*Solo il Battito Unito del Sesso e del Cuore può Creare l'Estasi*

"...Componenti intellettuali, fantasiose, romantiche, emotive. Questo è quel che conferisce al sesso la sua struttura sorprendente, le sue trasformazioni sottili, i suoi elementi afrodisiaci.

La fonte del potere sessuale è la curiosità, la passione. Il sesso non prospera nella monotonia. Senza sentimento, invenzioni, stati d'animo, non ci sono sorprese a letto.

Il sesso deve essere innaffiato di lacrime, di risate, di parole, di promesse, di scenate, di gelosia, di tutte le spezie della paura, di viaggi all'estero, di facce nuove, di romanzi, di racconti, di sogni, di fantasia, di musica, di danza, di oppio, di vino... un amante, quando è infiammato d'amore vero, può esprimere i toni più sottili di secoli di arte amatoria. Quante sfumature, quanti cambiamenti d'età, variazioni di maturità e innocenza, perversità e arte...

...Se ha reso i sensi indifferenti alla seta, alla luce, al colore, all'odore, al carattere, al temperamento, a questo punto dev'essere completamente avvizzito.

Ci sono tanti sensi minori, che si buttano come tanti affluenti nel fiume del sesso, arricchendolo. Solo il battito unito del sesso e del cuore può creare l'estasi."

Passaggio da Anais Nin, Henry & June

Sylvia Plath Series

Totally in awe for Justin Fitzpatrick's series on Sylvia Plath! The sense of anguish and the mythological references permeating Sylvia's poems are visually conveyed in these portaits. The geometrical enclosures and oniric atmospheres are reminiscent of De Chirico's works.  I am sure Justin was familiar with Sylvia’s admiration for De Chirico: her art-poems are directly influenced by the Greek/Italian artist. This reminded me to go back to The Estorik Collection, a gallery preserving Italian modern art, in the New Decade. 

The Disquieting Muses

De Chirico  

Mother, mother, what illbred aunt
Or what disfigured and unsightly
Cousin did you so unwisely keep
Unasked to my christening, that she
Sent these ladies in her stead
With heads like darning-eggs to nod
And nod and nod at foot and head
And at the left side of my crib?

Mother, who made to order stories
Of Mixie Blackshort the heroic bear,
Mother, whose witches always, always,
Got baked into gingerbread, I wonder
Whether you saw them, whether you said
Words to rid me of those three ladies
Nodding by night around my bed,
Mouthless, eyeless, with stitched bald head.

In the hurricane, when father's twelve
Study windows bellied in
Like bubbles about to break, you fed
My brother and me cookies and Ovaltine
And helped the two of us to choir:
"Thor is angry: boom boom boom!
Thor is angry: we don't care!"
But those ladies broke the panes.

When on tiptoe the schoolgirls danced,
Blinking flashlights like fireflies
And singing the glowworm song, I could
Not lift a foot in the twinkle-dress
But, heavy-footed, stood aside
In the shadow cast by my dismal-headed
Godmothers, and you cried and cried:
And the shadow stretched, the lights went out.

Mother, you sent me to piano lessons
And praised my arabesques and trills
Although each teacher found my touch
Oddly wooden in spite of scales
And the hours of practicing, my ear
Tone-deaf and yes, unteachable.
I learned, I learned, I learned elsewhere,
From muses unhired by you, dear mother,

I woke one day to see you, mother,
Floating above me in bluest air
On a green balloon bright with a million
Flowers and bluebirds that never were
Never, never, found anywhere.
But the little planet bobbed away
Like a soap-bubble as you called: Come here!
And I faced my traveling companions.

Day now, night now, at head, side, feet,
They stand their vigil in gowns of stone,
Faces blank as the day I was born,
Their shadows long in the setting sun
That never brightens or goes down.
And this is the kingdom you bore me to,
Mother, mother. But no frown of mine
Will betray the company I keep.

Sylvia Plath 

From the top left: Sylvia Plath and the Worry Bird; Morning Song; Portrait of the Sylvia Plath as Phoenix; Sylvia Plath and the Resurrection Blues; Sylvia Plath and the Burning Chair; The Arrival of the Bee Box. 

Wicked Parents

My child-like attitude to life is well renowned and, when it doesn't turn into child-ish, one of my happiest traits. I have been an occasional collector of beautiful picture books for years, so I can't describe my enthusiasm when, today, I got the first issue of Great Fairytales in my hands. It is a seven-part series of traditional fables offered by the Guardian from today, 10th, to Friday, 16th October. And if you miss a trip to your local newsagent, you can order them from here. 

