Cervical Mucus Like Snot After Conception

When the pressure cooker called the Atomic

Our mother was a holy terror of atomic power. First he said that the food is not cooked well, in the atom, you used to use the silver spoon. Second, it was dangerous because it could hurt us, dirty house, ruin your day. It must have been strong for that whistle that made the valve and the steam that emanated violently fast rising towards the ceiling. He recounted the facts incredible success to those who used the atomic bomb. Explosions, burns and, worse, to bed without dinner.

And so we have always been against all Atomic!
(continued)

Letter To Judge Restitution

Suspended between heaven and earth - between dialogue and narration Maria Lai

Suspended between heaven and earth - between dialogue and narration Maria Lai
Barbara Della Polla and Ennio Guerrato

There are encounters that leave us wonder . As a work of art.
you make yourself.
Like a fairy tale.

Some 'years ago in the grip of "wire stories, metaphorical and real textures to those that women hold for ages, I walked in search of this" small "big artist who Lai called Mary. so I left with a notebook of notes, an address, a destination in the mountains dell'Olgiastra. I came back several times as if to quench the thirst that I carry inside.
When you go to a place everything seems more familiar, recognition signals, the stones, the faces and turn angle is not what it's like sconsciuta already waiting for you all. Even the kids sitting on the wall you please say hello. And the vineyard is not unknown and waiting for you. Recognize the yellow leaves and red soil, the less gray concrete walls. cross the threshold and you accept the sincere look of Helen, the embrace of Tonino and smile to Julia and Maximilian you do not recognize. The Youth looks away and fly to the past to the future.
rains.
And the stone becomes black.

I borrow a story, a country linked to the mountain, like all my childhood.
Mine is not a blue ribbon but almost everything in black and white as writing.
I always thought that there are threads that unite them.
unites people, countries, facts and events. I imbattutta as often happens in paths already traveled by others and with shock and surprise to find harmonies and rhythms that suited to my being, to my way of communicating to the world, with the world. This is also a journey just started, I do not know where to take sketchy. For the moment it is a notebook, a notebook of short trip. Suspended between heaven and earth.
This weaving of wire is nothing but a history of weak ties can be easily traced back to the essence of life.

The Tales of Mary is not a story in pictures but they are fairy tales invented
invent new stories with pictures. Fairy tales are the rediscovery of childhood as a state of mind, frame of mind, the curiosity to look at things in the world with the curiosity of a child.

I borrow a phrase from Mary
to tell maria maria
stone
clouds
maria maria maria strong ground wire

maria maria air

rhythm and silence
I never

liked the name Mary, but I also call
so

despite all I take
Barbara

Double Happiness Stamp Canada

SOS - Do you know this woman?

Spot to promote the donation of funds for the construction of a shelter
for women and children victims of violence Niksic (Montenegro)

know this woman?
has two children!
Last night was thrown out of the house!
No place to go!

SOS Telephone for women and children victims of violence Nikšić
SOS telefon za Zene the djecu žrtve nasilja Nikšić

design Ennio Guerrato
music Francesco Morosini
drawings Beatrice Mascellani

Cervix High, Soft And Closed, Negative Hpt

Philêin - installation


video Ennio Guerrato

Philêin
idea tion Barbara Della Polla
installation made from cotton and TNT in Cassiopeia
for Horti Tergestini

A wire knotting, passes through the fabric or paper or any composite material, creating spaces, real and metaphorical journeys.

installation designed for the exhibition
take a walk on the wild site
by Elisa Vladilo

How To Break A Casehard Dial Lock

Sunday girl's red diary from high school (4)

Sunday begins Saturday and ends Monday morning! You can never believe? She was always so
began on Saturday and Sunday is not a joke you should never joke about such an important issue. Sabat O. .. have to write it, with wide spaces between letters and the other, made it clear what was important at the moment. For everything there is a ritual to which we must prepare. It began on Saturday night for their very, very soon, especially in winter. They lived about 900 m above lm Mica joke. It 'clear that the sun was setting, and still goes down very soon in a place surrounded by mountains. Looked out and hey presto a day in less than no time it was already dark. There was nothing absolutely nothing that scary. Never once looking over felt, say, a shiver down my spine. Even the mountains with the sunset became dark they looked familiar. With eyes half closed, thinking the quick transition between day and night, it is clear that the memories pass through the nostrils. A mixture of smells, they know of wood, resin and breath, breath, oranges mixed with talcum powder night and have the memories, the scent of warm bread. Among these steps, there are many variations smell, intense and persistent. But already we digress ...
On Saturday evening, the preamble of Sunday, began with the rumare water. A blue bathroom, neither large nor small end of the corridor. A large window on the green. A small mirror framed in black, where years later he saw a spider walking. He saw, or perhaps he thought of him walking on his face reflected, like a caress suspended. Meanwhile, the water filled the tub and the bathroom smelled of soap and clean. Once again assailed by the smells is soft and velvety. The smell of fresh water has mixed with the mist that now tarnishes the mirror where it has already drawn a smile from the droplets.
(continued)

