There’s a place dark and moist
Inside the inner most of my heart
An empty room with no art
Where my soul has gone lost.
It is there with your shadow
Where we stand in a narrow
Close and tight makes it bright
Deep feeling of love and light
There, a small bit of you is all mine
Yet The most important and fine
And in the silence we’re one
I’ll keep this with me
For as long as I shall be
Gives strength for the fight
To inhale this your might
AB
I wish I could erase my love for you forever glaze. it would somehow all of us amaze since I couldn’t even change the pace of my thoughts for you always on a chase. let’s restart and rephrase… what if I could somehow replace the hole you fill in my inner space. sometimes I look around and see you face to face, like that once I had your eyes on mine for a very short glance. how can I stop your entrance in the very soul of mine always in this wretched sufferance. how much more time will I have to be in this trance… what was there in that long embrace… the entire universe and all it’s reference!
AB
Awful thinking what I’ve done wrong
I look behind
blinding mist
blocks the sight in your search
the reason goes back and forth as by law
with a sensation of no comfort at all
total chaos between crooked reason walls
I see parts of the far gone
chosen by the most unconscious
portion of my brain in your search
I look behind
blinding mist
just paths of life in lines
straight crooked always brusque
finding never the solution
to understand where’s the confusion
I trawl all the mind entire
hope is always present
to find the gone wrong seed
of your plant dry and absent
the vacuum of thoughts follows
like wind in search of the element
in between tons of toxic waste
from feelings and ressentment
each flow of ideas melts away
there’s no straight line
as crooked it always ends
unable impossible to find
a consistent reason why
that would surround itself quilty
for this life course so blind
AB
andromache. digital over oil on canvas. 2016
Original em Português:
https://alessandrabarbierato.wordpress.com/2016/01/07/nevoa/
I feel the shard in the chest
a shattered heart quite undone
reveals a wound at its best
stuck thorns cross the elected organ
may the hours pass and days
may the time redo the joy
that moves and sows the soul in raise
in the depths of this agony hole
may life maybe as a dice be trown
bringing back whoever is there
to stay and carrying along whoever has
to go and may the mind let alone
the organ heart in its place
pulsating for life and blood
rather than extinguishing its flow
AB
no light, digital art over photo. 2016
Original em Português:
https://alessandrabarbierato.wordpress.com/2015/12/06/prece/
I want the siege of your sea
to close upon me and this blue
to flood my life with yours
remake myself fully in joy
I want the siege of your air
to close upon me and all that blue
to touch my soul’ skin so fair
with this fresh coolness so true
I want the siege of your fire
to burn upon me and your blue
to flame the gray paint entire
from these sightless eyes of fool
that could not see any higher
blind completely before you
AB
onda, oil on canvas. 2007
Original em Português:
https://alessandrabarbierato.wordpress.com/2015/02/05/leste/
I sat and the darkness surrounded me. gradually, it came taking over my feet, crawling up my legs. the pitch was so intense that it was sprawling itself in absence. shortly there was no foot, and through my leg it passed depriving it of life. two they were so the pitch ran then twice. the hands so weak didn’t even rouse reluctance: they let it pass. so through the arms it began to spread itself steadily. soon there were no more limbs. up through the eyes it came, depriving them of sight. it came freezing then the brain already almost clueless. but what to do without the thought? well I know: there still remains the heart. it was then that suddenly I got why the dark had found me there, not without a reason fair: it knew I was easy prey because you left my chest hollow and completly out of pace.
self-portrait in the dark over stories. photography over drawing on paper. 2015
original em Português:
https://alessandrabarbierato.wordpress.com/2015/06/06/escuro/
I love you the shade, the ache
the absent smell in the crowd
from the silence I hear your hollow shout
resounding in your pounding heart
We are one when I hear you
I almost wear a morning dress
for being not sure if there I am or
if I’m just a fruit of your distress
AB
two, acrylic on card. 08.12.2015
And so, at that very moment she got paralyzed. Something had just gone through her body, would that be some sort of poison or any toxin of her own, the truth is that it left her in such condition that her faculties would no longer function. The shadow of what was by then the huge Doubt incontestably besieged her, nevertheless Absence took advantage of her rundown state to strike the final blow upon her: not seeing him again was far beyond the remaining of her strength.
Both of them, Absence and Doubt, had been full grown for a long time now and from those figures that at the beginning seemed to be some kind of baby-sisters, they turned out to be more like wretched stepmothers.
As soon as both were born, she placed them in the basement of her soul, feeding them every day. She believed that after being responsible for bringing them to life, she should allow them to live, co-creating and co-existing with her in the very same time-space of her own being. Imprudence, out of pure and simple imprudence. By then, she didn’t realize the fact that both had been begotten by small fissioned pieces of her own soul, so the day would come when they would no longer be subjugated.
