poetry and pictures by
Un regalo gratis alla gente di Pederobba, Covolo di Piave, Levada, Curogna luoghi incantati e acerbi... che sto per lasciare
Tanti anni sono passati dal 1977, quando sono venuto a vivere nella terra felice di Pederobba a Covolo di Piave.
In quel lontano fine anni settanta provenivo da fuori. Ero un giovane hippie che dopo aver conosciuto una fetta di mondo tornavo per un caso alle mie vecchie radici. Una infanzia discontinua a Segusino, un soggiorno a Montebelluna, a Feltre, poi a Valdobbiadene dove avevo aperto il mio primo studio.
Mi portavo dentro come ora un entusiasmo che si alimentava di attimi di bambino che vagava per le colline e le valli che stavano appena sopra il fiume Piave e accanto l'orizzonte di monti di Feltre.
Ho raccolto l'energia che alimenta le terre di Venezia. Forze antiche senza fine che tentano di essere percepite dagli umani che vagano confusi in attesa di un nulla vago che è l'attimo perduto nei giorni che passano uguali.
Io passeggio ancora nelle strade deserte di questo paese smarrito.
Mi guardo attorno: resto ancora ammirato da linee e colori. E l'impulso è di celebrare una armonia antica e senza fine. Dipingo, scrivo, comunico, gioisco e medito. Poi sogno i territori della fantasia.
Perché la gente della mia terra non passeggia? Eppure la percepisco dietro le tende delle finestre. Gente che osserva di nascosto chi passa per la strada.
La nostra gente non fa passeggiate; non guarda nemmeno il cielo o le stelle. La nostra gente non guarda nemmeno la luna e rifugge il sole.
la nostra gente non ascolta la pioggia e nemmeno il vento.
La nostra gente non ammira l'alba o il tramonto. Nemmeno vede l'anima delle vecchie case che tentano di raccontare sé stesse.
Che generazione è questa che non ha saputo recuperare le sue radici. Chi ha distrutto la sua sensibilità e il potere di parlare con l'anima della sua terra?
Un campanile, un cimitero, una festa alla pro loco, un incontro al bar, un raduno di vecchi alpini, una maschera per non tradire il timore di essere giudicati, un senso di colpa antico e assurdo, le chiacchiere delle donne deluse dalla vita, il silenzio deluso e stanco degli uomini che hanno lavorato come servi, l'orgoglio assente da sempre, l'impotenza come filosofia di vita per guadagnarsi un futuro lieto in cimitero, il sorriso scaltro dei furbi che hanno capito tutto, quelli fuggiti all'estero che celebrano da lontano i ricordi...
Ma io li amo tutti senza riserve. Ho una speranza che è quasi assoluta: forse i figli dei figli di chi vive oggi saranno un po' più consapevoli.
E' per essi che regalo a tutti un pezzetto della mia anima.
E lo faccio con gusto. Gian Berra 2012.
1998, Il campo della associazione culturale LA CRIOLA di Pederobba, Covolo di Piave - TV
Un pomeriggio al campo, una occasione di dipingere assieme ai pittori
della ass. cult. LA CRIOLA.
Solo uno tei tanti incontri fatti dal 1996 al 1999, al campo in via Guizzetta
a Covolo di Piave ( Treviso, Italy)
Il "campo della Criola" nacque attorno il 1996 con tutti i permessi in regola, con tanta gente che cercava libertà di pensiero e azione, con la creatività che cercava spazio.
Gian Berra e soci dell'associazione LA CRIOLA organizzarono decine di incontri:
Feste sociali e pittura all'aperto per adulti e bambini. Incontri di poesia New Age, incontri con l'istituto di psico sintesi di Padova, incontri con l'istituto Mediterraneo di Vicenza, Incontri musicali, Incontri di Yoga e ginnastica libera, corsi di pittura all'aperto, festa dell'equinozio di giugno, passeggiate sulle rive del Piave alla ricerca dell'anima della Natura, festa di Beltane e incontri liberi anche solo per stare assieme.
L'ass, cult, LA CRIOLA, aveva iniziato la sua attività nel 1991 e nel 1993 iniziò la sua attività creativa con i corsi pratici di pittura che durarono fino al 2005. in cui l'associazione terminò le sue attività. In tanti anni gli allievi dei corsi furono circa 800. Ha organizzato almeno 150 esposizioni di pittori nella nostra regione.
Ma nel 1999 il Campo della associazione culturale La Criola venne fatto chiudere d'autorità.
