Spring

Welcome may, friendly flag.

Welcome spring.

Evening's shadow, strong scents.

New spirit throws away the old one!

Spring - oil on board by Laura Tedeschi

Reflection and reflections

Reflection, after I'm gone - Oil on board, Laura Tedeschi

The swindle for us dreamers is that we are always trying desperately that our dreams comes true. Then, when something comes true we just have to take the consciousness that in our dreams our reality is always different from the real reality and then we can only gain strength and start another dream, and then again clashing with the illusion and self confidence to make our dream come true to smashing our head and, once more time noticing that our dream can not ever coincide with reality.
Finally there will be no more the research of the "happen" and we will close ourself in a own world and we would be accused of being fucking shit, or different, closed, moody, twisted, antisocial, aggressive...

The Hand That Rocks The Cradle

Painting by Laura Tedeschi

ps: ... I want to thank you all for the support you give to me

The silence of noise, the most terrible loneliness

Painting by Laura Tedeschi

Unfortunate Milan's children, so fragile, so unhappy,

unfortunate Milan's children, also robbed of hope,

sad Milan's children, with handkerchiefs as gardens,

unfortunate Milan's children with the horizon always covered,

thirst for freedom forced to live in the desert.

unfortunate Milan's children with the most terrible loneliness,

the silence of the noise.

Unfortunate Milan's children, children of worrying fathers

Unfortunate Milan's children, how many minutes,

travelers of fixed destinations, spectators always sit ...

from: "Poveri bimbi di MIlano" Francesco Guccini

I Will Give You a Rose

Painting by Laura Tedeschi

I will give you a rose

A red rose to paint everything

A rose to comfort your each and every tear

And a rose to show you my love

I will give you a rose

A white rose as if you were my wife

A white rose to help you forget

Each little pain

My name is Antonio and I’m mad

I was born in 1954 and I’ve lived here since I was a baby

I believed I could talk with the devil

So they closed me in a mental home for forty years

I’m writing you this letter because I don’t know how to talk

Forgive the handwriting of a school child

And I’m astonished I’m still feeling emotions

But it’s the fault of my hand that won’t stop shaking

I’m like a piano with a broken key

The dissonant chord of an orchestra of drunks

Day and night seem the same

In the dim light the pierces the opaque glass

I’m still pissing myself because I’m afraid

To the sane, we have always been rubbish

Smelling of piss and sawdust

This is mental illness and there is no cure

I will give you a rose

A red rose to paint everything

A rose to comfort your each and every tear

And a rose to show you my love

I will give you a rose

A white rose as if you were my wife

A white rose to help you forget

Each little pain

Mad people are like question marks with no sentences

Thousands of spaceships that never return home

They are snowmen spread out under the sun

Mad people are messengers of a God that doesn’t want them

I build snow for myself out of polystyrene

My illness is that I’ve been left alone

Now take a telescope and measure the distance

Look between me and you – who is more dangerous?

We loved each other secretly in a hospital ward

Finding a corner that would be ours alone

I remember the few moments when we felt alive

Not like the medical records crammed in the archives

Of all my memories, you’ll be the last to disappear

You were like an angel tied to a radiator

In spite of everything I’m still waiting for you

And when I close my eyes I feel your hands caressing me

I will give you a rose

A red rose to paint everything

A rose to comfort your each and every tear

And a rose to show you my love

I will give you a rose

A white rose as if you were my wife

A white rose to help you forget

Each little pain

My name is Antonio and I’m on the roof

Dear Margherita, I’ve waited for you for 20 years

We go mad when no one understands us

Also when your best friend betrays you

I leave you this letter, now I must go

Forgive the handwriting of a school child

Are you astonished I’m still feeling something?

