a Francesca 2011-2012
(ad un anno dalla tua “scomparsa”)
Menaggio, mercoledì 29 febbraio 2012 h 17,30 studio
a Francesca 2011-2012 (ad un anno dalla tua “scomparsa”)
Francesca,
il tuo amore per la bellezza in ogni senso
ha contagiato anche chi di noi già
ne era fautore e difensore.
Se mai un dolore può far crescere
sensibilità ed emozioni orientate
alla bellezza,
di sicuro la tua “scomparsa” l’ha fatto.
Ogni volta che il nostro sguardo andrà
sul paesaggio lariano,
il tuo sguardo sarà lì con noi.
Ci manchi,
ma ti portiamo sempre nel cuore.
© Giovanni Salici
All right reserved
Tutti i diritti sono dell’autore
Francesca Weinmann, una persona che ebbi la fortuna di conoscere, la sfortuna di non averla conosciuta prima, di non aver avuto il tempo necessario per conoscere più a fondo.
Con lei, io ed altri “miei compagni di ventura” abbiamo condiviso “battaglie” ambientali per difendere la bellezza del nostro Lario, in particolare della zona di Menaggio.
La prima e forse più grande campagna di difesa del territorio fu nel 2006 quella a difesa del “Nanch”.
leggi anche pennellate impressioniste (Il giardino del Tè)
Tags: addio, amici, bellezza, bello, death, Francesca Weinmann, morte, morto, Per una Terra a misura d'Uomo, pioggia, poesie, poeta, poeti, poetries, poetry, ricordi, ricordo, scrittore, scrittori, scrittrice, scrivere
Ciao! Mi permetto di scriverti anche se non ci conosciamo. Sono la nipote di Laura Isnenghi. Ho scritto un tributo a Francesca per il sito della American University of Paris. Te lo incollo qui. E’ in inglese, ma comprensibile.
My tribute to Francesca Weinmann
I have known Francesca since I was a toddler, as she was good friend of my grandparents. They had a house in Loveno on Lake Como as her and they were neighborhoods. When I was a child I learned that Francesca grew up in Loveno with her mother and that she was living in a house that was destroyed by a fire due to a thunderstorm. I was used to watch the grey abandoned house with the broken roof, the facade blackened by the fire and I thought “wow what an adventure she had”, but I wasn’t sure she was at home that day.
When I was born or later Francesca had a new house build by an italian architect in Loveno, a small village above Menaggio. It is amazing and panoramic place. The village has beautiful old houses and there is a stunning view of Lake Como towards Bellagio, Varenna, the granitic Grigna mountain. For many years Francesca’s home was the place of freedom and beauty. I was used to stay at my grandmother’s home in Loveno and visit Francesca each summer. I was impressed by the fireplace. I have never seen a fireplace like that in my life. It was so big you may sit down on the two wood benches at each side of the fire and enjoy the warm of the flame. The house was big and full of books, there were books everywhere but well put, in a way you was tempted to sit down in the easychair and read it. The furniture were antique and there were beautuful provencal cupboards. I smelled Francesca’s parfum. She was the only person I met who used an eau de parfum called Cinnabar and she wore it greatly. It was a mixture of spices, tea and oriental scent. I liked it very much and I will always connect this scent with Francesca. She had style. She wore beautiful and airy cotton dress in warm red or ocra hues. She had always wonderful ethnic earrings or necklace, many years before it was a fashion to wear this kind of jewelry.
She was the kindest person on earth, the best guest I met. Once you arrived at her house she always went in the kitchen, the quintessential country kitchen, and prepare something to drink and eat. In winter she served you a lapsang souchong tea with cookies. If it was summer she used to order you to sit down on a chair in the round table outside and bring you delicious black olives and red wine. I really miss this time and I remember I was sad when it was time to go. My grandmother was austere and I was always in discomfort at her house, so I liked to climb the small stone steps and reach Francesca’s house.
She liked to make a tour of the garden, which was full of olive trees. She will show her new treasures, new roses or plants she found and took home. She always complained with my grandmother, who own the garden below hers, about the big trees, as she was unable to have a good view of the lake. It was a sort of war between the two women, more like a play or a joke. Sometime my grandfather was in the middle, so he convinced gradma to cut a little the trees. She accepted with annoyance and asked her gardener to prune the top of the trees. Francesca was always joking about the hole created by the trim, she was used to say that now she could see the lake through a porthole!
I like very much the fact that she would allow the grass to grow in her garden, full of wild flowers, instead of trimming it like a golf putting green. She was especially fond of a superb cat she had and that she lost with bad luck at the Central Station in Milano. She then decided to take driving licence at sixty in order to transfer safely a new cat she had in replacement of the lost one from Paris to Loveno. She was brave and not so much cautious, so I remember she had a dangerous crash.
She was a wonderful person when you need advice, when you have something to share and she spoke to you directly without hesitation or stiffness. She wasn’t worried to displease you as she was honest. I really appreciated her kindness and frankness. There aren’t many people made in this way, so that’s why I miss her so much. When she died I didn’t wanted to think about her without life. It was unbearable for me, I couldn’t relate to the idea she wasn’t among us anymore.
Today I decided to clean my copper kettles. I was using a special copper cleaner and I cleaned the risotto pot she gave me as a gift fifteen years ago. It is bright now.
She asked Umberto Battaglia, a thinsmith in Menaggio, to made this round copper pot for me, especially mad to cook a milanese saffron risotto. It is one of the best gift I have ever received and it also very useful.
It was today that I felt so sad about Francesca’s death and I missed her so much I decided to write and share my memories about her. I also miss my grandfather who was a dear friend of Francesca and shared her passion for art, while with my granmother she was always took advice about plants cultivation and care. Now all of them are dead and I won’t hear anymore the sharp voice of Francesca entering in my grandmother’s house when she was our guest at dinner. I hope to meet her again someday.