come a little closer, i want to seduce you.
dip your bare hands into the paint barrels i have placed at your feet, at your sides, up ahead. lift your fingers to the earth blue sky and watch the oily liquid squirm, gravity its game.
pull on that overall, flick the hairs of your brand new brush, tuck it into your pocket and follow me.
the streets are narrow, the hearts are wide.
you might be tempted to ride your bike, but dismount for the walk is faster done.
be good now, this town is made from lace. its ladies’ hands are nimble, fine edged and oh so lovely. they loop and dip, stitch and cross like a tight rope walker across a lake.
the shop fronts are delicate and tender, fronted with this white, beige and cream sieve like yarn.
the simplicty of this place is what lures you, holds your breath and leaves you wanting: no cars, no fuel, no options, just the corner cafe, the farmacia, the trattoria, your dinghy and the blue blue ocean all around.
spin, spin like a bottle top. colour will bombard your eyes, sway your world and leave you hanging, spinning, wanting more.
he will offer you a cigar, take it with a nod of the head: pull your chair closer. take in the village gossip as you ppppppp, pppffft out circles of smoke, clouding the evening air, thick and laden with humid coolness.
a village woman and her friends fill the air with moans and groans hidden in the curtained doorways. mutter your broken italian, a heart welcome will be offered, perhaps a toothless grin and most certainly a fly swatter too.
smell the crushed garlic permeating from every pore, inhale it deeply. the humidity intensifies it’s essence. balsamic black swirling in golden oil: dip your bread, feel the crumbs scatter across your skin. crush the salt between your teeth.
overalls splattered, energy spent, eyes wide from colour bursting forth like ripened fruit falling, lay your weary head down to sleep. a full moon across a pinpricked sky stares down at you as your boat bobs, bobs, bobs, lulling you to sleep.
this is burano. this is island life.
Images and post by Claire Burge.
Try your brush?
Write a poem of your own, based on a time when colour has burst into your life and surprised you, or with the concept of “colour symbolising hope”. tell us what you hope for and how as an artist you can create this in your life. post on your blog and link to us (we love that), or just drop your poems here in the comment box.
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