10 Angelica and the Birth of the Festival

Angelica and the Birth of the Festival

The studio smelled of oil and turpentine, of wet brushstrokes and drying canvas. Angelica sat on an old stool, one hand loosely on her knee, the other hovering in the air with a fine brush.
In front of her on the easel: Elias.
Or rather, his picture.
A young face that did not yet know who it was. Eyes that were searching.
A shadow under the cheek – doubt.
A gleam on the forehead – a premonition.
Angelica did not just paint shapes. She painted questions.
And as she traced the lines, she wondered if Elias knew he was already part of this story.

Suddenly laughter at the door. A soft whisper, a bright knock.
Before Angelica could react, the door swung open. A warm breeze blew in – or was it just the four women who entered the room like an unstoppable tide?
Seraphina first, with her gaze that could pierce walls.
Then Valeria, who slipped into the light like a shadow, calm, foresighted.
Naima, whose movements sounded like music, even when she stood still.
And finally Liora – Liora, who never simply walked but danced, jumped, flew.
“Angelica!” Liora twirled through the room, inspected the canvas with the knowing smile of a woman who already knew Elias. “You’re still working! Are you painting him beautifully?”
Angelica put the brush down and smirked. “I’m painting him truthfully.”
“Good,” said Seraphina. “Then you can come with us now.”
Angelica raised an eyebrow. “Where to?”
Naima stepped closer and gently let her fingertips glide over the colors on the palette. “It’s time for an espresso on the Piazza.”
Valeria crossed her arms. “And time for an idea.”

The streets of Borgo Feliciana were bathed in warm light. Small lanterns swayed over the alleys, and the cobblestones glistened still wet from the last rain. On the Piazza, tables stood under old chestnut trees, and the clinking of coffee cups mingled with voices and soft music.

The five women settled at a table, Angelica still with paint stains on her fingers.
“Well?” she asked, as the espresso steamed in front of her.
Seraphina took a sip and looked into the distance. “We need a festival.”
“A big festival,” added Valeria.
“A festival for us,” Naima said softly.
Liora grinned. “A festival that brings everyone who doesn’t yet know they belong here.”
Angelica looked around the circle. Her fingers stroked the rough ceramic edges of the cup.
A festival.
Not just an exhibition. Not just an evening.
But something that remains.
“When?” she asked.
Seraphina smiled. “Soon.” 

Angelica leaned back, listened to the murmur of voices around her, felt the echo of the moment still in the air.
She was a seeker, just like the others.
And somewhere out there – in the silence between the trees, in the shadows of an unfinished story – someone else was still searching.

Big ideas often arise from small moments of connection.
A spontaneous encounter, a shared conversation, a smile over a cup of espresso – that might be the beginning of something greater.
Something that brings people together, sparks inspiration, and opens new spaces.

What idea is waiting for you right now?

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Angelica, the Artist

Oil/Mixed Media on canvax, 30 x 40 cm

Price for the original available upon request – click here

☕ [Angelica as a mug for your creative pause]
🖼️ [Discover Angelica as a poster on Etsy]

Her eyes carry the clarity of those who have learned to live with questions.
She doesn’t paint to explain – but to remind.
Of what we already knew.
Of the light behind the doubt.
Of the beauty found in the unfinished.

Angelica’s spiral is an inner flame:
A focal point of intuition, experience, and longing.
It is the beginning of a circle that never fully closes –
because every line remains in motion.

In her presence, the unseen becomes visible.
And between colors, shapes, and whispers, something new emerges:
A place.
A celebration.
A call to all who are still searching.