How Much Does A Toe Tattoo Cost

the child goes from red to school diary (3) Sixty-eight

What these debates days!

public school or private school ... not even call it but it says more private
free.
public school and free school. Beautiful is the word freedom.
but why not ask why we go to school!
A school of what? The average
elemetari and I got them a small mountain village, but its mountain mountain. I liked going to school. "My school is learning a lot of things," he told me one day many years later, my nephew Francis looked at me with wide eyes while I was teaching to catch the crickets. Or maybe I just remember her.
These days there is much talk about memories of horrific school or crumbling schools or schools that have not capable teachers.
I found myself well in school and I learned a lot!
First I could go alone to school. Or rather, we gathered a small group, I count: Diana and his brother Diego, and her friend Rita smallest of which name escapes me now, Stephen liked all of us, Laura and her sister Marisa, and my sister Silvia I. In short brancaleone army went to school every day, walking in the snow, rain or sun. No one stopped. When he passed, he took the bus, even had a subscription with our little photo and this made us feel great. Every day was like a small step towards adventure. We went to school because you could meet, because the afternoons spent together were not enough and the school became another way to go, always together, our time. Because time was ours and could handle it and seemed to never end. But above all we could invent our time! All classes in different means. Let's say that from first grade to seventh grade classes we had covered almost all of them. Diana was the largest and the smallest Bruna (I remembered the name of the friend of Rita).
It was not just to pass the time you went to school. We liked learning to read and write. We liked arithmetic using sand and pebbles as the oldest abacus. The ink of my memory bank, for a while 'the sauce I used a pen. Trying not to stain your hands and the sheet of the notebook which was risultaresenza those ugly donkey ears. Sometimes they attack the research in the notebook and then what fun, use a better glue almost fragrant bread. Research was a bit sticky 'as quell'infornata of bread or pizza on Saturday night. That home-made only with water and farina.con the help of her mother. The school then had a good smell! He knew of bread and pizza, winter snow, cut grass, flowers and moss in the spring and summer. He knew the wind and went crazy. There was a particular delight in being left with the other comrades to tell of trips, rock climbing or the last race sleds. The teacher taught to catch the crickets, to plant little seeds ... In middle school then "park" professors was so varied that, from one issue to another, we had already done the review of geography. I'm not saying that all regions of Italy were present appeal, but a lot 'certainly yes. And so it was also a school Multilingual because despite talking strictly in Italian, some 'words of Sicilian, Neapolitan, Emilia and the board ran fast from mouth to mouth.
That was the most playful moment.
and the boot had always surprises.
(continued)

Burnnylon Stockings Clips

from school diary (2) Sixty

The Oct. 11 that it is the day Diary of my birthday in the blue cover does not say anything. From October 10 to October 16 is passed directly. What I did in those five days? We know that the October 11, 1968 is the day that Walter Schirra, Donn Eisele and Walter Cunningham expect to be fired into space. Apollo 7 mission. At 11:02:45 local time, leave and ten minutes after entering Earth orbit. To the moon as long before he Munchausen. In Panama, which is not only a hat, the military hit the state. On 12 October a black fist raised to the sky in the capital of the Aztec and already the police firing on students. As a consequence, on the other side of the planet, he felt blacks Angels to Canzonissima. On 13 October, Sunday. E 'of 14 October 1968 the Ministerial legislation that defines the "kit" of the design of a road. On 15 October in Rome, Pliny the Elder High School principal, right next to Porta Pia, prohibits the entrance hall in the "hairy" and on the same day made his debut at Surry University, a band of teenagers who, having found a suitable drummer, decides to change name and become an airship in flight ... Lead!

happening a lot in those five days of absence from the notebook into squares.
Meanwhile, I played for 16 October and set-design the first set of "many petals and a second of" a few trees. " On October 18, drawing the home of the alphabet. As large as the entire page. The facade of the consonants and vowels on the roof of the five .
really missing the H ... but you know, she's so dumb!

