THE PROMISED LAND
Henrik Pontoppidan.
Denmark 1917 / Nobel Prize

“On the day of the wedding the air was drowsy and the temperature was almost the same as in the Summer. None of the guests were to see her until all of them were inside the cars.

The bride appeared on the stone staircase.

Hansine wore a black woolen dress with lace straps at the neckline and the wrists. Under the veil and the myrtle wreath, a golden embroidered hat decorated with beads, that had belonged to her great grandmother’s wedding dress, could be seen.

She was wearing it by Emanuel’s express wish.
The ceremony was brief and the words that sealed it seemed more than anything a toast.

The party was dying out.

Like in a dream, furthermore, torches had been lit along the path that now, with the calm of the dark night, offered a phantasmagorical aspect.

He took Hansine’s hand strongly.

Now he was entering the mountain with his peasant bride…”

Perhaps it is possible to capture the glitter of the instants that have captivated us, instants that possess that eluding nuance of polyglots, that imperfect mixture that sketches and links the landscapes of our childhood, reflections, laughs, eloquent silences, beautiful journeys from the couch. Grisailles of dreams colouring in flashes of grace.

Sophisticated simplicity that invites to cultivate an inner world oblivious to the haste in which we live; poetic dimension of life, where imagining is the point of departure for creation.

In sweet ambrosia, the streets distil perfumed colours: irises, lilacs, mauves, lavenders, wisterias, heliotropes, soft and vibrant greens… Indefinable purples that become violets or crimsons, beautiful Egypt blue, lace of black and white mist… Accurate brush strokes in just a gesture, an impeccable cut, a flow…

Nostalgic ladies in lavender, the epitome of grace and elegance. Without them… “Life is mere prose”.