Sono scese le ombre sul mio viso.

Sono scese le ombre.

Come quelle che scendono sulla terra

al calare dell’ inverno.

Sono arrivate

come un sudario

hanno avvolto questo cuore di madre.

È tutto macerie il mio giovane ventre.

Il mio animo è macerie.

Non ci sono più lacrime a nutrire nuovi semi

su questa terra

non ci sono semi.


come l’ Uomo possa odiare tanto

è impossibile,

così come impossibile è capire

perchè Dio sia così crudele.

Così cieco.

Così cinico.

O forse è impotente?

Come posso io tollerare

che l’unica cosa a cui Egli

mi concede di restare aggrappata

con le unghie

con i denti

con le ossa

con tutto il mio essere straziato

non è Speranza:

ma solo

questo piccolo corpo?

Questo piccolo corpo.

Questo piccolo corpo

che non riesco a lasciare andare.

Questo piccolo corpo

un tempo tenero e caldo

profumato di latte e di limone,

ora reso roccia fredda,

maceria tra le macerie.

Tra le macerie,


le nostre anime dilaniate dai cani

esposte agli occhi del mondo.

Un mondo che non vuole vedere.

Restano ad appassire

sotto il sole di un lungo infinito inverno

mentre calano ombre

tra i confini spinati di Gaza. 


come sudari di oblio.

Laura Grimaldi

Stella del Mare, proteggi il nostro cammino

L’ opera dal titolo “Stella Maris” che presenterò in questa sede è nata come risposta ai discorsi d’odio di certi politici e cittadini (italiani ed europei) che strumentalizzano la religione cattolica per fomentare razzismo, xenofobia e islamofobia, in particolare verso la categoria dei migranti.

Continue reading “Stella del Mare, proteggi il nostro cammino”

“Stella Maris”: un murale dedicato ad Alessandro Leogrande

La città di Bari negli ultimi anni si sta distinguendo per una crescente sensibilizzazione verso la preservazione e la valorizzazione degli spazi urbani operata da molteplici associazioni della città, che si propongono in questo modo di combattere il degrado.

Continue reading ““Stella Maris”: un murale dedicato ad Alessandro Leogrande”

Country-less soul

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Country-less soul

My mother carved my bones

out of the stones

of the country where I was born,

and putting a glass jar to my lips

she poured into my breast

the northwest wind she captured by the sea.

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Beauty and “The Beast”

“Totalitarianism has many faces, many names, but don’t be fooled. Know how to recognize it and counter it. You will often find it very close to you. It might even look like you. Doing things that seem to be innocuous: yes, the tyrant may even seem nice to you, while he smiles at the camera and shares photos of an unhealthy meal with you.”

Laura Grimaldi presents her painting “The Beast”

By Laura Grimaldi. English translation edited by Christine Martinez

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Beauty and “The Beast”: Neo-fascism and Resistance Movements in the Digital Age

Pertini: You see, I am faithful to Voltaire’s precept, and it is this … I say to my opponents: “I fight your faith which is contrary to mine, but I am ready to fight up to the price of my own life so that you can always freely express your thoughts.”

Here’s what my position is. I mean, although I am not a believer, I respect the faith of believers. For example, I am a socialist, but I respect the political faith of others: I discuss it, I can argue with them. But they are the owners of their thoughts, which they have to freely express. That is, I am democratic in this sense. Really.

Journalist: Do you also respect the political faith of fascists?

Continue reading “Beauty and “The Beast””

Anima apolide

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COVID-19: Sostieni Medici senza Frontiere (Doctors Without Borders) con una donazione, per permettere loro di rispondere all'emergenza umanitaria assistendo le migliaia di bambini, donne e uomini intrappolati nel campo di Moria, sull’isola di Lesbo.  Clicca sul link di accesso al sito di Medici Senza Frontiere

Anima Apolide

Dalle pietre del paese in cui sono nato
mia madre scolpì le mie ossa
E posando una giara di vetro
sulle mie labbra
mi versò nel petto
il maestrale catturato dal mare.

Continue reading “Anima apolide”

“Hope”. Ogni mare ha un’altra riva.

