Nec spe nec metu.
Cloux
March 5
Fifty years ago...fifty!
Whether it was chiaroscuro, sfumoto, encaustic, or other technique, I was sincere. Few days were long enough.
Florence, fifty years ago...it was my town. I fitted in. The place is no longer the same. The guilds are different. The workshops are different. Most of my friends are dead or gone. There is another kind of politics.
A half century ago life was adventure: life was new: friends were new, work was new: there was love. When I was accused of homosexuality some of that libel pervaded my thinking for years. A personal plague. How easy it was to brand a man in those days: the “telltale” box hung on the church door. You wrote your accusation and dropped it in the slot and scurried off.
So much of life is focused on sex, is wasted on sex. I have been a masturbation man. For long my body has nothing to share with any woman or man. I am immersed in thought. In my bed I have loneliness as mate. I patronize no one.