” venice carnival 2018 : the masked ones : photographs taken by rinaldo rasa “


photographs taken in the first half month of february in venice












i ask to you dear aficionados, please do not divulgate thi(e)s(e) picture(s) outside the experienceofthinking friday february 16 2018


” venetian mask silhouette : i am not a tintoretto or a canaletto : anyway… “

Rinaldo Rasa







acrylic on paper









i ask to you dear aficionados, please do not divulgate thi(e)s(e) picture(s) outside the experienceofthinking sunday february 11 2018

” one of most beautiful book incipit #1 “

collage by Richard Hamilton  from the sixties of past century





‘Eustace Chisholm’s street, with the Home for the Incurables to the south and the streetcar line to the west, extended east up to blue immense choppy Lake Michigan. South of its terminus the great gray museum took up acres and acres with its caryatids, and further south rose the steel mills of Gary and South Chicago with their perpetual vomit of fire. Further down his street in a westerly direction, before Washington Park slipped into the colored ghetto, there was a rose garden in which the German poet, Lessing, sat among the blooms.


Here amid the industrial whirlwind of America’s economic burnout, the unemployed, in nondescript small separate armies, with a generous sprinkling of white youths from small towns and farms and up-from-the-South Negroes, stood in line to go on relief. Eustace Chisholm had been caught up in two tragedies, the national one of his country’s economic collapse, and his failed attempt to combine marriage with the calling of narrative poet.


He wondered whether it was because of his inability to produce a book or merely the general tenor of the times that his wife, Carla, who had supported him hand and mouth for two years, ran out on him with a baker’s apprentice some six months before this story begins. Eustace answered for his failure as a writer on the grounds that he was too far distant from the great monopoly city of New York, claiming that no Chicago writer could become famous until he had departed the gem of prairies. Yet he dared not ever run the risk of abandoning his coign of vantage on Fifty-fifth Street, with the concomitant danger of losing his native accent and vision, so Eustace stayed in Chicago, where he was known by intimates and strangers as Ace.


The original name, like a scar, he reopened each morning while shaving. “I am Eustace,” he would mumble into the mirror.’



from James Purdy,  Eustace Chisholm and the works, 1967-1970





the start of a book, the first sentence is, sometime as excellet as the whole book, the above mention is from a book i read 48 years ago, during my youth. and it seems that times not gone away. a beautiful beginning is worth as the whole book.







i ask to you dear aficionados, please do not divulgate thi(e)s(e) picture(s) outside theexperienceofthinking friday february 2 2018

” remembrance day 2018 in venice “


These metal plaquettes are on the door step of this home here stay in memory of a family (four persons) arrested and captured in december 1943 here in Venice and deported in Auschwitz where they were murdered in 1944 .

In the day when it seems that the furious right political party today here in Italy has the force to get the government hence it seems a danger time for the future .

In Italy during the past century the fascism had the statal power and the masses supported it. I am sorry to say but Italy has invented fascism hence as italian citizen I am worried about the possibility that the extreme right party have the power.

In 1938 the Italian Parliament voted the racial laws in Italy (an eternal shame to my ancestors). The people, at that time, voted for the fascist party and acclaimed a leader for the masses.


In the second post war period (after the disaster of second world war) the people said ‘we voted for Mussolini and his crazy political program because we did not think he was serious ‘.
but the fascists really made what they have programmed : the extermination of the Other ones (whatever this means, jews, communists, blacks, socialists, africans and so on).


I borned in a time when Democracy was a common sense thought, now that i am near to my sixty-eight years old into the flow of History, a retrospective looking the past it seems that what was absolute is becoming relative.


These plaquettes are in Strada Nova a street “calle”  in Venice where people walk a lot of people every day.
Sincerely i do not know if somebody know what are these plaquettes. Anyway these plaquettes represent the memento that tell us : do not joke with Politics because it is not a joke. If you vote a crazy man as your leader he will do crazy things in your name. Be aware good people!












i ask to you dear aficionados, please do not divulgate thi(e)s(e) picture(s) outside the experienceofthinking sunday january 28 2018