I arrived in Milano Centrale at 10:45 pm local time.
Exhausted. 2 bags in my hands and one heavy-like-hell backpack killing me.
The taxi. 25 euros. Really expensive but impossible other way to reach the hotel this far from the station, this late and with no perfect knowledge of this foreign streets.
Long ride but gentle and funny lady at the front desk. Dark hair, shiny eyes , well-ironed uniform and a crystal flower in her breast.
Checked in, yawns, dirty face and "fame di lupo"(hungry like a wolf). An old lady came out and offered to help me with my bags- "No, no, grazie" I said as I approached to a 1920's style elevator at the back of the corridor.
After a little fight with my bags, we managed to fit in the old and strange device taken from a vintage horror film.
My room. Nice, spacious, cozy, it was white but yet dark.
I tried to start eating the cotton white curtains, so I decided to call room service and ordered a "Fashion show Panino Speciality with prosciutto" and a glass of red orange juice.
As I opened one of my bags and took out a sheet of paper and my colour pencils, someone knocked at the door; It was the old lady who had brought me my meal."Grazie" , I said. She handed me the silver tray and left with a smile.
After almost 180 gr. of prosciutto and 250 ml. of sicilian red orange juice, I still hadn't figured out how to start this story.
The sheet of paper was still empty and the colour pencils were still snoring and recovering from the jetlag. It had been a long trip.
So I took out my ipod and decided to play some music. Jazz?, reggae?, house? maybe some classic?, maybe a little of everything but nothing at the same time in order to help me to develop some red orange idea, a stracciatella thought or maybe something comparable to the flavour of pesto.
Sounds, beats ,noises and still nothing in that sheet of paper.
The carnation red, crispy orange, and parrot green pencils were already mad at me because of the voice of this performer on my playlist. The black and the ocean blue were totally jetlagged.
The grey was in midlife crisis and the muffin brown was totally sick from the food of the airplane.
The mahogany red suffered with dysthymia and the psychiatrist hadn't been able to help him.
The pink was snoring, the snow white yawning and the dark violet, "breaking wind".
Definitely,no time for work.
How can I start this story in such an odd situation?
Music went on, empty tray, clean sheets, then a thought flooded my mind:
Inspiration can't be found, inspiration finds you,
but how the hell will she find me this time at night,faraway from home, locked in this hotel room, exhausted, and living a stupid joke from destiny!!!!
Suddenly, I heard a louder music outside. I looked in the window and I saw something. Something I never thought I could see, this time at night and under this circumstances ( and no, I'm not in drugs.)
A flash of light, a quick moment before I realized it was true; They say, everything starts with something; Fashion, life, power and love meet their origin in a particular situation, a sign, a clave, a key moment that gives birth to the most amazing ideas and nourishes the mind of the beholder.... then here it comes a spark, it begins with no permission. Yes, it all starts with a vision.... a celestial vision.
Colour pencils, get to work.
To be continued...
"It all starts with a vision.... a celestial vision"
Written by Ivan Guerrero, June 2010
Original drawings by Ivan Guerrero
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