(continued)

Maybelline Mini Cooper Commercial

from school diary (1) The reasons

"bamboladipezza68" Pia Maria Ferrante and Barbara Della Polla
W.copyleft

the year one thousand when I was taught to build my first doll. Here she is, she is the legendary, unbeatable and inseparable rag doll, accompanied by many dresses that I never finished because it was really difficult to use needle and thread. Chain stitch and holy patience! The first day of school, 2 October 1968, the book checked the teacher made us write the date, our first and last name. Mine was long long, double double surname and name. So I had already filled half the page. In the other half drew her, the legendary sixty. Then I do the more they take to school. They said that I better disturbed or distracted and disturbed. So I put in a drawer and I remembered most about her. The notebook. the one with the blue jacket, but he continued to fill. Before the auction and thread and I defy anyone to tell me what it is. Then the small pictures to color and the long line of letters of the alphabet.

A skin
son of Apollo made a ball of chicken skin
all fish were floating
to see the ball of chicken skin
Apelles made by the son of Apollo.

A mbarabà cici Coco
three owls on the dresser

making love with the Doctor's daughter became ill, the doctor

Ambarabà cici Coco

B um, the bomb fell in the sea

my mom I feel bad I feel bad in agony,
take the boat and fled.
Get away in the sea where the sailors

lavoran that night and day;
me my cat died
I died on Thursday:
a, bi, ci, daily.

C inquecento
knights with the bloody head with his sword drawn

guess what it is.
And they are cherries!
I have cherries.
I have cherries
that Maturana in the garden.

C 'was once a king sitting on the sofa

who said to tell me a story

maid and the maid began.
There once was a king ...

D fter the day is night,
after winter comes spring, the wine comes from vines
,
is the smoke from the chimney;
is the cow with the bull, the van
geese, two by two;
life and deep down
is a happy circle.

R inoceronte
that passes under the bridge
jumping, dancing,
he plays the ball,
that is attention,
making compliments, saying good morning

looking around.

goes round and round my head spins
I am exhausted!
ball ball, Cadima down!

T rentatrè Trentino Trento

entered in all thirty-trotting


T
roll top with no legs who walked without
chair sat
Trottolino as he did?

U ccelin
when it comes from the sea pens may bring?
can carry only three one two three

it is up to you


(continued)

Fotosdepatrisiamaterola

Photo Massimo Gardone

He said any issue deserves to be looked at as if it were gold. He said he did not have techniques to teach, because the work is done by itself: it starts handling the matter. This may give the first impact sure that something comes adi nice, but just a nothing because this certainty disappears: The proposed remedy was rest. When I was tiring - he said - the work is not. It has a mysterious birth.
If you'd like to go: to be born at that moment, after you just can not.
It 's so delicate process, the work can be likened to a flower lose anything because just a few petals. Once the birth process, it may happen that the author stops before, but not because the work they died, indeed, often stays at a mysterious and grows over time.

photo installation The Garden of the stories abi (ta) will

Resume Clothes Store Salesperson

art dolls tell the March 2011 TBq

Once upon a time ... and there is still ... all fairy tales begin like this ... Once upon a time and there is still ...
A prince, a princess, a girl, a child, the king and his brothers, an ogre and stones left to mark the trail to find their way home ...
Here, it's when we return to house that we would continue the story and the tale.
We would like to remain with us, fairy tales and their protagonists, the narrator even when he tells ...
We would like to hear more tales ...

A workshop of storytelling, listening, and construction of rag dolls.
And then there are the dolls, to make and dress as you like.
Because every child has his own, as a traveling companion, and listen to new stories.

storyteller Fiona Samson
implementation models Ross Truccolo
from an idea of \u200b\u200b Sabina de Tommasi and Barbara Della Polla

workshop for children aged 4 to 10 years
dates
Tuesday, March 1 hour 16
Saturday, March 5 10:30 am Sunday, March 6
10.30
you choose a day at will
Free admission
No reservation required to 064560705
Library Theatre Quarticciolo - via Ostuni, 8 - Rome