Surprise yourself again because Antonio knows how to fly

Simone Cristicchi

Hope and life's dreams

Painting by Laura Tedeschi

Painting by Laura Tedeschi

And now we are living in half season,

crushed and hurt for days in agony and despair,

where we turn the world without history,

seeking only a moment sincere

with the unconscious desire to get deeper

to be more true.

from "Le pioggie d'aprile - April's rains" Francesco Guccini

The forty years woman

Painting by Laura Tedeschi

Painting by Laura Tedeschi

... does not always tell how it goes

our lady of forty years ...

is not here that

we would have committed the heart

Considerations on color and texture

Colors, like features, are following the changes of emotions. (Pablo Picasso)

I colori, come i lineamenti, seguono i cambiamenti delle emozioni. (Pablo Picasso)

Painting by Laura Tedeschi

Painting by Laura Tedeschi

Reality is illusory relative and subjective expression

The knowledge that others have of us is stereotypical, but our identity is fluid, constantly evolving, and our personality is not uniform. Each of us is absolutely alone, unknown even to himself.

Painting by Laura Tedeschi - Selfportrait,  as uninspired artist

Painting by Laura Tedeschi - Selfportrait as uninspired artist (detail)

Painting by Laura Tedeschi - Smiling Marina  

Painting by Laura Tedeschi - Smiling Marina  (detail)

Playing with water

Painting by Laura Tedeschi - Mixed media, acrylic and tempera

Painting by Laura Tedeschi - Mixed media, acrylic and tempera

Two sisters

Painting by Laura Tedeschi - Mixed media: acrylic, oil, tempera grassa

Painting by Laura Tedeschi - mixed media: acrylic, oil, tempera grassa

Hope

Painting by Laura Tedeschi

For ever yours, Cyrano!

Cyrano - Paint by Laura Tedeschi

The last song os Sir Cyrano (Cyrano) - Francesco Guccini

Come on all ye, come on, my paint’d ladies all
so prettie and snooty, come on, I can’t bear ye any more,
my pen it will be driven into your boundless pride
for with this brand o’ mine I can kill ye at my ease.
Come on all ye, come on, ye all paltry poetasters,
ye uselesse singers of this calamytous time
ye fools who live on your spineless verses
ye have gold and glory, yet ye are big nothings.
Enjoy your success, ye fools, get the most out of it,
ye certaynlie will not feare your sheepe-like audience,
God only knoweth where ye flee to escape taxes
so arrogant, as if ye were the tops of the class,
hearken! I’m only a poore cadet o’ gascoyne
but I swear I can’t stand those who have no dreams
I won’t be taken in your nerve and tinselries
and, to end my licence, no pardon and I touch ye,
no pardon shall ye have and I touch ye!
hearken! Let’s break it off, so come on ye alle,
ye foole rabble-rousers, the leaders of our time,
come on all canvassers and second-rate poolitickers,
you alle cruel masters of false ceremonies,
who have so often turn’d laissez-faire into art,
come on, out with the truth and don’t cheat any longer,
ye know that some one will burden all expenses
In this most bless’d land ravaged by nonsense,
I know I’m always wrong, but I don’t give a damne,
displeasing is my pleasure, I love to be hated,
with bullies and slyboots have I play’d my whole life,
and, to end my licence, no pardon and I touch ye!
No pardon shall ye have and I touch ye!
But when I am alone, with my nose down to my feet,
that walks ten yards befor’ me since I came to light,
my anger it does abate, I remember with payne
that heaven it forbade me the sweet dream of love,
How many I did love, how many I did have,
I don’t know, I lost them alle by my fault or by fate,
but when I feel the burden of always being alone,
I shut my door and write, writing’s my solace.
And yet I feel, I do feel that life’s love it exists
with no sin do I love, I am so sad yet I love,
my Roxanne she’s so fair, but, alas! we’re so diff’rent
I can’t talke with her, I'll speake with my verses!
I'll speake with my verses!
Come on all ye, vacuous people, let’s break it off right now,
Ye priestes, who sell us alle the dreame of the other world,
If there’s, as ye do say, a God in the endless heaven
then look into your heart, ye’ve betrayed him!
And ye material people, ye who never give up saying
that God is dead and man is alone in this abysme,
ye looke after your truth on the ground like swines,
ye may keepe your acornes, but please leave me my winges,
go back home, ye dwarfes, get out of my way,
for mine immense rage I need ettins and giantes,
I’ve never been caught in any reveal’d truth,
and, to end my licence, no pardon and I touch ye!
No pardon shall ye have and I touch ye!
With my nose and my brande my enemies I do touch.
But nowe in mine Life I cannot find my way,
I should not give up and resign to my badness,
thou only canst me save, thou only and I do write it.
I do feel it must be a place in heaven or on earthe,
where we any more won’t suffer and all it will be right,
don’t laugh, I beg thee, don’t laughe att my wordes,
for I am only a shadow, and thou art the sun, Roxanne!
Yet I wat thou’rt not laughing, I wat, my sweetest lady,
and I won’t hide my selfe under your balcony,
for I do feel it right now, my pain’s not been in vain
If you love me as I am,
and I remain your servant, for ever yours, Cyrano!

