Of education

Tintoretto wiped his dirty hands from the paint on a cloth, rinsed them with soap and oil, took one last look at the painting that had just finished “THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT” and suddenly saw that the Virgin Mary was missing from the painting. The faces of three masked men in handcuffs appeared in the place of Virgin Mary, the pitore understood and burst out laughing, it was 1991.

The Virgin Mary returned holding in her hands the stolen bowl with the tongue of Saint Anthony, the Portuguese, PADOVA, who was a friend of Fernando Pessoa and a friend of Italo Calvino, of Antonio Albanese of Don Corleone, Martin Scorsese and of Dolores Ibarruri.

The tongue of the Saint, quite afflicted, could not make a sound. He was breathing heavily and was drowning, his vocal cords atrophied. Demosthenes bent down, took two pebbles and told him to turn them in the half part of his mouth until he could say “ro”. So it happened. Then the Virgin took her place on the table.

Three angels took care of the Holy Family’s trip, “the flight into Egypt” was ridden on nine dolphins. One for Joseph, one for Maria, one for baby Christ and six for Mitsos the donkey, because he was heavy and afraid of sirens. On the way, Virgin Mary felt dizzy and baby Christ vomited the milk that he had been suckling, a while ago, off the coast of Sicily. The vomit was devoured by thousands of fish, illuminating the shores of the Mediterranean and all the open seas. The seas calmed down, the sharks ate only plankton and the octopuses came ashore and climbed to the charcoal grill on their own, smiling. The blessing of the vomit reached Sumatra, the North Pole, Chile, Korea, everywhere… especially the port of Izmir (Smyrna).

The Turks entered the city Saturday, August 27th – September 9th, 1922. The atrocities against the Christian population culminated in the symbolic and ritual torture and death of Chrysostom, Bishop of Smyrna, on Sunday, August 28th – September 10th, 1922, then the fire broke out.

The city was burning, Virgin Mary spread her arms, hugged all the children who lost their parents, fed them, put them on the ships and returned to her family. The tears of the Virgin Mary in the port of Smyrna created two huge water suckers like wells that are still boiling. The approaching ships burn their sides and the fish come out fried and delicious. In the south of Crete, Christ dove into the sea as far as Alexandria. There they slept in an inn and the next day they visited Cavafy’s house and the City Library. Christ in the entry of his name found the whole Bible almost like the Bible (???), and all the bibliography that referred to him and various other “Christ” through the centuries, thieves and swindlers, magicians and charlatans. He blessed the library and left. Then they passed by the tomb of Alexander the Great and lit a candle.

On the way to Cairo, they stopped at an oasis to rest. There… Oh the miracle! the baby began to eat with his hands from the plate of Joseph tzatziki with garlic, since then tzatziki became the favorite food of the Godman throughout his life. In Cairo they stayed in a tent among the protesters who settled in Tahrir Square. Everyone was talking about a female doctor caring for the wounded, when Mubarak and his government fell from power, they lost them.
The news spread quickly, Pieta changed shape, Christ cut his hair, put on a suit and his mom was not her but she was another, a skull. The Venetians got confused, the Cardinal of Venice delivered a speech against everyone in charge, it was July and the aqua alta filled San Marco two meters, the tourists stopped speaking their language and spoke only one, the language of worry and fear, the Art historians smiled happily.
Thessaloniki, Florence, Venice. In Florence in the Uffizi I saw Dürer painting “The Adoration of the Magi”. When he finished he came with us to Venice. At one point, he complained that the copies of Adam and Eve were mediocre, the “apple” that Eve was holding looked more like a salami. We sat side by side in the bus, he slept almost all the way. When he was awake, he was looking inside and outside, he was not talking much.

I got off the hotel elevator with a Japanese man who may have been Mexican, a friend of Emiliano Zapata. At the breakfast table I sat with Harry, Dürer, a Mexican who may have been Japanese, a friend of Hirohige, and a 17th-century Venetian man, Tintoretto’s son, and his grandson. In the Church of Santa Maria della Mizericordia four huge brains breathed slowly and steadily, ignoring our presence. In the background there was the Pieta.

The little one was running like he was under a spell between the brains and every time he touched one, the brain turned to stone. When he saw the turtles he was ecstatic, he took them in his arms, they ejaculated and turned upside down. He cried in front of Pieta so hard that his cries were heard as far as Punta Della Dogana, his body filled with hundreds of red pimples. At the hospital, doctors diagnosed measles with shock. “Ah, these craftsmen from the underworld,” exclaimed Dürer, “always merchants, atheists and traitors.” On the way back, Tintoretto’s son shouted with all his voice: “Jan Fabre, open the door to LIFE, open the door… open the door… open the door… open the…”

At night it is impossible to sleep. Curses came to me spontaneously, which are not curses: “pigeonballs, menopause butterfly, noble nightballs, cow-pussy, pussyhorn, small and strawberry-like pussy, etc.

July 2011
Dimitris Xonoglou