Wii Power Adapter Australia

Merima salus non est nisi in the escape

Passage for perennial migration
salus non est nisi in the escape. There is no salvation except in flight, Ivo Andric wrote in the 30s and the same words apply now to define the feeling with which it was written and staged this show.
Portrait of a woman on the run. Merima Hamulic Trbojevic is a Bosnian journalist who left his hometown in 1992. The moment took place with the military plane which was to leave Sarajevo was bombed mercilessly, Merima has lost everything ... his identity.
writes herself in the third person in the book Sarajevo over the mirror, a hundred pages in which this identity will then be gradually rebuilt.
It 's a War told from the inside of a pain, light years away from rhetoric of the media and politics. The latest images of the story are left to watch a video light "Angels of Sarajevo" mounted by the SAGA group during the war continued to work in the besieged city.

watch the video with scenes of the show at the Stazione di Trieste Campo Marzio

Man To Man Lovemaking

red girl goes on vacation

(suitcase - a moving sea of \u200b\u200bBarbara Della Polla)

All holidays parties controlled the family down in the city. It all started at dawn on the license plate 124 TS 93399 ... We have never changed residence ... so the machine does not charge more I can ... cases that emerge from all sides ... some presents for their closest family ... the cool box with everything needed for a picnic ... beach chairs and umbrella in the summer, winter coats and sweaters ... However, all packed in several layers: me, my sister, my brother, the latest in portaenfantes, Mom and Dad and the squirrel Thumper ... Thumper. what my grandmother took a broom mistaking him for a mouse and I found myself practically dead under the bed. TS 93399 and on ... to the city! I do not remember the prefix 5354, but the black telephone on the wall there were these four digits 5354 and we, my sister and I with this chant all the way: 5354 ... 5354 ... or plate ... 9 ... 3 .. 3 .. 9 .. 9 ... 9 .. 3 .. 3 .. 9 .. 9 ... 5 .. 3 .. 5 .. 4 ... 5 .. 3 .. 5 .. 4 ...

Trieste went to find the family: the brothers of her mother, grandmother Baretta, the aunt and her daughter Mietta In. We get together every Christmas. A long long long table ... we are many. You eat the caponata, cavatelli, focaccia with potatoes and those leading lambagioni Aunt Memena from Bari in the suitcase. Once Aunt Memena broke the vase, inside the suitcase. It smelled of vinegar and all the clothes were soaked with oil and she arrived at the table with those of the grandmother's clothes that were three times larger. Baretta
Grandma ... that always repeats aschifiu finiu ... and I do not know what that means. He took me to sleep in her big bed, so there is no grandfather more. The sheets of soap know ... her Russian and I can not sleep. I pretend for a while and Russian too, following his breath ... but she continues. I did not sleep the rest ... so I get to play. In a drawer I find a lot of things. A ribbon, red white and green ... as the flag ... but the colors are more faded, like the memories ... On the tape, there are flakes of metal. One for each child ... nine ... there are nine ... one for each child ... my grandmother had nine children Baretta. The largest, Tonino, died of pneumonia at age 18. Another son, uncle Italo, Palermo has always lived with her aunt and then one day it was already the largest reported in Trieste and then he went through Italy on foot, to return to the island in the South disguised as a woman.
But this story you have to ask him. Because only uncle Italo able to tell it. And maybe you will tell you about the Foreign Legion, love and greek.

But this is really another story or another trip. Grandparents

not make it to keep as many children and had left there, the sister of his grandfather, might forget what was always dressed in black. Grandfather Philip Fefè was in Palermo, was a telegraph operator and moved from south to north without even realizing it. Another son is now in Rome ... another in Conegliano ... a daughter in Milan ... two to Trieste ... then there we followed the mother's teacher. Many
, we have always been many, as all families in the south. The children are the wealth
said the grandmother, she had made the world 9.
Now we're in 35, thirty-five grandchildren grandmother, and no matter if the money is not enough.

Chuwing Nipple Viedeos

ROBES ARTIST


A traveling workshop of writing sewn.

Attire Artist is a project born in 2006
and still has much to tell.

If the history of the world could write by the clothes and the skillful hands of women who have sewn, then we could draw a notebook of notes to rewrite the geography of the world.



imagine the art of dressing, including cutting and sewing and words of other languages \u200b\u200bthat are interwoven as a means of learning and repeated precise codes that are recognized in all cultures: slow movements, patients create and maintain memory as in the stories handed down and written a thousand voices that come together in chorus. An ancient gesture, and that stops the thoughts and knotting: a letter next to a point, a color next to a sound, weaving, to give substance to form.

a book sewing photographic interpretations