PIRATES STORIES
Pirates have always fascinated me.
I don’t know exactly why: maybe for the sea and the sense of adventure, maybe for their clothing, or maybe because of the impact it had on me, at the age of twelve, the reading of Stevenson's “Treasure Island".
Although I’ve always loved them, for various reasons I have never got the chance of illustrate those characters in my professional career.
When, in October 2019, I decided to start working on a series of personal illustrations, finding a theme was therefore very simple.
At first I conceived them in black and white. A few months later, I've got the feeling of coloring one. Then a second one, and a third... at that point, I realized I wanted to do a series of prints.
I chose nine and finished coloring them.
But I felt something was still missing: I had to tell the stories of those images.
Slowly, I found a voice for each of them.
Here below you will find two of those stories.
Have a good reading.
THE DREAM
I close my eyes and I see her.
I hold her in my arms, while the sound of the violin caresses the room, gently guiding our dance moves.
Discreetly, I inhale her scent, trying to exactly remember the blend of essences that compose her perfume.
It is light and sweet, but at the same time unique and unmistakable.
She tells me she made it herself with the flowers from her garden.
And at the sound of her voice I feel inebriated and kidnapped and bold.
I take her apart, away from the chatter of the other guests.
Some complicit glances, a secret gesture, and in my hands a golden necklace appears, full of precious gems worthy of a queen.
And there it is, adorning her chest, while she whispers something in my ear, pure poetry that makes my heart leap.
Then I hear a voice coming from the mainmast, that brings me back here, to the deck of the HSM Atlantis.
And a word, unmistakable, that indicates a boat in the distance:
“ Pirates! ”
ON MY SKIN
My body is a map
of places I've seen.
My body is the story
of waters I've been.
On my arm the anchor,
for the Atlantic Sea
On my chest the dragon,
after New Guinea.
Hold fast, say my fingers,
commanding the rigging.
Hold fast on the bottles
of rum we are swigging.
The nautical star
is for leading me home,
to show everyone
the man I've become.
And if I will drown
There's my little swallow.
To guide me in Heaven
his wings I will follow.
My body is a map,
traced in ink.
I'm a sailor, a pirate,
'till my vessel will sink.
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