Tako pa jo je videl moj prijatelj Francois:
Last year we had the opportunity of having one week course (with prof. U.Weilacher) of seeing and looking at the landscape in a different scale. How do I see the landscape, where do I find it? It could be in a tiny leaf, or on a big aerophoto shot. In each case, landscape offers endless possibilities for exploring...
This is how my little friend Francois saw it:
Francois is an eligible man of a sparkly smile in approximately his fifties. He comes from France, but moved to Slovenia when he was seven. He misses his homeland France enormously, and he translates these feelings into writings of French chanson’s, when he can metaphorically shed his unheard love for the beloved France and lovely charming Paris into words, written on paper, in such metaphorical translations, even he can hardly understand.
Francois is a great fan of old cavalier manners and he wishes to become the most gallant gentleman and to be a great example for all man race. In his poems, this is the spirit of romanticism, ingredient in such quantity, that it captivates even the coldest rock underneath a bachelorette’s clothes.
Francois has a little secret of a great personal significance. Every fifth day he goes hiking across Slovenia in search of the great inspiration for his chanson’s in the nature handsomeness’s. He claims never to become fed of those. Therefore, She will always stay most glamorous muse that not any of her daughters will ever reach.
And so every Monday, or any other day that comes next, he goes hiking, or as our grandfathers would say, wandering. He’s always led by his nose, always following pleasant scents, exhaled by ground or vegetation, and listening to the sounds of living. Just as yesterday, when he was wandering across a certain village and the rain was pouring down. Francois wasn’t bothered, and his good manners could not be interrupted by raindrops falling on his thinned forehead, cooling the heat, if a considerable, wise woman walks by, he is not bothered not to step by, hardly even showing the bow and respectively takes off his hat.
One moment after, he’s back, thinking of Her, and the words just float. Te hat is still taken of, but he’s not even aware of it. Inside him, there is a poen forming it’s shape, a new melody, that gently weaps across the raptures in the ground with the mumbling of his mouth. A new song is made, new heartbreaking chanson to keep us warm in the winter, when it’s not as warm as on this spring day.
This was one day in the life of Francois, while he was wandering around Slovenia, observing the space and following his nose. He got cought in the rain, but was not bothered. Cold raindrops, pouring the thirsty ground, were nicely melting on his coat, giving him a feeling of a reality and living. While composing a new 25-row song he did not even notice his shoulders have stopped being poured by rain. The raining stopped, and the space was filled with the calmest quiet ever heard. It lasted only for a moment until the birds realized it and started their spring dance. Even the woodpecker knocked, showing off who the loudest is and ecouraged gentle swing of Francoises chanson. This melody gently floated through the cracks in the ground, where the author stood, or across the silhouettes in the horizon.
Plan of the situation
Francois is standing on a rock ground in the middle of Slovenian country, watching the anomalies on the floor while thinking of chanson’s. Subconsciously he transforms all stimulates from outside into his songs which are like cracks on the ground. By walking he additionally feels them; every foot goes in different direction. The ground feels rough, he must also be careful not to fall in any of the puddles. The holes are sometime deep, sometimes shallow, and also not of the same density. They run in their own direction, only one of them being much deeper and rotated in it’s own particular way.
The Valley of inspiration
The Valley of Inspiration lays under the Rocky mountains, near the most clear river ever seen. Francois and I live in the village called Smallage, and it lays under the mountains. Many people are farmers, and live respectfully with the nature. Francoies adores walking to the nearby Wetfoot wetlands and composing chanson’s there. He is quite well known in the neighborhood, so people called a city after his area of work, the City de Chanson’s. The Valley is perfect for living, people caught the river into a smaller lake for electricity production and they are quite self-sufficient.
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