I really like the print campaign by Wieden + Kennedy, featuring Red Riding Hood and The Three Little Pigs, two milestones of children's upbringing.

The stories have been selected by a panel of critics, writers and experts on children's literature {the like of Salman Rushdie, Philip Pullman and Antony Browne}.

(c) Paolo Domeniconi

The content of the future releases hasn't been revealed yet, so I am too curious to see what they have chosen! I really hope my favourite childhood tale, the alledgedly immoral Puss in Boots, is featured!**

What makes this collection attractive is that the stories are grouped into universal topics {love, justice, quests} and commented with an afterword exploring the morals, psychoanalysis and historical reality behind the fiction. 

The first topic is *Wicked Parents*, the nightmare of each and every child, and the text is framed by monochrome illustrations which are undoubtely evocative. The only lowlight is that, being a freeby, they are printed on perishable paper and not bound with a proper cover.

Baby in front row, (c) Sartorialist

UPDATE: I just got my second booklet, and the illustrations by Heisuke Kitazawa are even better than the first issue. Influenced by Japanese manga culture, they are tersed,  tintied with tenuous colours (grey, olive green and antique rose) and vivified by splashes of stylish yellow.

Saturday Wicked Parents (Hansel & Gretel, Snow White and The Tale of the Juniper Tree with an afterword by Hilary Mantel)

Sunday Rags to Riches (Cinderella, The Tinderbox and Mossycoat with an afterword by Philip Pullman)

Monday Love (The Steadfast Tin Soldier, Rapunzel and The Little Mermaid with an afterwords by AS Byatt)

Tuesday Quests and Riddles (?)

Wednesday Wisdom and Folly (?)

Thursday Justice and Punishment (?)

Friday Beastly Tales (?)

Some of them are to me unknown, so it will be an oppurtunity to catch up. Thirty years later. It's never to late to feel reborn.

** I had an epiphanic moment when Wiki reminded me Puss in Boot's morals: "one stresses the importance of possessing industrie and savoir faire while the other extols the virtues of dress, countenance, and youth to win the heart of a princess".

LOVE

I did not personally celebrate Valentine's Day, as per tradition. In 2006, however, the year my granddad passed away and the year I made an offer for my flat from a cafe in Paris, we celebrated LOVE at the Tate Modern Gallery. I turned the cheesiness of Valentine's Day into a genuinely romantic evening. Yesterday, after browsing a few second hand shops in West Hampstead where we collected a scarf, a grandma blouse and a shawl, I helped Alessandra and Kerin to step into one of the most amazing feminist couples, Thelma & Louise, for their fancy dress party/single girls night out. The theme was famous couples and they looked awfully cool. And here some of my model couples:

Troilus & Cressida - after a modernist play at the Barbican (which I missed), they will be on stage at the Globe this Spring time...

Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart - 12 years of difference and 12 years together till parted by death. She is still alive and still acting!

Paul Newman and his missus, Joanne Woodward - A beautiful couple in youth and old age. Here their half-century story of love, commitment, glam and deep passion.

Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath - A turbulent and intense relationship with a double tragic-ending. The cool news of this Valentine's is that one of my friend met a lovely guy... se son fiori... and that LOVE magazine has been launched today. Happy Name Day to my Valentines!

silvia on sylvia

"sylvia plath and the art of the visual" was advertised as follows: "In this unique, illustrated event, artist Stella Vine joins playwright Elisabeth Gray and poet Clare Pollard to discuss what Sylvia Plath means to them, her continuing legacy, and their perspectives on Plath in the light of these new discoveries. The event is chaired by Sally Bayley."

ele and i met up in southbank for a light dinner in an airy restaurant overlooking the thames, where we relaxed with a liberating chat accompanied by a glass of wine and a warm soup, before attending the above-mentioned talk.

stella wine, whose name was mentioned in one of my early posts, performed lady lazarus, and was good, but, disappointingly, did not participate to the debate. furthermore, a selection of her work inspired by plath, was, yes, exhibited in the foyer, but as projections rather than originals. the ten pounds ticket i paid started feeling like a waste.

the talk itself did not rescue my initial negative impressions as it turned out to be a general and generic chat about sylvia's poetic doubleness, which is conveyed through grand and daring metaphors transcending time and place. her mythological imageries, in particular, are devices to map wider archetypes. in synthesis, through the poetic language, she craves a self alteration which is a renewing process rather than a death drive.

