BERGAMO - There are the remnants of the last snow piled To protect the corners of the square of the "Torpedo", named after a surreal stylized obelisk that stands in the center median of the flower, which is now more snow will hold. E 'in this square, and the surrounding areas, which in the 60' was born of a utopia ideal city Zingonia call, come out of nowhere in the middle of the Bergamo countryside with the aim of combining work and residence at the time of economic boom. But you can not really say that the conditions have been fulfilled. This suburbs of our country today is nothing but a residential area of \u200b\u200b4.5 square miles on which to focus something like 33 thousand inhabitants. In short, a ghetto of six towers - similar to Scampia or Corviale, "the snake" arose in the years' 70 to the outskirts of Rome - which are called "missile" in the City of Ciserano. The buildings Anna and Athena are the focus of this island of degradation, where the raids are the order of the day and there are at least two stationary patrols that monitor the territory. 
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The real Wild Party 60s and 70s! 
MILAN - "I get up in the morning and the first thought is to go play the slot machines. For me they are better than one woman. When I hear the music and the sound of money as they enter the belly of the unit, I already know if I win or not. It is the gesture to seduce me, not winning. I am here to heal, but I do not know if it will heal, I can not guarantee it. It is too strong a lure. It's like an orgasm. " Charles is to tell his story, a man of extraordinary intelligence quiet, diligent, lucid and logical, during a group therapy. The shoes left them out of the classroom listening to the other set of ludopatici who have decided to try to quit. Once and for all. 
"I'll paint your eyes ... but first I need to know your soul to paint"
Amedeo Modigliani, Modi
always observe the play of lines of faces, bodies, the symmetry or asymmetry of proportion. The eye color of a man often is the essence of eyes never really open or closed. And when it does not seem to say no eyes, no words. What I really love you will not ever torn.
RICCIONE - yet to be born When the legend Valentino Rossi, in Italy there were large: Giacomo Agostini and his arch rival - Romagna - Renzo Pasolini. They were part of the mythology that has tattooed on the skin sociological drivers as well as black and white TV. The helmets were bowl-like glasses unforgettable. Other times. Aldo Drudi, who was then a boy, could not possibly imagine that thirty years later would become "the King of helmets and fairings. Along with other peers, however, already passed afternoons perched on networks Misano - the home circuit - with two passions: motorcycles and grafica.E if no pilot at the time thought the star system, imagine Aldo, after attending the Experimental Art School in Pesaro was entrusted to the dreams and the cylinders, while the color of his dream world and roaring. The first guinea pig? His bike, a Yamaha twin with yellow livery, repainted blue cielo.Non one could say that destiny is hiding in the clouds of the sky: He joined the Academy in Florence know in Urbino, in a nightclub, the idol of his youth Graziano Rossi, what is now known as the father of Valentino Rossi, but that was Pilot in turn able to be talked about for the extravagance, the long hair and that hint of madness to Steve McQueen, combined with great talent for driving -. "Graziano - explains Drudi - as Valentino was the forerunner of the Notice of motorcycling. He loved the colors and creativity. He, like Valentino, the idea of \u200b\u200ban obsessive attention to the expression of personality through the design of a pilot. Binds us, in particular, the first red and white striped suit, and the first prototype helmet designed with a castle and a rainbow. "
reading about Max, Ottobre/2010 pg.108, 109,110,111
of Amber Craighero , swissinfo.ch 
We kidnapped? With landscapes, the verses of poets declaimed aloud, the endless expanses of lavender that we grow? "Poetry is like watching the world, children, heaven, life, without being too much to see. She is afraid to find out all his cards .. and then runs away ... why is not without skin. Pupae and butterflies, butterflies and pupae crisalidi.Forse we will be infinite without ever becoming butterflies, because butterflies volaranno within us. 
Mario Botta: An exhibition of architecture is something that is not there, because the architecture is out of the museum is in the streets, squares, in the city. However, I am happy of this great opportunity I was granted. It is a journey back inside myself, with a prologue and appendix of my thoughts turned into tangible reality. Effect makes me think that fifty years have elapsed from the first job when I was a young apprentice "workshop" (Chapel Genestrerio and house Morbio of Higher Education in Switzerland in 1959, ed.) I still have the same enthusiasm as when I graduated in Venice by Carlo Scarpa (his great teacher from '64 to '69, ed) and Giuseppe Mazzariol. A little later I began to shape my life by inner discipline "from artisan": three months later with Le Corbusier and Louis Kahn. I must say that digging deep I realized I was always chasing the same obsession: the search for a definition of which combine to form together the rigor of geometry, materials, the manner in which light articulates volumes. Even if, even now, before all that I see are even more helpless by the mystery of the creative process.
http://www.swissinfo.ch/ita/swissinfo/Il_genio_creativo_di_Mario_Botta_in_mostra_al_Mart.html?cid=28424226
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