“Thunderstorm” is the opening text of the category Stories of my personal blog Thalleìn. This is the first text which arises from the collaboration with four young women and artists, who were able to rethink and re-evaluate, through the powerful tool of illustrations, the way we look at the fears inside of us.
Kireji is the son of a friendship that has its roots in Bovisa, the place where Giuliana, Erica, Claudia and Alessia first shared their interest in Design as well as their weaknesses and worries, passions and dreams.

When I decided to collaborate with them, I wondered how I could embrace their incipits and illustrations, making them the content from which to draw in order to narrate something worth reading. The clear answer was revealed to me as an intuition: fears are perhaps the most blinding manifestation of our humanity. Then, why not put together incipits, illustrations and drawings as a portrait of a man and a woman I have already met in my life?

Description of the illustration
A thunderstorm of words, judgements and opinions. It is easy to be overwhelmed by the pouring rain that gets us wet and affects our mood. We forget to wear a raincoat to shelter under; the truth is that, sometimes, it is useless. There is beauty in being caressed by those drops of water, jumping between puddles, just like a child who does not care about getting wet. After all, it is nothing but rain, a rain that washes away the confusion. This is a rain that showers over you, there is no need to give it too much attention. Rather, it is better to give it the importance it deserves. After the rain, the sun will always eventually shine again.
Ettore has shoulder-length light brown hair, as thick as twine. He wore his hair long since he was ten years old. Ten is also the number on his t-shirt, a number that today’s football has forgotten, a polite and silent ten. However, even more important is that it is a ten with feet, a ten in action. Far from those ten that are out of the game a long time, somewhere with a Mojito in their hand and the player number tattooed on their skin, preceded by their initials.

Ettore has a degree in Cultural Heritage. He studied at the Brera Fine Arts Academy, one of the most well-known in Europe and he graduated with a dissertation about Giorgio de Chirico 1940s. He got excellent results in every course with maximum performance and minimum commitment, not because of his carelessness, rather because of his aptitude. The truth is that Ettore is one of the two smartest people I know and a couple of days were enough for him to study in order to make up for lost time spent sleeping and listening to music in the weeks before. As almost every IT student that I know, Ettore thought that Brera was an uncomfortable environment, a place that bored and displeased him. Moreover, that place gave him a feeling of not belonging to the status of people living there. He could not stand (how could he?) those haughty peers with poor hygiene who prepare Vin Santo and straws in the courtyard of Brera, in the name of a confused left-wing idea and questionable contemporary art.

Ettore is the frontman of an indie group called “Ironia della Sorte” (Twist of Fate). After his graduation and a sleepy and salty summer in the less worldly place of Southern Italy, he returned to Novara, alternating between solitary sleep and sleeping with Carolina or listening to music in his room or in the recording studio.
In his bedroom there was a sofa bed, harmonicas, guitars, a red ukulele, a second-hand piano and a wardrobe with his clothes and another one with my father’s heavy jackets. Ettore used to spend entire days in his room and then he used to sleep in mine without permission, because there were two beds in there. Because of him, during the summer we could not sleep due to the heat, Ettore included. He was really scared of falling ill; this is the reason why he always forced me to keep the window closed.

Ettore looks like Gatsby, the main character of “A Rainy Day in New York”: the same face, the same temperament. It was on a rainy day last year that he asked Carolina to be his girlfriend. It was a Sunday afternoon and a melancholic song by Dario Brunori was playing on LifeGate. A blanket as heavy as a coat, a bitter coffee and a hot chocolate. He kneeled down reaching for her hand, she started to laugh, embarrassed. He said “The time has arrived”; she clumsily replied that she did not want to, but in her days she had had enough of being a daughter, the spectator of her parent’s wedding, she had had enough confusion in her mind. But there is rain, a rain that washes away the confusion. Ettore stands up and takes her hand, dragging her out; “We are going to get wet”; “Never mind, jump into it”; “Jump into what? I am afraid of the storm!”; “The puddles. Don’t be afraid: the sun will come again”.

Translation by Francesca Scivoli
Photography by Alessia Musio