Every cloud has a golden lining – Light in December

I’m not particularly fond of the cold but I love the way it makes the landscape look. I woke up yesterday thinking about light. I was writing an essay in my head that I’m still writing about passion, poetry, and

the pleasure of talking about all of the whys and wherefores of art / writing. To me there is a certain tone of light that I connect with different writing or even with individual poems: The dry desert light of Montale’s Syria, and the thick fog-laden light of Shakespeare’s Richard III (which I did start reading last night). I was thinking about how round the images in those poems are, even if I don’t remember all of the words exactly and thinking about how pleasurable it is to wake up in the morning and have that to roll around in my mind.
The unfortunate thing is that in the evening when I have time, I’m too tired to string my thoughts together coherently and all those connecting threads that were so clear first thing in the morning are broken or muddled by the time it’s 11 p.m. One day I’ll learn to get out of bed in the morning and write it down but that’s hard to do in pre-alpine December…though the view is beautiful and sometimes even I get it right.

O Sole Mio…

Today there is sun! Though I saw Monte Rosa full of snow this morning as Matthew and I were driving from Gemonio to Castello Cabiaglio where he’s painting a the living room of an antiques dealer. I was tagging along to finally see the house where Matthew has done quite a bit of work. Amazing, same era as the one we live in (end of 19th beg. 20th cent. here the style is called Liberty). Unlike ours, his is furnished with beautiful stuff of the era or older all in amazing condition. Like ours, his house has a zillion windows facing south that are paned with the glass of the era, full of subtle bubbles and ridges that make a room full of light look like you’re standing underwater. Every shadow rendered aqueous.

The antiquarian has a huge Venetian chandelier from 1780(ish) and a few of the glass bits were broken. Last night, Matthew brought them for me as a present. There is something amazing about holding a piece of hand blown glass that is 250 years old, something that says one shouldn’t throw it away even if it can’t be used for its original purpose. We have plans to make a steel structure gilded with white gold leaf to hold up these two pieces of glass that make the shadow of fire look like water.