"...Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air..."

in her eclectic work, she can be as humourous and flippant (nursery rhymes) as self-parodist (lady lazarus) and tragic.

her phenomenological sense of the visual end documentary eye was emphasised more than once, but none of her artworks, projected in the background, were actually analysed. her artwork was defined "abstract", but yet again its sense was not elaborated.

fine - it was not a lecture, but i believe that some of the technical words the speakers used were mis-understood by the audience who, by the sound of the questions posed, tended to confuse her poetic with her autobiographical self. a young lady asked about the meaning of her suicide (was it a triumph or a failure over her search of identity?), while someone else associated her confessional ego with her life.

anyhow, two considerations stimulated my inquisitive mind:

1. elisabeth gray, who won an endinbra fringe award for her play inspired by sylvia's journals, interestingly pointed out that theatricality and forefront humour are more accepted and enjoyed in american culture; whereas dark comedy is more appreciated by an english audience.

2. claire pollard speculated that sylvia is daughter of her american generation, which was so sank into the cold war rhetoric to believe that radioactive powder was like dust - if you wipe it away it is not hurtful. likewise sylvia's poetry draws repeatedly on holocaust imagery to convey the writer's intense emotional suffering; but her loose use of this touchy subject has been accused to be permissive rampages in the history of other people’s sorrows.

"...A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My featureless, fine
Jew linen..."

the proceedings carried on with a lullaby, played by an oxford student, and a contemporary dance fragment which immensely fascinated me. this event quickly revealed itself being a marketing promotion of kathleen connors and sally bayley's book eye rhymes: sylvia plath’s art of the visual, and i could not help but think that i would have fitted so perfectly the role of sally and kathleen's publisher.

~ all the quotes are from lady lazarus (ariel collection) ~

trivia - sylvia and i not only share the same phonetic name, but also a bizarre peculiarity: she always looks different in photos, and so do i. with this, i am not saying that i have her same talent, but perhaps that i am too in constant search of an alter ego... perhaps...

BIG UPDATE

Hey, here I am... bright and sound. I have been quite caught up in the blog of life lately, but now I am back with a few stories to divulge... But, first of all, here are some highlights of the last two months you may be curious to nose:

Makeover: I have a new haircut - the usual sixties bob but with a long fringe thrown on one side - and a new colour: ^rich chocolate^. I also have - here I am going to be really personal - a Brazilian bikini. I had it done in August for the first time in my life and am now addicted to it - I have just had a second one this afternoon. I also began a laser treatment for permanent hair removal. Both are new territory for me, but, so far, I am v. happy of this ^smooth^ choice. Ah ah ah.

Social Life:
The 30th of August was my 31st birthday which I celebrated together with Richard's* leaving do at the local pub, which recently received a ^poncification^. I was lucky enough to find an Italian bar-woman who prepared me delicious Bellinis with freshly squeezed raspberries all night long. Despite the absence of some good friends, the party was successful. A group of us ended up crashing at Richard's, on the sofa, one on top of each others. Great fun. In the morning, four of us, with smudged make-up and aching bodies, decided to conclude the fiesta with an organic breakfast in Queen's Park. What a great birthday! Thanks to all, again!

*He is off to experience this world and I am following him with the atlas and my mind.

Sunday just past, we had a ^Haircut Day^ at Vale's, who, after 30 years of house-sharing, has finally got her own space and is over the moon (her, not her house). Four of us gathered for a Spanish-inspired lunch followed by a haircut session with a premier stylist from Tony & Guy.

Facebook - my blessing and my ruin. Thanks to Facebook (even if I was not here, I have always been there, BTW), I found two old friends: Eli, who I met when I had just arrived from Italy and she was about to leave for Milan, and Betta, a girl with whom I have been glued for the four months I have lived in Venice. She was a student at the time and I was an intern at La Biennale di Venezia. They are both back in London, one with a lovely English husband (what a coincidence!) and one with a new sparkling job! But thanks to Facebook, I also forgot to invite some friends to my party. Che figura!

Entertainment:
I went to Gwen Stefani concert last weekend and it was fun. She is so cool - an uplifting model of glam and energy. Both her style, burlesque and sophisticated, and her music, (hip) pop with a twist, distinguish her from the other crap artists such as Sugarbabes or Britney. She was really personal as well, a very well tailored approach to her fans, mainly scrappy teenagers, tasteful children, stylish gays, chameleon-type women, exuberant ladies and us (I am not sure where we fell into).

