What a difference a year made
365 little days
Brought the sun and the flowers
Where there used to me rain
One year ago I was fighting to get away.
Now I’m finding hard not to stay.
It happened I got a flat I feel my own: it’s so nice, warm and there’s so much light coming in from the window right now.
I've put an armchair in front of the window: it’s not an amazing landscape the one I can admire from there, the courtyard of the building in front of mine and the buildings on the street after; yet it’s so nice and quiet, and it’s nice to just sit there knitting or reading, while I listen to the Wilco’s opera omnia.
It happened I still struggle at crying most of the time, but found moments when I can do it freely and I’ve started calling my problems by their proper names, rather than looking for excuses.
The combination of these 2 facts brought me to a dreadful Sunday afternoon when I started feeling a familiar sense of anguish creeping up. I used to call it the "Sunday afternoon-Monday morning school angst". It’s that horrible feeling I used to get on Sunday afternoon, when I knew it was time to get the school backpack ready for the morning after and I just thought that if I didn’t do anything, denial would have taken all my worries away and it would be Sunday afternoon forever.
Yesterday the feeling was so strong and I felt so bad, I had to do something. And instead of hiding under the bed cover to resurface only tomorrow morning (when I’ll have to go back to Milan), I went out.
I took a bus to the city center early in the morning and basked in how beautiful everything around me was.
Monday before Epiphany is a weird day: sales are on, kids still on holiday, some people were returning to work while, at the same time, there were still a lot of tourist around.
First stop, the Mole Antonelliana: there was an exhibition dedicated to Sergio Leone I wanted to see and after that I spent some time watching the movie rolls they broadcast at its base.
The Mole is magic in bricks, now lovingly watching over the magic of movies.
I never get tired of walking around it, discovering bits and pieces I missed in the previous visit, or finding mementos of past exhibitions.
I left after having watched Silvana Mangano and Vittorio Gassman dancing a couple of times, not before spending some time in the shop, just to listen to Lou Reed singing "Perfect day".
I strolled up to Piazza Castello, under the portici of Via Po, and then got into Palazzo Madama. I took the stairs up to the tower: not many tourists get on top of the tower, most of the people get their share of panoramic beauty from the top of the Mole but in front of me I could see why it’s so damn hard to leave. I could see the Alps faraway covered in snow, I could see Superga in the distance and the Gran Madre church still partially covered by the mist coming from the river.
And the sky was so blue and the city below me so beautiful, I couldn’t help but smile; and dry some small tears.
Before heading back home I decided to try my luck and went to queue for the Russian Avantguardes exhibition. And lo and behold, there was no queue! Actually there was nobody, just me and the girls at the cashier.
I ended up enjoying a private tour of the exhibition; there were my favorite Rodchenko and Popova and I also discovered some new names I’ll have to google to know more about. I didn’t understand everything I saw (especially the portion about painting the sound), but I enjoyed it and I liked what I saw so much I’m pretty sure I’ll queue one more time for an encore before the exhibition closes next month.
This is basically the most advanced form of art review I’ll ever be able to give, but also what will put me through the doom and gloom of returning to Milan tomorrow. No better way to fight back but booking some train tickets first thing in the morning.