Tutti si domandavano il perché del fallimento, della fine del campo in via Guizzetta. Io Gian Berra ho tentato di spiegare loro in modo discreto la questione. Ma ho notato nei loro sguardi attoniti l'incredulità e lo smarrimento.
Non capivano il perché di tanta paura e odio verso l'attività dell'associazione.
Ora mi sento vecchio, e conservo le energie rimaste dopo tanto lavorare per la gente. Ma mi dispiace osservare la povertà culturale che è rimasta.
Ma io ho seminato un piccolo pugno di semi alle persone che mi hanno seguito per un po'.
Forse germoglieranno? Chi lo sa?
Gian Berra 2012.
A tale of Gian Berra in 2012. Hymn to Pan and living roots in all of us ... Witness the Morer, the tree of the blackberries.
Fenola and Morer.
True story in the grave of the Piave, between Ciano and Covolo of Pederobba ....
Where the Piave makes a big loop and turns decisively towards the east, next to Crocetta and Cyan, its banks expand without limit. And 'possible to walk for hours between
stony plains and not meeting anyone. This is why I often go there and among wild grasses and sparse patches of trees can enlarge proud look how far he can go. There
I have limits and so easy to let the memories take the color of the air. Without the fancy patterns and imagine living any possible reality. He dreams and remember, exactly.
If I look to the south the eye is filled by the presence of Montello, long, low hill that keeps me company and framed like a hug the shore of Cyan.
It 'so easy to make road then, tired, I would go to a little refreshed.' So when I arrive at Croda granda, safe ride, and the inn and the very close of Fenola.
In the morning or afternoon, and there is never anyone Fenola is happy to talk. I do the rest in my pocket that I always pay me the shade of red. Sometimes also meeting
Domenico, always distracted and looking annoyed.
When I see him my heart starts to beat because I still hear him tell his story, but I have to wait Fenola is in a good mood. He does not want to hear
for nothing. He is the host and must be respected.
Today is an afternoon of those. Listless and without ideas I'm helping with a boiled egg at the end of Fenola sour wine and look out toward the poplars that shade the banks. A
Once, a little further down there was a large puddle of water, almost a lake, and the road we turned around. On the side approached the hill, the road was only a footpath that ran
for the trees. These formed a forest that mingled with the swamp.
A great Morer solitary steeply from the shore, was the head of all those trees. He grew up with no masters formed only a huge stain.
We walked past a few quiet or indifferent. He called for respect for and obtained without difficulty. The shadow of Morer was a kingdom in itself. And in this world is always dark
Maybe ... that was not a good idea, but sometimes not Menico thought. It is to be led by the wandering thoughts so long as the road no longer existed. He started toward the
serious although the evening now became almost overnight. The coolness of September was just mentioned and the hot air still invited to troubled thoughts.
What to Look For even among those rocks? Restless and inattentive Menico had already forgotten the working day and the darkness he called for no reason. He realized he was far from
when the path of the forest had already covered the evening light. The sudden darkness awoke him from dreaming and let a cold shiver would mark him as a rapid
flash. He slowed his pace, and conscious of his rhythm, he went cautiously to the water.
The sigh as if he realized he could actually hear it ... but just listened the silence left him alone and disappointed. What was that whisper that he could not hear?
Furious at what eluded him, he sat on the sand, between two large oaks, and looking towards the water near the left wandering attention as when he dreamed. He dreamed with the
mind and thoughts were free, but with eyes watching the world from afar. So, deceiving his anger, let go what he saw in himself he felt. Out of the corner
eye he noticed a movement in the darkness to his left. He knew he could not turn his head, he felt that if he did everything would be gone. I just knew.
He let himself be guided by instinct and pretending to look at the swamp, turned her face carefully enough to observe. And then with infinite slowness, trying to hide
its voltage, shifted his gaze with feigned indifference. Under the great Morer a dark lump moved. Not immediately tried to figure out, but he let it out to him the scene: A
thick, hunched figure, bent and stretched, was sitting on top of another figure, supported the huge trunk. Puffs and puffs made tense and agitated manner, and the air felt Menico
awaken the blood. His body could not ignore the desire and already replied to the hidden dream. His neck was pressing into his trousers and demanded attention: Those two
wafted fury of life with muffled screams.
What he was on was too bent over the girl, but was restless and was moaning like a cry almost whispered. She welcomed him hugging him and pulling
toward moving in waves slow and rhythmic.
Then little by little the silence began to dominate the moments. The two were still embraced in one form Menico dark for fear of being seen she also stopped
Waves of musk sailed as low air paths between the logs. It seemed that even the trees waiting for the summit which called relief and liberation. But time
seemed never to pass and everything was on hold in tension; Menico lived this as part of what was happening.
