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Feltrosa is an annual project that sees the light in a week of intense work from the organizers as well as the participants, it’s an unanimous effort, the success of the event lies in the concept well expressed by Antonella Sabatini: “Feltrosa takes me in a magic world… an assertive but unutterable factor, the speakable inside the unutterable”.
In this context I repeated myself I had to manage Feltrosa’s communication plan as if it was a gentle acknowledgement, I always wanted it to move on tiptoe. Once back from this last edition of the meeting I had a lecture in front of a class of young women in a popular fashion school in Florence and while trying to memorize all their faces I explained what life could have in store for them, the greatest among the experiences, that is being a woman, not one of those that appear on the cover of magazines we have to browse during our classes, but the kind that populate Feltrosa, of whom I had the honor to collect the confessions of courageous lives.
I have showed them portraits of Antonella, Chiara, Yana, WOMEN attending Feltrosa that have chosen art as a mean for understanding what the world does not reveal, through the unpredictable medium of felt they try to shape the daily imperfections.
I have attended the installation of the pieces under the watchful eye of the artists, Sonia Stefanutti has won the fear of heights hopping on the suspended platform to bind one of the towers of Porchiano’s walls, Chiara Valentini has taken up all the space in Eva and Paolo’s garden with her giant snails under the curious gaze of passers-by, Yana Drumeva has occupied the only hollow tower of the village to work with the precision and dedication of a craftsman arranging her white flowers. Benedetta Monetti has revived a long time abandoned building, filling it with colourful entities suspended in the air and winning the sympathy of all the peasants, Alice Agnoni has shown the value of cohesion arriving accompanied by a lively and smiling family along with her portal half red half green for the plants that covered one of the sides, Chiara De Marco saves herself throwing a long and fluctuating braid of hair from the walls.
My personal Feltrosa has always been a celebration of womanhood in its most mysterious forms, the ability to give life, where what counts is not necessarily the final outcome, but the journey.
“Man can never know the loneliness a woman knows. Man lies in the woman’s womb only to gather strength, he nourishes himself from this fusion, and then he rises and goes into the world, into his work, into battle, into art. He is not lonely. He is busy. The memory of the swim in amniotic fluid gives him energy, completion. Woman may be busy too, but she feels empty. Sensuality for her is not only a wave of pleasure in which she is bathed, and a charge of electric joy at contact with another. When man lies in her womb, she is fulfilled, each act of love a taking of man within her, an act of birth and rebirth, of child rearing and man bearing. Man lies in her womb and is reborn each time anew with a desire to act, to be. But for woman, the climax is not in the birth, but in the moment man rests inside of her.”
Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934
If you liked this article maybe you would also enjoy “my Feltrosa” by Rosanna Bassani