Wedding present for the girl at the foot of the mountain

All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other -
Only the mountain and I.  
Li Po - Alone Looking at The Mountain



11/11/ 2010 - thought of the day

"If you can think of times in your life that you’ve treated people with 
extraordinary decency and love, and pure uninterested concern, 
just because they were valuable as human beings. 
The ability to do that with ourselves. To treat ourselves the way 
we would treat a really good, precious friend. Or a tiny child of ours 
that we absolutely loved more than life itself. 
And I think it’s probably possible to achieve that. I think part of the job 
we’re here for is to learn how to do it."
David Foster Wallace

 - my nephew Renato's drawing ♥


About my dad ...

My dad who is 64 years old, 
last year (inspired by my work) started to do his own art - little sculptures :)
Needless to say how i was thrilled and of course became one of his first fans... 
"It is never to late" gained a whole new meaning!  :D

 - one of his sculptures "Helicopter" is now part of my private collection :) 




"There are not many persons who know what wonders are opened to them
in the stories and visions of their youth; for when as children we learn and dream,
we think but half-formed thoughts, and when as men we try to remember,
we are dulled and prosaic with the poison of life.
But some of us awake in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens,
of fountains that sing in the sun, of golden cliffs overhanging murmuring seas,
of plains that stretch down to sleeping cities of bronze and stone,
and of shadowy companies of heroes that ride caparisoned white horses
along the edges of thick forests;
and then we know that we have looked back through the ivory gates into that world
of wonder which was ours before we were wise and unhappy."
- H.P. Lovecraft



The Last Autumn Leaves

In autumn when the trees are brown
The little leaves come tumbling down
They do not make the slightest sound
But lie so quietly on the ground
Until the wind comes puffing by
And blows them off towards the sky.
(Fall poem by John Muir)