Little shadow tales Melkio & Ana FeriĂ s
12 photos, 12 drawings and 12 stories. Abstract photographs of Ana FĂŠrias re-interpreted by Melkio that in an exercise of imagination gave origin to new images and small stories. We were and we are all children. As children, we watch the clouds in the sky we find winged dragons that spit fire, very slow turtles, gentle giants, cotton candy in abundance... the capacity to imagine is unlimited. Melkio, upon seeing the works of Ana FĂŠrias did this, he imagined and re-interpreted them. The small pieces of plastic placed in seemingly random compositions gained a new life, shadow games became a ballerina, in Saint George taming the dragon... each with its own history.
Little shadow stories, even for adults.
Ballerina The ballerina, born deaf, didn’t know the beautiful sound of words. Her everyday life was lived in silence, no commas or accents, skipping through grammar and the rhythm of every idiom. She didn’t know the beautiful sound of words, but these didn’t serve her anyway since no voice is needed in order to speak with the soul.
Courage Giulio was a lazy and fearful drawing; a quiet combination of sketched lines in a pastoral setting. He smiled while the painter spread the colours over the scene behind him, aware of a peace that would be everlasting, once the painting is finished. Suddenly things changed. Strong brush strokes covered the hills, who were hidden by dark hues and distorted shapes. Giulio, who had grown up dozing in the lush green prairie, found himself on a cold, void background, next to a raging black bull. Thus he found himself in this painting entitled ‘Courage’, born from a former sketch of a nameless painting. Forced to adapt and to forget the field where he was born, he took on his new role and swiftly jumped on to the bull’s back in order to tame it. Giulio, in that noble painting of brave strokes, had a fierce look in his eyes, pencil redrawn from within, but still sleepy and so very afraid.
Conscience - looking at you, and I don’t know why, something tells me that I shouldn’t run away. Something inside me suggests it, something that has known me forever, an unknown friend that has attentively forged all my choices. It is conscience, rich through the wisdom of experience, that implies it and there’s nothing more I can do than listen
Destiny - looking at you, and I don’t know why, something tells me that I shouldn’t let you go. Something inside me suggests it, something that has known me forever, a silent writer that has attentively forged all my choices. It is destiny, replenished with time’s light, that implies it and there’s nothing more I can do than listen
The Tenor and the Bat (1) Antonio was a tenor and every evening he’d leave the house sharply dressed. He’d walk until the city lights gave way to the darkness of the forest and, next to the river bank, he would dedicate a song to nature, a generous friend who had given him his voice. Each night, whilst he sang splendid arias, a large winged bat would get close, stand still and listen to him. Both dressed in black, each did his own part: one lent his voice, the other the ear. Complementary opposites; and the sound became music.
The Tenor and the Bat (2) Each night, Antonio, after singing in the woods, would return to the city doubting himself and his singing. Maybe he wasn’t as good as he thought he was, perhaps given the company that he attracted. Maybe he was hiding under a mask of lights, where darkness could be lurking instead. But he always came back too early and was unaware that, due to his singing, each night that bat would transform into a lovely girl.
Book She had bought a book in a newsstand near the road. ‘The Story of the Silent Sailor’ it was called. The main character was kind and lonely, giving others too much attention albeit he was a bit unhappy, just as she was. As such, she felt him close, very close... so much that it was as if she felt him breathing. She was unaware that he lived when she read and together, page after page, they learned of the ending that the story had in store for them.
The Mage The Mage as time went by didn’t age. He remained motionless while the days spun around him through a big roundabout.
Like the handkerchief that floats and the pebble that becomes chocolate.
Ageless, he was distantly sitting watching seasons go by, people growing and coming to him, only for a brief moment, as quick as magic goes and soon leaving until they disappeared down the road.
A simple magic always effective that left people in the wheels of time with a look of astonishment.
The mage had a long white beard, keeper of all the stories collected at every turn. And thus the tip, the wisest part of the oldest memory, was hiding the secret of all the magic.
The bee that transforms into flowers everything that it touches, and the ray of sun that ends up in a jam pot.
Thus the tip of the beard coloured white, now a little bit whiter, knew that the secret of all that magic was the desire of all of those who were still willing to be mesmerised.
Thoughts A thousand thoughts ran across his mind: problems, expectations, choices, questions. A focussed gaze took hold within, seeking the beginning of the thread, but there were too many thoughts, shambled and intertwined between them. Tight, squeezed and spaceless,  those thoughts suffered while incarcerated in his head, way too small for them. Thus, gripping fiercely the roots of the hair, they climbed through the skin and, together at the tip of the hair, they discovered the wind. Free at last, breathing deeply. Growing like branches, they were a rational shadow that bathed his steps
Fish A fish that swims free always swims alone and close to home; Should a fish in a fishbowl miss the sea?
Robot Paolo the robot, built from iron and logic, had been at the service of people who walked past his mathematical eyes for twenty years. He saw them as mysterious creatures with illogical behaviours. Equations full of variables in liquid gears with impossible prospects. Throughout the years he learned to know them but refused to understand them and, questions aside, focussed solely on his work. However, only a few days go, he picked up a flower not knowing why.
Saint George An oracle told him that he would forever be etched in history if he managed to slay a dragon. Thus, George spent his life looking for it, traversing through woods and forests, although never finding one. Time flew by, he was getting old and no sign of the dragon. Now, an elderly man, he was a running joke in the village: ‘George, the fool’, him who believes in dragons, who speaks of nothing else. And then he died. All were sad. Everyone knew him and, deep within, had wished him well. For his funeral, an artist painted his portrait and on the canvas George finally fought the dragon he had looked for all his life. Centuries after, the painting became famous and he, as foretold, remained forever etched in history.
12 photos, 12 drawings and 12 stories. Abstract photographs of Ana FĂŠrias re-interpreted by Melkio that in an exercise of imagination gave origin to new images and small stories. We were and we are all children.
melkio.com / anaferias.com