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  1. Non ci si abitua mai ai bambini morti, alle donne decedute dopo aver partorito durante il naufragio, i loro piccoli ancora attaccati al cordone ombelicale. Non ci si abitua all’oltraggio di tagliare un dito o un orecchio per poter estrarre il Dna e dare un nome, una identità a un corpo esanime e non permettere che rimanga un numero. Ogni volta che apri un sacco verde è come se fosse la prima. Perché in ogni corpo trovi segni che ti raccontano la tragedia di un viaggio lunghissimo.

(Pietro Bartolo e Lidia Tilotta, “Lacrime di Sale”, Piccola biblioteca Oscar Mondadori.)

Continue reading ““Hope”. Ogni mare ha un’altra riva.”

Hope: every ocean has a distant shore

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You never get used to seeing dead children or women who died giving birth on a wrecked boat, their tiny babies still attached to them by their umbilical cord. You never get used to the indignity of having to cut off a finger or an ear from a corpse to be tested for DNA so that the victim might be given a name, an identity, and not merely a number. Every time I open a green body bag, it feels as if I am doing it for the first time. Everybody carries the marks of long and tragic journey.

(Pietro Bartolo and Lidia Tilotta, Tears of Salt, W.W. Norton & Company. Translated from the Italian by Chenxin Jiang.)


After an hour or so, the man decided to speak to me. […] When the boat was wrecked, they had been thrown into the water along with eight hundred other passengers. He was an excellent swimmer and was carrying the nine-month-old at his breast. He held his wife’s hand with one hand, and clasped his three-year-old’s in the other. […] If he just kept treading water, all four of them would drown. In the end, he opened his right hand, and let go of his son. He watched him disappear forever under the waves.

As he told me this, he could not stop weeping, and nor could I. I did not have it in me to hold myself together. I felt guilty, since a doctor is not supposed to let his patients see that he is overwhelmed, but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t just remain impassive in the face of such grief.

(Pietro Bartolo and Lidia Tilotta, Tears of Salt, W.W. Norton & Company. Translated from the Italian by Chenxin Jiang.)

Tears of Salt, Pietro Bartolo and Lidia Tilotta.

The excerpts you read above are from the book Tears of Salt, written by Pietro Bartolo in collaboration with the journalist Lidia Tilotta. Pietro Bartolo is a well-known doctor that, for twenty-five years, has examined and cared for an estimated 250,000 refugees who landed on the island of Lampedusa, Sicily, after the long, deadly trip across the Mediterranean. Bartolo has since become a member of the European Parliament, being elected on the Democratic Party ticket in 2019. With disarming depth, his book Tears of Salt recounts the daily life of the doctor in Lampedusa, who witnessed numerous stories of both those who survived the journey and those who did not.

Many times while reading this book I had to stop reading, since the suffering described is something absolutely overwhelming for emotions. How could I keep reading impassively about people tortured in the Libyan concentration camps, the shipwrecks, the drowned men, women, and children who are lost among the waves?

“You never get used to seeing dead children or women who died giving birth on a wrecked boat,” Pietro Bartolo says.

The sight of a woman with her child still attached to her through the umbilical cord: this is something that no one, not even doctors, can get used to. It’s something that we cannot forget. No: we must remember. We must know about it. We must know that children who drown in the Mediterranean call their mothers while dying. We must know that people who drown call for help and nobody replies, although the whole of Europe is watching them while this happens.

In Tears of Salt, Bartolo describes how difficult it is to do this job, both psychologically and emotionally. Many times, it happens that his collaborators quit the mission, although they often come back on their own later, understanding the importance of this work despite its overwhelming difficulty.

“A doctor is not supposed to let his patients see that he is overwhelmed, but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t just remain impassive in the face of such grief.” (Quote: Bartolo)

I think that the ability to be overwhelmed and emotionally moved is the real strength of Bartolo and of so many others who work in the humanitarian field. This emotional connection is something necessary, because recognition of our shared humanity and a rediscovery of compassion are necessary to fuel the fight for a better and more just world. I believe that a better and more just world is not possible without the ability to be emotionally moved.

In this historical moment, and in every past moment of history when hatred has run rife, there are people who defend the dignity of the oppressed and stand up for human rights, resisting intolerance, racisms, and every kind of oppression through actions, both large and small, that are, I argue, revolutionary.

These people are the “Citizens of the world”, the “resisting humanity”: those who project their sight beyond the borders of fear, where hope stands up for freedom.