My photographic tribute to the great James Ensor

Il mio omaggio fotografico al grande James Ensor

Shot by Laura Tedeschi - Ramatuelle, september 2010

Paint by James Ensor - Les masques fantastiques

Paint by James Ensor - Self Portrait and the masks

Paint by James Ensor - La mort et les masques

We, who in the 80 were kids

painting by Laura Tedeschi

We, who were playing hide and seek at all times.
We, who the roller skates had four wheels and stretched when the foot was growing.
We, who those of us who left the longest trail in the braking with the bike was the coolest.
We, who went on the bike in two.
We, who thought to had secrets.
We, who really had secrets.
We, who were doing a competition to see who chewing more chewing gum at the same time.
We, who adopted stray cats and dogs that we were never attacked any fatal disease although later, after have caressed them, we put our fingers in our mouth.
We, who did not know to read the fever thermometer.
We, who break off fever thermometers, and balls of mercury were wandering through the house.
We, who the Rubik's cube, we never finished, at least without cheating...
We, who exchanged with each other stickers before the lesson (and during and after)...
We, who with a willow branch did bow to feel like Orzowei.
We, who had the "secret place"with the "secret passage".
We, who in the meadows in the dark between the chirping of cicadas can still see the fireflies (and we did not know were the latest).
We, who sometimes quarreled.
We, who five minutes after it was all forgotten...
We, who "if you do this you are no longer my friend".
We, who the tape player ate the music cassette , and we had to rewind the tape with the pen.
We, who had the black and white TV.
We, who watched on TV "The little House on the Prairie " Even if this put sadness.
We, who looked at Christmas "Little Lord Fauntleroy", because it gave fixed on TV.
We, who laughed if a friend was laughing.
We, who our new shoes remained clean only an hour!
We, who are so excited for a kiss on the cheek.
We, who phoned in secret.
We, who did not have the mobil-phone to go talk in private on the terrace.
We, who write short messages on bits of paper to pass to the class partner.
We, who there was the Polaroid, and we waiting to saw the photo.
We, who when, pick up the photos from the photographer, were curious to see them.

Youth - Gioventú

This work of mine is from a few years ago and unfortunately the picture quality is not so good...

Painting by Laura Tedeschi - Gioventú

Through flowers

Paintings of Laura Tedeschi

Paintings of Laura Tedeschi

"The year was dying, very slowly. The sun spread something Tepor veiled, gold, almost spring, in the sky of Rome. All the streets were as popular as Sunday in May. On the Piazza Barberini, the Piazza di Spagna a multitude of cars passed in a race crossing, and double the noise and confusion continued, rising to the Trinity de 'Monti, the Via Sistina, arrived early in the rooms of the Palazzo Zuccari, attenuated.
The rooms are gradually filled up the perfume that exhales fresh flowers in vases. The roses were surrounded by thick and large crystal goblets that certain levavan thin rod like a golden flare in the guise of a lily diamond, in the similitude of those who Sorgon behind the Virgin in the round by Sandro Botticelli at the Galleria Borghese. No other form of a cup equals elegance in this form: the flowers within the prison they seem almost diaphanous spiritualized and give better image of a religious or love offering.
Andrea Sperelli waited in his room, his lover. All things come back into care reveals a special love. The juniper wood was burning in the fireplace and the small tea table was ready.
The clock of the Trinity de 'Monti struck half past three. It lacked half an hour. Andrea Sperelli rose from the couch, where he was lying, and went to open a window and then gave some steps in the apartment, then opened a book, he read a little, closed it, then looked around something, his eyes doubting. The anxiety of leave it stung so keenly that he needed to move, to work, to distract the inner pain with a physical act. He leaned toward the fireplace, took the tongs to rekindle the fire, put on the pile burning a new piece of juniper. The pile collapsed, right on the coals sparkle rolled metal sheet that protected the carpet, the flame is divided into many small bluish languages disappearing and reappearing, the embers fumigation" ..