Fissioned small pieces… Yes, we human also reproduce ourselves by asexual fissiparous reproduction. This sort of fission or division, invisible, happens as follows: it begins in the human core where the vital force impelled by some adverse thoughts, feelings and sensations just break apart and what some might like to call soul, lacerated, divide itself into identical tiny little pieces. To all that, exactly like two noncompliant public employees, the human heart consents and the human brain reiterates. Note, anyhow, that in this case, usually the original individual, meaning the soul, may not regenerate completely as most of asexual reproducers such as flatworms and cnidarians. Thereafter, it follows the interbrain gestation: from the most resistant tiny little piece of the dilacerated soul, an egg-balloon shaped cell is formed and once its eggshell is broken, a puppy-affliction is liberated. Vertically, toward the skies it must ascend. However, the worst often happens. A morbid parental pride or even a mistaken sense of responsibility does not let it go. Next: the basement and the maintenance of the scion. One must also take into consideration that the human perishable eyes hardly can see such breed. Yet, some latent signals can be observed despite the difficulties even for its genitor.
And so they were both growing up, Absence and Doubt. To let them go by now would be like depriving herself from something she had not even ever had. To kill them would be simply impossible, especially now that almost adults they were already bigger than their mom soul. So, she would always give it a second thought and just give it up. And there, right there, they showed themselves sovereigns. They defeated her leaving only what was her most dense matter. Hollow. May the truth be told, she had already been able to sense that this moment would come and in ecstasy and at a distance groped with the vile hands of her thoughts for the sensation that right now was almost hindering her from breathing.
On the occasion of that very glimpse, she grabbed at her beloved, also breed of her soul, Hope. She believed that at such a moment, as a merciful nymph, Hope would throw out a lifeboat into her muddy ocean. What a shameful mistake! She saw herself alone. By now, she was about to taste the truth behind the proverb: yes, Hope would be the last to die for she didn’t know how long she would bear this lethal substance running through her veins. Substance produced and discharged into her blood by herself. Maybe. Maybe not.
Substance. It is impossible to ignore the attempt to examine which would be its name. It should probably be something concrete that was now floating freely through her veins and entering her central nervous system. She, in her unconsciousness, allowed it to dominate her completely. It was a bile or something similar. Regarding her unconsciousness, it is impossible to make any statement; after all, during a germinal stage, it is not uncommon to exist in the divisible weak soul only a fragile and frivolous impossibility of being…
The truth is, he showed up unexpectedly to the unaware girl and nothing ever seemed so right. And so, as magically as he had appeared in her life he has now disappeared without leaving any clue, just a torturing doubt of the possible “he-loves-me” and the infallible reality of his absence and its “he-loves-me-not”. It was all it took for them, her real enemies to finish her.
If they did it just the two of them, nobody will ever know. Besides Hope and her irremissible negligence, they may have counted with Reality and the Clues sisters, all breeds of her own soul, kept in the innermost basements of her poorly explored being.
Alessandra Barbierato
suspension: walking the tightrope supended by thoughts. acrylic on cardboard. 2015
Original em Português:
https://alessandrabarbierato.wordpress.com/2013/12/06/a-duvida-e-a-ausencia/
The cool pale complexion can no longer bear
these flying hours that find no way through despair
for the being that at it’s most chaste limit
feels the mind oozing from seed to budding plant
through her infertile womb of love deprived sand
like persistent seedling grows in these mud
soaked in tenderness and omnipresent love
and the permanent cry streams in a flow
the more you reveal yourself the higher I go
the wanting grows and from seedling savage beast
condemned to run till rupestrian exasperation
aloof and indomitable snatching the vastness of this
succumbed to the heart poor mind in devastation
AB
sucumbência, acrylic and ink on paper over wood. 2014
Original em Português:
https://alessandrabarbierato.wordpress.com/2014/12/22/sucumbencia-acrylic-and-ink-on-paper-2014/
Sweet angel of peace
from far away you are
and far away you’ve been
the space doesn’t seem
to change a thing it only
makes the truth increase
the time doesn’t seem
to bother either since
I know the more it goes
stronger grows the seed
that floods our hearts
within from the very deep
Sweet angel of light
far but always by my side
everywhere I go I just
strongly feel you deep inside
no matter how I try
to talk you out of my mind
for ages I’ve tried to hide
this finest shade of light
that just despite overflows
so bright to the outside
AB
Girl defending herself against Eros. Oil on canvas. 2013/2014
Alessandra Barbierato 