Laura Grimaldi and her painting “Hope”. All Rights Reserved.

Tears of Salt helped me see that despite the painful news on the topic of migration and human rights from all around the world, the cultural movements of the “underground” fabric of society, instead, bring messages of resistance and keep the possibilities of big change alive.

There are people who live for hope. There are people who migrate for hope. And there are those who die for hope.

But, as I just said, there are also people who give hope to others: these are those who break the invisible borders made out of hate with the power of love, turning gestures, both big and small, into actions of beauty, resistance, and revolution.

The humanitarian emergency of migrants crossing the Mediterranean has returned thousands of bodies to European shores. All of them had a hope. They died of that hope. So, the last question that I put on canvas is very simple: in this moment, is there any Hope?

When I started my first painting on the topic of migration (titled “Exile”) I would have answered “no”. But then, when I started learning about Pietro Bartolo and hearing about several Italian mayors willing to disobey the orders of the central government in order to help and accommodate the migrants, I started feeling that yes, there is still hope, there is always hope.

Artists, journalists, and teachers are responding. Associations, volunteers, lawyers, writers, and musicians as well. Many persons and groups are actively opposing the inhumane choices of our governments, spreading a message of brotherhood without regard for the consequences that this might bring to them. For many, this is a conscientious choice to resist repeating the most horrible pages of our human history, which unfortunately have been repeating thus far. “Love your neighbor as yourself”: this is the simple message that two peaceful dissenters wrote on a cardboard sign during a political meeting of the Lega political party. A team of stewards violently dragged them away. It is all true. It seems that in this period of our history, loving your neighbor is the most revolutionary action.

Working on ‘Hope”. All Rights Reserved.

In this last painting, titled “Hope”, I wanted to depict one of those mothers described by Bartolo that often die of hope, carrying their child in their bellies.

But I wanted to represent her as still alive. The decorations of her dress tell us a journey. An epic, heroic, timeless, and ancestral journey.

Stars fluctuate in her head, going beyond every border, since her whole body is borderless.

Acrylic on canvas. Painter: Laura Grimaldi. All Rights Reserved.
Hope. Acrylic on canvas. Painter: Laura Grimaldi. All Rights Reserved.

She is not carrying only her child, but the child of every population and the redemption of all past, present, and future generations.

In her belly, I placed a quote by Cesare Pavese, because I wanted her to bring these powerful words with her like a talisman:

“What world lies beyond that stormy sea I do not know, but every ocean has a distant shore, and I shall reach it.” (Pavese)

I kept painting her with these words in my mind, the words that every man, woman, and child with a dream feel as their own: in all of them there is hope, the hope that, as long as a human being is still able to generate beauty, the possibility to give birth to something good, even out of such a disaster, remains.

Laura Grimaldi with her painting “Hope”. All Rights Reserved.

An Afghan saying goes, “Drops make rivers”: I believe that “drop by drop” each one in their own small way will be revolutionary enough, even, to form a sea: a sea that does not divide but rather connects. A Sea that does not drown, but embraces, accepts, and welcomes all the children of our Earth.

Laura Grimaldi

English translation edited by Christine Martinez


Exile: the beginning of a journey

Jamil’s dream

A Story of the Sea (Tales from the Mediterranean Sea)

Acrylic on canvas. Painter: Laura Grimaldi. All Rights Reserved.
Hope. Acrylic on canvas. Painter: Laura Grimaldi. All Rights Reserved.

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EXILE: l’inizio di un percorso

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“Exile” è il dipinto che mi ha iniziata ad un vero e proprio viaggio attraverso il tema della crisi migratoria del Mediterraneo. Continue reading “EXILE: l’inizio di un percorso”

Jamil’s Dream

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Jamil’s dream

(Tales from the Mediterranean Sea)

December 20th. Jamil has just turned six. After reaching the beach and seeing the sea for the first time, Jamil is amazed by its beauty: the colors, the scent, the sound of the waves. And then he gets on that big boat. Big, yes, but always smaller, as it gets more and more crowded. Men, women, children. There are many children, and Jamil is happy: he will play with them during the trip. Amal, yumma, his mother, already explained to him that the journey is going to be long, and that he must behave well, just as she taught him.

Continue reading “Jamil’s Dream”