Menico already lost your attention, a vaguely hypnotic sleep numbed him and made it heavy, slow ... I nearly choked when he stood up to be an impressive, with
crooked legs and a hump, shoulders and boundless small head, tried to get in balance. But Menico shuddered when he saw and would not believe. He had the horns: they were
small and curved backward like the goats.
Menico froze like ice. The eyes moved over her and then saw her relaxed, leaning against the great Morer, with legs apart and arms hanging on
She was white as the moon, smooth and almost transparent. A body immature but eager for life. Her face was delicate, small, round, glowing with blue reflections. Hair
smooth and clear fell to her shoulders. A strand of silver thread between her thighs stood out proud that greeted his eyes.
She looked at the giant with a natural interest, and absorbed him up ... and saw his image Menico.
She did not move his eyes, but saw him. Menico felt itself sciogliesi all will. The endless sea and it seemed clear it was wrapping every thought.
He tried to rebel as a part of himself, wounded, cried out against it.
The heart seemed to burst in his chest and hands clawing the sand. With a painful shot his eyes off her and was immediately captured by the gaze of Him
Eyes of fire, and looked away judged. Then he became hatred. Now he had turned toward him. His hairy thighs framed a sharp pain and exaggerated. Black
in black. The feet were small, almost clogs, and saw a hint of a tail. Even the giant was about to shoot when you took his hairy wrist and held him.
Domenico found himself stuck staring at them both and trembling, finally listened to his fear. He jumped without looking and ran into the street without thinking even more. Overcame of a
jumped the banks lonely and dark. He saw the fields where the corn is dried up, he felt frightened squeaks of sewer rats disturbed. He ran and ran until he found himself
near the house of lords Matiol. Then he sat down behind a pile of hay, and allowed himself to cry without shame.
The moon above consoled him, but it was useless.
Domenico had wet his pants, and now carried within itself the dream of all dreams. He could not go home like this. No he had seen her, and her image was fused to its
cuore.Menico had seen him, and nobody but him would have been more terrible.
He decided to remain with the moon, at least for that night.
Bluette clutched him Bronza. He already furiously clutching the neck of the human in the dream. The old anger and despair without end was already erasing the pleasure
she had given him. But would not allow Bluette Bronza furious, destroying what was coming. Pulled him strong with his hand and led her proud member inside her.
The squeezed and hugged him again with enthusiasm and warmth.
Bronzes felt the fire and ruin, but the heat and moisture deep Bluette erased and used to dilute the tension. He sank to the bottom of her again. He allowed
to his kidneys to sow still life. Its.
It still took him Bluette itself. Again and again ... He lived on his momentum and was enjoying its done.
Then slowly the tension vanished in moments. Any thoughts subsided, and Bronza dropped in the bed of leaves next to you He dreamed with his eyes half closed and the absent
enjoyment of anything. Now, almost happy and contented, let the thread remain beyond the focus of anger and memories. Gave away the thoughts of revenge and blood and
But she folded her arms across her breasts naked, imagining a cold shiver. The man had seen her and Bronza. This surprised her. Throughout his life he had never wet nymph
noted that humans could see the people of life.
Those arrogant monkeys were blind to the great world.
But the man was a young boy and she had caught his attention. Still had the pleasure of abandonment to Bronza. But the thrill of winning slim
human was sweet as honey. And the honey in the fall was over. Or not?
Domenico did not come home that night. He slept in the barn next to the small fountain. Then she showed him busy in the garden of the house. As we were up early. His mother
asked him something, but then thought no more and left him alone.
Instead Menico no longer saw things. What time was it? Where to go? But now what was there to do? And the planed sides of you were there before him and asked to be
petted. The skin of a young girl, bright blue and had no solid form, but he took one of her desire. Her eyes were a slice of the infinite, and begged him to come to worship. His mouth was a little girl to enjoy the fruit ...
The belly Menico was a tension that he wanted. The sex of Menico claimed. And the day did not know anything. He was alone. But tonight he would be back there. Of course you do!
She wanted that life.
The evening of September here on the Piave Ciano, are long and warm and smells of summer still linger in the still air. But a vague sense of unease, hidden
under the crust of the things you see, makes restless hearts. Especially those who want to meet and have to rush to touch and enjoy being there. So
Domenico came almost running to the woods of Morer, but then when she was a few steps hid and listened. Nothing and no one was present. Distant echoes emphasized
silence indifferent to its tension. He went to the sand and Morer said nothing of the memories that he had inside.
