Apparentemente la stessa cosa.
Invece no.
I sogni, nel loro ingestibile e imprevedibile essere possono trasformarsi nella loro versione preferita in un nano secondo, cioè in incubi, come in questo dipinto, dove fiori appena colti diventavano immediatamente secchi, vogliosi quasi di appassire mentre venivano dipinti. Infatti, appena Madoi metteva qualcosa di vivo e colorato sulla tela bianca di luce e opportunità dei suoi pensieri, inconsapevolmente la appoggiava sul nero e sul buio del suo ignoto e non poteva far altro che veder appassire tutto quanto si era coltivato e, se aveva fortuna, salvare l' idea stessa del sogno e sperare in un' altra opportunità per rimetterlo in gioco.
I desideri, invece, al riparo dentro il suo essere, magari mai modulati, messi in voce, nascosti e protetti come bene più prezioso, magari sono rimasti tali in eterno, avendo evitando il confronto con la realtà, ma perdendo così la possibilità di vederli crescere, trasformarsi da bozzolo caldo di luce e speranza, in qualcosa di maturo, solido e appagante. Chissà.
La strada che ha percorso non era certo la resa. Dopo un paio di giorni e notti di gramaglie ritrovava sempre il coraggio e la forza per far polpette delle delusioni, con la sua non paura di confrontarsi con i no che chi deteneva il titolo temporaneo di fare di lui ciò che voleva si divertiva ad imporgli, ben sapendo che questi imposizioni provenivano sempre da piccoli uomini. Ma il suo segreto era sapersi fermare, riprendere fiato e forze, rimettere il guinzaglio alla sua rabbia e riformulare altre strategie per altri progetti, più grandi e ambiziosi e visto i risultati nei suoi 50 anni di vita, sembra proprio che abbia avuto ragione.
Dreams & Desires
Seemingly the same thing. No way. Dreams, like horses running wild in our subconscious, are unpredictable and they may split to their favourite nightmare version in a nano-second, as in this painting where fresh cut flowers were turning dry, paint brush after paint brush. Indeed, as Madoi was trying to put something joyous and coloured on the white canvas full of light and promises of his inner dreams, unconsiously he could not avoid to add a black background, black as the unknown region of his mind, and he was forced to witness, quite helpless, to the drying of his creatures, the one he nurtured for hours and, if lucky, he could only salvage the mere idea of his Dream and hope in another opportunity to re-set the game.
Desires, on the contrary, being safe inside his inner self, never shown, never consigned to the dangers of a confidence, hidden and protected as precious gems, may be they rested there forever, inside his mind, never facing the real world while loosing in this way the possibility of seeing them grow, mature and become something visible, real and satisfying. Who knows..
The road he choosed was not leading to an unconditional surrender. After a couple of nights and days of something like mourning he could always find tons of courage and strenght to make mincemeat of any sort of turn down, fearless in facing the refusals that the supermen - temporarily in charge of the power of deciding the sort of other human beings - were enjoying to inflict him, conscious of the fact that these denials were always coming from little men. But Madoi's survival secret was that he knew when to stop so to get his breath back and keep his rage on the lead and be free to study new strategies for the same project or for other bigger and more daring ones.
Dreams & Desires
Seemingly the same thing. No way. Dreams, like horses running wild in our subconscious, are unpredictable and they may split to their favourite nightmare version in a nano-second, as in this painting where fresh cut flowers were turning dry, paint brush after paint brush. Indeed, as Madoi was trying to put something joyous and coloured on the white canvas full of light and promises of his inner dreams, unconsiously he could not avoid to add a black background, black as the unknown region of his mind, and he was forced to witness, quite helpless, to the drying of his creatures, the one he nurtured for hours and, if lucky, he could only salvage the mere idea of his Dream and hope in another opportunity to re-set the game.
Desires, on the contrary, being safe inside his inner self, never shown, never consigned to the dangers of a confidence, hidden and protected as precious gems, may be they rested there forever, inside his mind, never facing the real world while loosing in this way the possibility of seeing them grow, mature and become something visible, real and satisfying. Who knows..
The road he choosed was not leading to an unconditional surrender. After a couple of nights and days of something like mourning he could always find tons of courage and strenght to make mincemeat of any sort of turn down, fearless in facing the refusals that the supermen - temporarily in charge of the power of deciding the sort of other human beings - were enjoying to inflict him, conscious of the fact that these denials were always coming from little men. But Madoi's survival secret was that he knew when to stop so to get his breath back and keep his rage on the lead and be free to study new strategies for the same project or for other bigger and more daring ones.