I saw Two Days in Paris at the cinema and loved it because it reflected, in many ways, the relationship between myself and Lofty, at both cultural and personal level. Lofty had the same impression and found this rather embarrassing. Ehm... ehm....

I also watched Atonement and its first crucial scene at the villa was exactly as I imagined it. Whereas the war scene, although slow going as it was in the book, on the big screen it kinda lost its rhetorical function of making the personal story epic. Admittedly, it would be a boring story had you not read the book, an inner path towards an horrendous awareness and a painful process of atonement, indeed.

I read three books by Kundera and am about to start his masterpiece, the Unbearable Lightness of Being, for the second time. Kundera and his quotes deserve their own raison d'etre.

I watched tons of Kusturica's films, including documentaries and interviews. I love that man. He is, artistically speaking, at the antipodes of my other idol: Almodovar. The former is manly, rough and chaotic, whereas the latter is stylish, feminine and fame-adamant. But both are colourful, folkloric, in love with their countries and uplifting.

Holidays: No holidays till Christmas. Sigh. But in three weeks I am doing a SPA Day in Bath and we have just booked a trip to Italy/Finland for Christmas/New Year. Yuppy! So, much of my time has been spent planning for this adventure with other 10 people from all over Europe. More to follow.

Family issues: My buddy has got a new job! Yu Hhuuu. And il culone is in gardening leave for nonetheless than three weeks. Scusate se e' poco! I proposed him to go to Italy for a couple of weeks to learn the language, but how can we plan accommodation, course and flight in three days? Unless he goes and stays at my parents... I threw the coin at him and I am waiting for a response... or reaction. Eh eh eh....

Shopping:
I bought myself a huge bookshelf which is doing my life much easier. I have started cataloging all my books by genre and sub-genre. Next pile to tackle will be CDs and DVDs, for which I bought a ^tower^.

As a good Londoner, I could not not to own a pair of Converse trainers, low cut in optic white (for now) framed by a red stripe (in other words, the most common shoes in London earth).

In August I spent a week with my mother looking for the perfect dress for the book launch we never did (it has been post-poned and trans-posed: it'll be some time in Jan and in Brussels instead of Florence). And the dress we found is unusually black and less than perfect. On the contrary, it was source of shame. A dedicated post will elaborate on this.

Finally, I got a tunic dress in silk and seventies print, which I inaugurated at Gwen's concert, and the longest earrings you can find in the market.

Next purchases: a powerful laptop, a duffle coat (or montgomery coat) from Gant and skii trousers by Stella McCarthy for Adidas - savings allowing. ; )

Strawberry Hill

Visiting Strawberry Hill, home to the 4th Earl of Orford, was like stepping into an era of eccentricities and extravagances. Horace Walpole bought this mansion in 1748 and, with the help of a *commission of taste*, converted it into a Gothic (revival) castle where he used to host his many celebrity friends, including the poet Thomas Gray. His creation together with his many letters offer an example of aristocratic country life in the England of 19th century.

Sketch of the house by Walpole

Tromp-d'oeils were a feature of Gothic style. The originally white facade of the house, the wooden fireplaces and barrister painted in white and even the 3-D wallpaper were all made to create the effect of stone and marble that he had so much admired in Italy during his Grand Tour. A 21st century eye could find this trick a bit cheesy, but for for most of the locals, who had never ventured outside Twickenam, this illusive result looked quite impressive.

The attention to details is another charming feature of the house. The strawberry wallpaper adorning some of the ground floor rooms was carefully chosen in different colours. Apparently, it is still possible to buy the same eccentric design (red strawberries on a blue background) at a ridiculous price. And to maximise the rare English sun, the stained glasses reflecting natural light produced mesmerising prismatic rays of colourful light. A vase full of fishes was placed in the landing just outside the main entrance and had the function of entertaining the waiting visitors.

The Library

The library, whose bookshelves were protected by shutters in the style of roman cathedrals, overlooked the garden and river, and was the owner's favourite room.

Dressing room

The dressing room, where he would write his wordy letters and entertain his guests while getting ready (a lengthy process!) shows decorations that remind the modern Art Deco style and betray some Arabic influences, to prove that Walpole was a nostalgic of the Gothic style but was also projected towards the modern style.

The nearby *Cottage in the Woods* was Walpole's retreat to escape visitors. Guests at the time would not just stay for a few days but for months and months. It is maybe from that period that the proverb "a guest is like a fish: after three days it starts smelling" was forged.

The house has miraculously resisted to the many local explosions and wars thanks to its construction technique: it is essentially made of paper and wood. So it bends but does not break.

