“Happiness writes white” – Henry de Montherlant

Would it say much if I told you summer of ‘23 was a happy one?

It wasn’t though. It was, in a way, like any other summer. We enjoyed the warm sun on our skin, the elixir of that Capri air, and danced under night skies like no one was watching. 

I often think about the quote “Happiness writes white”. I think none of my achievements would be possible had I been born into that life – posting about my outings on social media, smiling for the camera, celebrating important milestones with friends. 

I live the solitary life. And I’m happily unhappy, or to be more precise – it’s about the happiness of being sad. 

Reminiscence has become synonymous with my state of mind. I felt it an immediate need to reflect on all that I’ve passed and to make peace with my actual past. 

Moving countries tends to do that to you – it uproots you, makes you rethink the core of your being. Although I didn’t just move, I struggle to call Capri my home. Until yesterday.

I packed my bags and moved 10 minutes away from my apartment. I grew to miss it the second I stepped out. 

“The place will be once what we’ve called home.

It’s rented, shabby, and imperfect.

Inside these wall there’s laughter and a light. 

The walls are drenched with tears of joy and sadness. 

Once it was a home for just us two. 

And now it’s a haven for a third. 

You look to me, so full of hope –

We built this nest ourselves. 

Like gentle winds brushing against trees, 

Like honey and a whiff of moss, 

Like bittersweet treats of unknown origin, 

I’m home but missing you. 

It is a fragment of a memory I love, 

Out of fear of it one day disappearing.”

 – Author Unknown

Today I invite you on a walk through my remnants of summer. Captured in snappy shots – they hold the weight of the world. If this were my last summer, I’d go happy. Or should I say happily unhappy?

Sunny side down

Perhaps the best embodiment of sunny days is this quick snapshot I took at Faro. I’m not sure why I’m so in love with the imperfect shot, but it’s the kind of subtlety I stive for with all my art. 

I don’t remember swimming much or particularly enjoying it out of the worries of everyday life – work, responsibilities, problems and problem solving. But I’ll always have this photo to remember the summer of ‘23 and how perfectly balanced is the conceptual notion of this shot being my summer. 

I was there to enjoy it as a silent observer. 

Surreal daydreams

Walking around Capri is pretty much this – being lost in a surreal daydream. Likely, nowhere else in the world would you see this kind of natural beauty, this saturation of colours, the variations of flora, or smell the aromas of all kinds of herbs and Mediterranean vegetation. 

I take this photos to remind myself that I do, in fact, live here. One fact I’m willing to give away is that I’m very much of a house cat. I don’t leave the perimeters of my home unless strictly necessary (or unless my husband decides it is time for me to get my dose of summer sunlight). 

Either way, and on more that one occasion, I’ve felt extreme urges to go outside  – draw, paint, write, explore, dream a little. The best backdrop for these vibes is Via Krupp. 

At the edge of my own world

On a particularly adventurous weekend we went up to Monte Solaro. We almost got lost trying to follow a hiking trail to another part of the island. I had my first case of anxiety (mild, yet negligent) and my first affirmation of me being out of shape. 

Surrounded by the crescendoing sounds of crickets around us, accompanied by the raising heat waves from the ground, I walked around in my dress getting slashed by dry weeds as we hiked for what felt like forever. 

We made it to a remote peak of the island, marked by this rusty rock. My thoughts were that it is a beautiful literary suicide spot (for the novels). I’m sure others would have once again been highlighting in their mind how awe-inspiring Capri is. 

Beware the tourists

There are some things that make Capri less appealing and dream like. It’s the swarm of tourists that make the island uninhabitable. I love this shot in particular because Davide has his back to yet another tourist taking a photo in Marina Grande. 

His body splits the image in two, the ‘clean’ side of the island, and one conceptually represented by a single tourist. Not much of a shot, but all-embodying of the most common point of complaint for all locals – TOURISTS. 

Marina Grande becomes one larger herd and it’s hard to find a spot at one of the few beaches here. For this reason, perhaps we often avoid going to the beach, or don’t go as often as we should in the summer. 

The torch for happiness

It was this summer that I fell into a creative rut like no other. For weeks, I couldn’t pick up a book, write a line of poetry or write anything for that matter. I’ve forgotten how to paint, unlearned how to draw, and wanted to tear my skin in two. 

So one day I finally left home, and my husband took me to ‘the view’. It’s a secret place where foreigners dramatically propose for show and tell. 

But wandering through the narrow staircase amongst the much-too-dry trees, I found a prickly plant entirely drained of all signs of life. I picked it and drew its shadow. It was a simple gesture but it set off a series of events that would get me out of my rut. 

I started collecting summer’s dry plants. They ended up saving me and reviving my enthusiasm for art. With that came back the passion for writing and reading and drawing. 

The photo itself ended up becoming the catalyst for me to restart the blog. So here we are. 

Day’s end

Of the things you can never get enough of here, it’s the sunsets. I never get out of bed enough early enough for sunrises, and apparently this is the second best thing. 

Down at Damecuta, you can never be short of a skyline. We went a few times, and I always left wanting to take away with me something more than just a photo. One time I came back with mediocre sketches. 

When the beauty of Capri is too much, sometimes you struggle to create something whole. 

Picture perfect

This summer was the time my husband took the most fitting portrait of me. Lit by the moonlight, I often think about my North Start looking at it. 

The duality that lives in me is something I’ll always carry. The spontaneity with which it was taken speaks heaps about the artistic mind that’s always urging me to go further. And the photograph is not even mine. 

The North Star 

And on my darkest days, there’s this. A happy day indeed, the one where everyone danced under the moonlight…and we all walked away with a memory. Luckily for me, mine was captured on camera. At the end of the day, that’s all that is left of my summer.