sunday probably, in Piazza Castello, people watching a juggler and a puppet theater; my flat staircase in the evening, looking very gloomy; my (back then) just tattooed tattoo.
And then, only one image came out from those I shot in England. I vaguely remember I took some pictures around Surbiton, in the area I used to live: the bike shop, the polish delicatessen, the church, I think the name was St. Matthew's, but none of them came out. There was only this:

I bought some flowers to add some colours to the flat: it was one of those rented anonymous flat. Everything was white over white in flat 4, I couldn't put more than 2 nails on each wall and I couldn't keep any pets... Not that I'd even thought about, as flat 4 was so tiny I renamed it "shoebox #4": one pet in and I had to sleep outside!

They kept me good company for quite a while, than the white nothingness of Langley Avenue got the best of them: they grew suicidal. I had place them on the windowsill outside, and they jumped off and fell to the ground, smashing the vase in thousands pieces and killing themselves in the process.

Another version says it was, ehm, my fault as I didn't fix them properly to the windowsill and the first gust of wind made the vase fall. But that's quite unlikely, don't you think?

Weird think, by looking at the picture, is that I remember it just as it is on slide. With the same colours. 
But I know that this ain't so. The colours were different at that time.
Perhaps the colours of memory and past painted a different photo in my mind.

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