When I studied Walpole's work at university (in particular, The Castle of Otranto - first Gothic novel in English literature featuring supernatural happenings and mysterious ambiance), I did not question his sexuality because I was told this is irrelevant to the aims of comprehending his work. Walpole's sexuality was not mentioned by our guide either and did not appear in the various guides I flicked through at the *gift shop*. But I have always been interested in the relationship between literature and biography and in the fiery debate on the *gender of writing* which started with Virginia Wolf and is still on amongst critics. So, during our tour I could not erase from my mind the suspect that he was gay. First of all, he was not married, very unusual status for the time, considering that he was rich, clever and certainly an interesting person. Plus, only an homosexual (or a woman) could have such an eclectic and flamboyant taste and a dedicated attention to the least detail... So, it was to my inner satisfaction that I found out that I was right.


A century later, one of his successors, Lady Waldegrave, a woman who got married four times, decided to restore Strawberry Hill and turn it into a place for the great political receptions of the time. She extended it, building what is today known as the *Waldegrave Drawing Room*. Thus, Strawberry Hill can be described as the product of two collaborators who never met.

Subsequently, the house was bought by an American Hotel Company and even hosted a college. Nowadays, English Heritage wants to bring it back to its original splendour, i.e. to Walpole's times, as this is the period we know more about the house thanks to his wide epistolary collection - Walpole used to send letters to his friends but would ask them back - A bizarre habit I wish I had acquired when I still used to write real letters... It would have been funny to re-read myself after years.

"i love london.

i love the formality, the manners, the drunkenness"

tom ford

last weekend was the last smoky one for london, and we fully inhhaled it both nights. we returned home stinky but happy. to date, i have only briefly enjoyed the smoke-free pubs. tonight i am forced to stay in, while my cousin and his friends, vale and her friend, magali and her friends, michela and her friends are out and about. i am tempted to say "that's not fair", but it is my fault that i over-spent, dressed for the day in weird clothes, okay for work but not for the night, and let my mobile phone die. i am regretting now that i did not buy The Book of Laughter and Forgettng today when i passed by my local bookshop. i am in need of kundera...

stuff

IN SWISS COTTAGE

i am really tired. after a nice saturday spent at the sushi bar and cinema to watch a cleverly crafted thriller (tell no one), this week work has being crazy. meetings and business lunches are forcing me to be in my best behaviour 7 hours out of 7. thank god for the farmer market near my office where twice a week i get the best coffee in london, the best organic muffins, the cheapest freshly squeezed orange juice, the most delicious sushi, the freshest egyptian cous cous and the finest antique jewellery. i have never talked about helen here, the chatty lady at the antique stall i go and visit every friday. she is a bit forgetful - her head sits comfortably in the clouds, but this her charm, i believe. every time i stop by, she delights me with her stories. and she has got wonderful stuff. back in the 60s/70s she must have been a gorgeous and very fashionable woman (in her 60s she still is beautiful and stylish). her jewellery collection spans from art deco pieces to trifari and butler&wilson custome jewellery to vintage artworks from liberty or browns to unique items coming from bond street's antique jewellery shops, many of which jewellery used to belong to her. From her i bought a gold plated long chain with a magnifying lens framed by swaroski (Butler and Wilson), a snow flake brooch for steve's grandmother (trifari) and recently a magic fairy pendant/brooch holiding a precious opal. it is lovely indeed. helen is always very sincere in telling you the nature of a stone or a metal. if it is glass, she would say so, if it is silver she would direct your attention on the mark and weight. she also knows the history behind her objects and is always happy to share it with you.

BODY AND SOUL
i keep running (with steve) and doing yoga (without steve). i have seriously considered starting the teacher training from september, then convinced myself to spend those money with an enlightening trip to india with a few close girlfriends. so my mind is now moving towards that route. when i start fantasising about travels, i do it so deeply that it stays in the back of my mind all the time, and i tend to reconduct all my experiences to it... weird(o)...

dreamy princess

ARTS
what's more? hmmm... oh yes. i booked my flight to italy in august, gwen stefani's concert in september and reserved 6 tickets to go and see all about my mother at the old vic for my birth-day. i know that someone may find re-adaptations from a platform/media to another annoying, but i am always intrigued by the infinite possibilities of art vehicles. plus, almodovar's master-film and his interest for meta-theatre lend itself very well to the stage transposition, leading us to the fundamental question of the art debate: theatre as metaphor of life or life as metaphor of theatre?

