La tela dell'anima

Feelings and emotions are an integral part of human intelligence.

We are like impressionist painters intent to transfer emotions on a canvas, the canvas of our souls. We paint smells, fears, feelings, people...memories.

We are the artists of our lives.

In the framework can be described all the sensations that a writer can tell through words.

A canvas that contains colors launches emotions, unleashing a storm in the soul of the observer of feelings and memories. Why we are so, souls in the swing on a land of memories.

La Vedova Nera

She's always been beautiful Mary, she was tall and slender and had long brown hair that adorned the face and that, the now-deceased, husband loved so much. In the village was known by all as "The woman of the Nanni- John, for friends Nanni- with the red lips". She loved to be dyed red lips, there was the day when not wearing lipstick, even when she was at home doing crafts or invited her friends for the usual afternoon tea.
The Nanni doted on her, loved his charm and his smile that radiated every room with a sunbeam, his. It 's always been proud of her and of her beauty and in public, there was never a time when not the would highlight. She was his jewel, so called. She was not missing anything. Filled her with gifts, especially returning from long business trips: perfumes, bags, paintings and jewelry.
It was a very lucky woman Maria, was immensely loved by dear husband and well liked by everyone in the country.
When her husband was away on business, she spent her days taking care of herself and her hair soft as silk.
But one day the Nanni never returned, causing the despair of Mary when she learned of the sad incident that took away the beloved husband.
Poor Mary, from that day she lost the smile forever; she became sad and shrewish. She did not want to leave the room of paintings and mirrors, the room that the deceased husband had dedicated, except to go and cry on the tomb, but continued to look good waiting in vain for his return.

Special thanks to Mr. Mario for allowing me to realize this shooting in his store of paintings and frames, Passe-partout (Tortona) and Fabio to indulge and immortalize my madness ;)

Baby, I'm a gangsta too.

London, 1962.
23:45. The black cab in front of a house.
Wind, lightning and thunder that confuse the loud screams of a girl. A quarrel.
Broken bottles and slammed doors. A gunshot, muffled by the noise of thunder crashed nearby, then silence.
She had warned him several times: do not mess with fire.
Suddenly the door opened and she appeared, elegantly wrapped in her gangster coat and a black hat to hide his face.
She climbed into the taxi that was waiting for her. Stiletto heels and long legs caressed by lace tights.
Three icy words: -To the airport-.
The driver followed the order and the car moved on that horror movies night. A look to the back seat in the rearview mirror. Unable to meet her gaze. Her face was half covered and lowered her head, as if to hide her identity.
Impassive. Cold. Composed. Detached.
The car was going towards the airport, was a few miles now, but he was not given for won, continued to scan the mirror in search of her face, he was attracted to the mysterious figure. Suddenly, a shot. Swift and decisive. The right hand took the bag, until that moment on the seat next to her, and carried it on his knees, as to want to protect it from something.
The hand was pale, almost cadaverous, and her nails were lacquered red. Red as blood.
London-Heathrow. End of the line. Without asking the bill reached out to the taxi driver handing £50 and got out of the taxi, this time accelerating the pace.
He watched her disappear inside the airport, mingling among the mass.
Who was that woman? What was hiding? Who was hiding? What happened in that apartment?
  These are the questions that tormented him all night.
A new customer and a new race, this time directed at Brick Lane. He never imagined that in its place, until a few minutes before, was sitting a killer.

Girls be quiet,your princess is not crazy, and she's not even so bad (I would not even harm a fly, I swear!), but these shots, always made by the excellent Fabio Salmoirago, have something dark. When Fabio showed me the first picture, he said that it seemed the beginning of a thriller movie (can not blame him), so I let myself be inspired venturing into writing a yellow article ;)
P.S. the outfit is similar to what you saw in the first pictures in collaboration with Fabio (here), just change the details!