He sat leaning on the trunk and slowly let himself be enveloped by darkness. The accepted as part of self and thoughts subsided.
Bluette heard him when he was still hidden on the side of the forest. Floor approached by studying his attention. Still he had not seen it, but it seemed sure of himself: he
hid well his desire. He wanted: a human!
He walked a little and went cautiously dark shadow of an acacia tree, right across the clearing.
And Menico dreaming with open eyes could not see her until a spark lit the hidden part of his right eye and turned on his desire. The heart started, and you
stopped breathing. Her back stiffened and his eyes only knew where to look. He saw her coming out of the darkness as if walking on a cloud. She shone the light
own and looked confident. His arms were falling natural framed by long hair and small breasts but pride is showing. The belly invited to his tuft of
life and her long legs barely moved, slow and safe. He was captured by qurgli eyes. They were drowning in a sea of.
When she was the closest he seemed to enter into the light that enveloped the world and of all time no longer existed.
Words were not necessary and he did not recall ever touching her. But when he came in she was like if you were annulled in the great sea of life and lost its identity
dreaming and enjoying his embrace. He had tried to heaven and wanted nothing more.
He felt its forms and stroked her velvet and each stroke was the sweetest. The pleasure of existence and life was a reality. The humid, in which he moved was the invitation to
an eternity of bliss without end ...
Then her eyes watching him in, let him play with the colors and the infinite. He knew when it ended.
When gradually brought him back the rest of the world. Forded with her near him, he felt no pain detachment. She did not allow his heart to suffer and remained
close until sleep overcame him.
° ° °
Bluette slowly pulled away from the human. Light as a leaf allowed him to remain in the dream that kidnapped and gave him joy. She had captured his heart and he now
was his forever. Now that monkey man had experienced the infinite and his eyes wandered over the fog ever.
She felt within him the strength he had given her with his desire. It tasted different from what Bronza gave her: that she did not know Menico of arrogance. It was quite similar to that of children who have no limits, and dare the game, but they also want to be reassured.
So thanks to the bond she had created, he kept himself in this new flavor. A new color filled her in and Bluette knew he had won.
Then the cold night air Menico awoke, surprised to find that there are listlessly dressed. He saw the moon, and the darkness around him was like a velvet blanket. She was gone. But it was as if he were still with him. The inside felt like a conquered thing. He made her his.
A part of him wanted it touching, and even look into my eyes, but knew that would not come. He touched the sky and things would never be the same.
Domenico went sadly toward Cyan. Now the eyes could see the shadows of the trees almost alive, and away he noticed strange reflections on Montello darting over the forest. He felt the
owl call, and for the first time he felt no discomfort, and indeed wanted to reply to the salutation. This was enough to give him a little heat.
Menico felt the world go around him, and this feeling filled him and comforted him ...
Domenico was no longer alone.
° ° ° °
Some years later, in a September afternoon, Fenola was restless. It was always when they came to his inn Menico and Gian. Those two looked like they could agree. And they were always in the oddest times. What day is today? Already today, and tomorrow is Friday the tourists start arriving from Treviso and Venice. They are the ones that fill the inn every weekend. If Fenola had to rely on the inhabitants of Cyan or Covolo, he would have already closed the tavern.
He sees in the distance that the two greet each other: Menico back to Cyan and Gian sets off down the grave, to Covolo. Already, there Menico Among Fenola and an old rust ...
Fenola remember that time when his father, a year before he died and that left the tavern for an inheritance, he wanted to cut the big tree of the blackberries for its wood. He called two of his friends to help him.
They cut down the trunk with great toil and sweat, but the wood lasted long. Remember that when Menico heard about it, ran the inn screaming that they had done something
disgusting. It was the first time I saw Menico angry, red-faced. It seemed crazy, and then he started crying like a baby! Before his mother and then also
others present had comforted offering him a hint of red wine and a sandwich with anchovies. Then Menico calmed down and no more was said. Domenico had never married and lived alone
on the banks, but at least once a week was the inn. But for the tastes of Fenola was too dazed. Now, however, was to prepare the inn for the end
Already. I know that I'll spend time to call for going into old stories. But I hasten to add that surely someone has seen. No one wants to speak and ashamed. But I
does not matter. I want to say this at least once here that nobody knows me and although I take to be mad not give a damn.
It is said that a dark shadow occasionally shoots where there was once a large tree of the blackberries.
The shadow is black and large, also appears to have horns and a tail. Has anyone seen the eyes of that monster are red and full of fury and anger.
Who has seen the devil in that place we came back.
© 2012 Gian Berra
Gian Berra hippie in 1972....
