When a love is born...

"When a love is born it's never too late, it comes down as a glow from a star you look at, and there are billions of stars in the heart, when a love is born... "

I have always liked this song by Anna Oxa very much, I find it wonderful in describing the magic of the first spark of love, no matter what kind of love it is. In fact, this story is about love: the love of a child towards a very sweet plush bee, the love of an aunt who gives it to him, the love of a mother who decides, with her own means, to tell the story and finally, a little girl's unconditional love for drawing.

Once upon a time there was a little girl...

If there is one thing I am 100% sure of, it is that, since I can remember, I have deeply loved drawing, the absolute first means by which I tried to express myself, with which I "traveled" to another dimension, through which I relaxed my mind and my heart in the most varied situations. But that insecure little girl strongly believed that one must necessarily have the "gift" to cultivate a love like this: knowing how to use chiaroscuro like Caravaggio, knowing how to understand proportions like Giotto, knowing how to sculpt like Michelangelo...

“Why did you stop drawing? What discouraged you?”

How many times over the years have I been told that my way of drawing was too childish. For many years that criticism meant only one thing for me: "you draw like a child, you are immature, don't even think about it, it's not for you ..." Why on earth I have never thought that this feature could somehow be useful, it could be successful in some area, it completely eludes me. On the other hand, I didn't dream of becoming a portraitist or landscape painter ... I just wanted to draw. Because drawing made me feel good, and even today it's the same thing.

And once upon a time there was a little boy...

Let's move on to this new story: love is born between my son Jack who, a few months later, receives this lovely "bee" named Bee as a gift from his aunt Ilaria. I write "bee" because it will be clear to everyone that Bee has very little of the bee: no yellow and black stripe, no sting ... yet someone decides that it is a bee and that it is called Bee (Who? Me? Aunt Ilaria? Both of them? ...). A wonderful friendship is born that strengthens over the years. Bee is of course part of the family, she speaks with her own voice, she has her own ideas about everything but on one thing she is adamant: Jack can't be hurt! She is his guardian angel and for life she will always and only take his parts! :-)

“Where did the idea of ​​telling this special story start?”

One night Jack can't sleep, he's 6 or 7 years old. He asks me if I can tell him a story in the dim light of his room. I lie down next to him and, without thinking too much about it, I tell him the story of Bee's life, of how sad and empty her existence was before that fortuitous meeting with his aunt Ilaria and of the journey she took from England which brought her to him, creating a friendship for life. Jack is very moved and sweetly tells me: “Mom, it's a beautiful story… you should write it”.

These words echo for a few years in hidden areas of my brain, always there, waiting to take shape. Looking forward to gathering the courage to try to make this special request a reality...

And it happens that I stop working, for several reasons. And that for a while I choose to put aside the computer, which after so many years has tired my mind and taken away my enthusiasm. I pick up the paper, the pencils, the brushes again ... I begin to experiment with watercolor. A few tutorials, a few short online courses, many experiments… until one day I open that drawer again. I recall the first secret draft of that magical story and begin to fix it. The sketches, the tests, the draft begins.

Many years of graphic design cannot but help: I ​​draw up a graphic draft of my book. This helps me a lot to understand how to structure the story, what are the illustrations that I need. And then ... ready, go ... Little by little the project takes shape. "It doesn't matter if my drawing is naive," I tell myself. "It doesn't matter if it won't be understood by everyone", I tell myself. "Keep your focus on what drives you to do it and everything will be fine." And a project born out of love can only be a success. Then, what a "success" really is for each of us is entirely subjective. Am I right?

A few days ago the few copies of my book arrived. It's not perfect, but at the same time it is. I love it. Finally after many weeks of working in total "secret" I can finally give Jack the magical story that he, with much ingenuity and love, had asked me to tell. That's it, my love. Enjoy the reading.