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)