The photo withdraws Gian Berra in 1972-73. Gian was a youth that after a brief university experience had embraced with ardor the last fires of the epoch hippies But the Venetian province it was distant from the passions of liberty of the end of the sixties: Veneto is not the California and not even Paris. But Gian Berrà he doesn't make yet I count that lives in a reality had been putting to sleep for centuries and emptied by every enthusiasm. Who is the thief that has stolen the vitality to the people in which is found to live? Because people seem blind to the nature that every day feeds her life?
They are naïve and terrible questions. They cannot have an answer for an artist that is about to discover to be him: Gian cannot do without I handed these questions it. Gian Berra already paints and devotes him to the sculpture, but a job doesn't consider him yet. For this it tries some escapes to the foreign countries. Before part with his cousin Renzo for Switzerland and it stops him for a po to Shaffausen and Tayngen. Then with the friend Giannetti goes to Germany and visit Braunsweig and Hanover. It starts to see other horizons and different people. When he returns an a little disappointed to house it realizes that also in Italy the times are changed. 68 is ended and reality has remained that of before. It seems that an occasion has especially been wasted by the young people. To Gian Berra its motorbike remains, only its jacket of the Ce Guevara and so many dreams so distant from that province without hopes.
Gian opens his first study of art to Valdobbiadene in 1973. This will be alone the first attempt to show with his paintings and to make the first exposures of pictures in the province of Treviso in the region in Venice. The reality of the art that he finds is depressing. The province has few other to which to think besides the kick and to the political discussions. In 1977 the turn happens: he/she leaves Valdobbiadene for Covolo of Piave. It is not a big jump, but at least it is out of a country that has decided to admire only itself same.
In the 1977 winter ago his first show to Treviso near the gallery “The casket of Val”, in Plaza of the wheat. It is a great success that gives the first concrete satisfactions to Gian Berra.Gian organizes in 1978 a show near the gallery Brotto to Cornuda. And a success.
He has been beginning for this year the most adventurous season of Gian Berra. It knows in the 1978 Vincent Martinazzo, a collector with the heart full of an authentic passion for the art. They call him/it all “Ciccio” and he welcomes Gian Berrà in his gallery of Montebelluna. In the following years Gian Berra organizes quite a lot shows among which I remember those in the room of “Ca ' de Ricchi” to Treviso in 1979 and in 1980. It is in that year that Gian puts on family and decides to make another great jump.
In 1981 he opens a study to Trento, in plaza Greater S. Maria. It won't be only a study, but also a place whether to meet himself with artists friends. Gian Berra will invite the friend painter Donadel Bruno of Parish of Soligo (TV) in the autumn of 1981.
But the family of Gian grows and he returns home in 1982. A few years of break pass and in 1990 he founds the cultural association “the Criola.” This is another attempt “from artist” to shake the drowsy and depressing environment of a Venetian landscape without hopes. Gian Berra picks up with endless patience around itself every artist of the outskirtses. Gian organizes shows, meetings, demonstrations and suppers of poets with the meetings of "New Poetry Age." Then in 1993 it inaugurates the “raced practical of painting.” This is perhaps the initiative that will have more success: it will almost uninterruptedly last until 2005, with two courses a year. They participate you more than 800 students, many of which will become painters.In the years 80 Gians Berra organizes exposures of his works in the most greater Italian cities and in Germany to Düsseldorf, Monk, Wurzburg.
In 1998 it specializes him in therapeutic Psicosintesi and it begins the intimate investigation on the power of the symbols and the images. He investigates the power hidden of the images and their hidden effect on the collective unconscious. The images have one power of theirs that can be managed by an aware conscience.
He organizes some lectures on the theme of the "Fear" explained as ghost-image.
In 2001 he exposes for the first time in a show of his works, five totems that he has built with his hands. “Totem without taboo” it is the title of that exposure and Gian it begins to write the famous ones “wild Stories” what time possible to find in intenet is. He calls it Shamanistic Psychology . In 2002 he writes the book " Shamanistic Psychology ", a harvest of writings devoted to such theme.
In 2006 he goes out in press his first novel “Wasere, heart of dragon” devoted to the wounded soul of Segusino, his/her country of birth and the book of poetries and stories “Baroque Chaos.” They are available on Lulu.com.
In 2008 Gian Berra begins the search on him "Shamanism of the room of aspect" as necessary function in one historical period as ours in which him "absolute" traditional tramontano drowned in the globalization. Has a healthy Chaos finally returned? Gian Berrà frequents the outskirtses of every city or small country and discovers vital perspectives that you/they have been sleeping for centuries.
That the time has come to call her back?