from: "Il piacere" Gabriele D'Annunzio

photo of Laura Tedeschi 

L'anno moriva, assai dolcemente. Il sole di San Silvestro spandeva non so che tepor velato, mollissimo, aureo, quasi primaverile, nel ciel di Roma. Tutte le vie erano popolose come nelle domeniche di Maggio. Su la piazza Barberini, su la piazza di Spagna una moltitudine di vetture passava in corsa traversando; e dalle due piazze il romorio confuso e continuo, salendo alla Trinità de' Monti, alla via Sistina, giungeva fin nelle stanze del palazzo Zuccari, attenuato.
Le stanze andavansi empiendo a poco a poco del profumo ch'esalavan ne' vasi i fiori freschi. Le rose folte e larghe stavano immerse in certe coppe di cristallo che si levavan sottili da una specie di stelo dorato slargandosi in guisa d'un giglio adamantino, a similitudine di quelle che sorgon dietro la Vergine nel tondo di Sandro Botticelli alla Galleria Borghese. Nessuna altra forma di coppa eguaglia in eleganza tal forma: i fiori entro quella prigione diafana paion quasi spiritualizzarsi e meglio dare imagine di una religiosa o amorosa offerta.
Andrea Sperelli aspettava nelle sue stanze un'amante. Tutte le cose a torno rivelavano infatti una special cura d'amore. Il legno di ginepro ardeva nel caminetto e la piccola tavola del tè era pronta, con tazze e sottocoppe in maiolica di Castel Durante ornate d'istoriette mitologiche da Luzio Dolci, antiche forme d'inimitabile grazia, ove sotto le figure erano scritti in carattere corsivo a zàffara nera esametri d'Ovidio. La luce entrava temperata dalle tende di broccatello rosso a melagrane d'argento riccio, a foglie e a motti. Come il sole pomeridiano feriva i vetri, la trama fiorita delle tendine di pizzo si disegnava sul tappeto.
L'orologio della Trinità de' Monti suonò le tre e mezzo. Mancava mezz'ora. Andrea Sperelli si levò dal divano dov'era disteso e andò ad aprire una delle finestre; poi diede alcuni passi nell'appartamento; poi aprì un libro, ne lesse qualche riga, lo richiuse; poi cercò intorno qualche cosa, con lo sguardo dubitante. L'ansia dell'aspettazione lo pungeva così acutamente ch'egli aveva bisogno di muoversi, di operare, di distrarre la pena interna con un atto materiale. Si chinò verso il caminetto, prese le molle per ravvivare il fuoco, mise sul mucchio ardente un nuovo pezzo di ginepro. Il mucchio crollò; i carboni sfavillando rotolarono fin su la lamina di metallo che proteggeva il tappeto; la fiamma si divise in tante piccole lingue azzurrognole che sparivano e riapparivano; i tizzi fumigarono.

da "Il piacere" Gabriele D'Annunzio

Playing with the Japanese umbrella and painting after Kirchner

painting and photographs by Laura Tedeschi

Laura Tedeschi - After Kirchner

Powerful Vienna - Graben, Ring and Opera House

Paintings of Laura Tedeschi

Vienna - Graben 

Vienna - Ring and Opera House

The first frosts - Le prime gelate

Oh days, oh months that went away forever, like you is always this my life.
Every year different, but every year the same...

Paintings of Laura Tedeschi