FAMILY AFFAIRS
saturday little cousin giacomo is arriving for his summer course. i have a few boysh/adolescential activities in mind to entertain him but i am really struggling in finding many ideas. last time he was here i mostly took him in places he did not really appreciate. in one particular occasion he made me feel really naughty. we were in brick lane on a saturday night, surrounded by drunken bastards: a person was going up and down the street in a trolly with a bottle of vodka in his hand, other people had literally collapsed on the floor, etc. giacomo looked at me and candidly asked: "what kind of places do you take me to?" gulp! this time it will be better - i repeat to myself: he is a year older and more eager to *experiment*...

NEW BOKS, NEW FRIENDS
yesterday i attended my first book club, ever. a bunch of lovely girls meets up every month or so to recommend readings, swap books and chit-chat. i brought along the time traveller's wife and came back with two books: down under by bill bryson (for future reference) and ignorance by milan kundera, whose other (more famous) novel i read in german in my other life. as soon as i saw it, i decided i wanted that because it ticked three of my reading requirements: it is quite thin, with a charming cover and by one of the most reflective authors of our time. his books, in fact, go beyond fiction to embrace Literature at its highest level, and aurelie's description of its content seemed to fit perfectly our status of volunteer exile.

ELECTRICITY OR CANDLES?
on other news, we need to rebulb the whole house if we do not want end up living by candlelight...

sharing a short story

j.d. Salinger
a perfect day for bananafish
the new yorker, january 31, 1948, pages 21-25

click on the title for the full story

He let go of her ankles, drew in his hands, and laid the side of his face on his right forearm. "Well," he said, "you know how those things happen, Sybil. I was sitting there, playing. And you were nowhere in sight. And Sharon Lipschutz came over and sat down next to me. I couldn't push her off, could I?"

"Yes."

"Oh, no. No. I couldn't do that," said the young man. "I'll tell you what I did do, though."

"What?"

"I pretended she was you."

excerpt from A Perfect Day for Bananafish

correspondences

the time traveller’s wife is an intensively human love-story between an artistic graceful and patient beauty (claire) and an errant and a bit fucked-up, yet amiable, guy (henry). henry is cursed by his own gift of time travelling across his and her past (or, more rarely, future). although the time travelling dynamics explicated in the novel never convinced me completely (the author seemed to break her own *suspension of disbelief's* rules in more than one circumstance), half way through the book you forget all of these discrepancies and begin to empathise with the characters’ lives with a hard to believe sense of identification. the characters have to face an escalation of absurd, yet human, calamities proves and hardships that you end up perceiving the time travelling ‘movement’ by the same standards as any other family tribulation.

although it must be unbearable to experience a relationship constantly fragmented and disrupted by your man’s absence, the couple had the exceptional privilege of enjoying each other’s company twice longer and, in claire’s case, since she was six years old…

when i finished this enthralling reading and found out that the then couple Pitt/Aniston had bought all the film rights, my mind started a journey into the directing world. i suddenly became a (-n acclaimed) film director with the warranty to pick the right cast for such a quirky and profound story. i opted for an improbable match: a mexican actor (gael garcia bernal) and an english/french artist (charlotte gainsbourg) because, despite their very different backgrounds and age (she is 7 years senior than him), i could foresee a natural chemistry between them (and everything is possible on stage!). it was to my immense delight that i discovered they were chosen by the quick-witted and resouceful director Michel Gondry to star as a couple in the promising film the *science of sleep*. i haven’t seen it yet, but it will be out in london from 16th february, and i already know that it will be one of my top five classics.

the reason why i believe that gael is perfectly suitable to this role is that, before being a talented actor, he is a real person. in point of fact, what i really appreciate of him (apart from the fact that he is gorgeous) is his authenticity behind and in front of the cameras. he comes from an arty family with a bohemian soul, is socio-politically aware and proud of his country, and is not afraid to challenge himself with controversial and unflattering cinematic roles (all of which were excellent choices!). charlotte gainsbourg’s acting is genuine as much, and her irregular features and velvety voice add a unique magnetism to her girl-next-door beauty. her background is as interesting as her co-star’s: daughter of ex-supermodel Jane Birkin and poet Serge Gainsbourg (who sadly passed away in '91 and is buried in the exclusive Montparnasse cemetery in Paris), she is flawlessy bilingual. but her forte is not only limited to acting and languages: she is also an icon of understated style and, last but not least, a successful recording singer: her last album *5:55* has featured on the sidebar of amicacarmilla for many months now ~ testimony of my fan-devotion to her music.