Wanting, finally, to see the stronger sun,
What a bizarre thing a touch is,
Of someone’s lips or of a brush!
To loosen up you must perform a bunch –
Even if, at the end, it’s only studies
Of wings or chamomiles.
You must adjust your eye
To chrome yellows, to the ultra white,
Traveling through currents of paints,
Reaching farther than a black flame-like nuage,
The mountains lift their arms skyward as if in prayer.
Painting “E un fastidio che ti giunge quasi improvviso. E tu stai”, Sara Maino 2021