school was not much. After I fell in love with this mysterious contact between different generations which provides the fuel that takes you around the world throughout their lives. I had a professor of drawing in high school. It was a small man with a mustache. One day he came to school with her daughter who could have five or six years. If you put it beside the chair while he was drawing her lesson. At one point, gently took her brush with which she was coloring and made a quick sign, all convoluted, a unique and elegant gesture.
It 's a flower space, he explained to the child. He had chosen the color and even tried a clean sheet. It was only appropriate to a corner in the drawing of her daughter and had improvised. I was curious to see the flower in space. I got up and went. I looked at that flower blooming, of a purple grape with the petals of a shining sun invisible. It was just a flower in space.
was so that Professor Ruffino, or rather, Claudio as we called him, taught us. With small gestures and wonder. I have not seen him since then, twenty-five years ago, but the flower Space I remember well.
students who are fond of me with my lesson. I'm a smart, keep the distance taking them around but eventually I worry, I sweat, we discuss, in short I think. There are students who look at me with a waterproof detached view, others laughing at my jokes. Many people forget the things I say, tasks that rarely check. Some underestimate what I say, many argue, many are struggling. Then they leave. They go their own way. Some see him again. Someone even asked me advice. Most disappears. André
Today begins a new adventure across the globe. It's a smart guy, somewhere in the suitcase he brought his collection of flowers in space.
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