To end…with Poetry

The exhibition of the British artist Osita at Villa Carlotta, is ended after giving us an unforgettable experience.

At Villa Carlotta’s atelier Osita  had created seven new canvases inspired by the Beauty of Lake Como.

A rewarding experience for our staff, awarded by the presence of 5984 visitors!

To conclude with one last poem created by Osita upon his return to England :

Poetry for an unrequited love
The return to Tottenham, after one night of self-love, a reaquaintance with the
neighbourhood.
Broad lane in her usual grey. Old men were helped across the road.
Lost virginity shimmered; in beauty and in ugliness; life continued.
I had gone away, alone, with only a call from my mother; to the pre- Alps.
A line of mountains encircling a lake.
Working days by the side of streams, to the bee and mosquito.,
Guiding my senses, to record the wonder.
Thunder and long dusty mountain roads. So much light,
Rainbow water and Lombardy.
This enchanted day, was not paradise enough to forget,
I longed for the unrequited love I had left.
If I had your mind, I would best know you.
Your thoughts would be my companions.
Both day and night, and my visions of you, real as prophesy.
You to me are the honeybee:
The pink white flower,
The black lake,
St Elmo’s fire in the grey sky,
The silver streams,
The granite and the marble,
A virgin canvas,
And my pen making by my hand love,
A feather begging for affection.
Tottenham seems poor and London ordinary,
Days go without promise,
Company shallow.
I need know only love,Yet I hunger to know only you.
I have flown and found my eloquence.
Words – these are Samurai,
Battles for the Shogun, the conquest of my mind.
The image the music of unrequited love.
My heart breaks: but all that transpires, I grow old.
Milano, Leonardo, Tiziano,
Here I put you in context
To a great unfinished portrait.
I have laboured at this work.
My eyes are scratched blind; and
The beauty vacant – calls back to me
With your unseen face.
The Cenacolo of Leonardo,
Christ at the Last Supper –
Where you are Saint John.
A prayer in my heart:
To see you in the flesh;
And to know you in Heaven.


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Concludiamo in poesia

La mostra dell’artista britannico Osita presso la wunderkammer Saal di villa Carlotta si è conclusa dopo due settimane intense che lo hanno visto lavorare a sette nuove tele ispirate dalle suggestioni del paesaggio lariano. 

Un’esperienza gratificante per lo staff di Studio Tablinum, premiata dalla visita di 5984 visitatori.

 A ricordo di quest’esperienza resta un’ultima poesia prodotta dall’artista al ritorno da questi quindici intensi  giorni di lavoro.


Poetry for a unrequited love
The return to Tottenham, after one night of self-love, a reaquaintance with the
neighbourhood.
Broad lane in her usual grey. Old men were helped across the road.
Lost virginity shimmered; in beauty and in ugliness; life continued.
I had gone away, alone, with only a call from my mother; to the pre- Alps.
A line of mountains encircling a lake.
Working days by the side of streams, to the bee and mosquito.,
Guiding my senses, to record the wonder.
Thunder and long dusty mountain roads. So much light,
Rainbow water and Lombardy.
This enchanted day, was not paradise enough to forget,
I longed for the unrequited love I had left.
If I had your mind, I would best know you.
Your thoughts would be my companions.
Both day and night, and my visions of you, real as prophesy.
You to me are the honeybee:
The pink white flower,
The black lake,
St Elmo’s fire in the grey sky,
The silver streams,
The granite and the marble,
A virgin canvas,
And my pen making by my hand love,
A feather begging for affection.
Tottenham seems poor and London ordinary,
Days go without promise,
Company shallow.
I need know only love,Yet I hunger to know only you.
I have flown and found my eloquence.
Words – these are Samurai,
Battles for the Shogun, the conquest of my mind.
The image the music of unrequited love.
My heart breaks: but all that transpires, I grow old.
Milano, Leonardo, Tiziano,
Here I put you in context
To a great unfinished portrait.
I have laboured at this work.
My eyes are scratched blind; and
The beauty vacant – calls back to me
With your unseen face.
The Cenacolo of Leonardo,
Christ at the Last Supper –
Where you are Saint John.
A prayer in my heart:
To see you in the flesh;
And to know you in Heaven.

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