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Director: Nestore Buonafede.
A night journey, Edgar, the poet, in company with Psyche, his soul, through spectral and shadowy landscapes. The two characters, after stopping at a forest, peopled with archetypal figures and horrific, and then, with a mysterious lake, come near a stately avenue, flanked by monumental cypress trees, which pass through. When, at dawn, come the end of the avenue, a distant star flooded them with a light arcane and mysterious, attracting to itself Edgar, as the sirens did with Ulysses. That magical star, intoxicating and wonderful, retain, however, in itself, a terrible trap, from which, Psyche try in vain to save him, trying desperately to dissuade him to continue the journey, and begged him to come back until I still time. Edgar, though, as if hypnotized, and that irresistible attraction, pushes inexorably forward, dragging with it the recalcitrant Psyche.
But in a short time, that light, warm and welcoming, changes color, becoming cold and distant. That light, almost greenish, awakens in him doubts and uncertainties, making him shiver.
Shortly thereafter, a tomb bar their way, and knowledge, so long lovingly hidden, emerges in the light of consciousness, making it more conscious, but at the same time more fragile.
That monumental tomb, located on the edge of his mind, it holds a terrible secret, knowledge of which destroy him.
The past, buried in the deepest recesses of his soul, returned slowly to the surface; Psyche, distraught, tells him who is buried in there: Ulalume, his beloved, lost Ulalume.
Ulalume is not, however, she believed that he, his adored young bride, but she who gave him life, and has fed and bred among the miasma of illness and death, until, at only 2 years, has seen her die in agony. Ulalume is his mother Elizabeth, who died of tuberculosis after repeated hemoptysis, as well as Virginia died of tuberculosis his beloved wife.
The memory, then, stands out vividly in front of him, and death, that silently and secretly, had accompanied him throughout his life, he shows, finally, in all its horror, and spreads her black cloak inside him.
Psyche, the vital soul, which so long supported him, is no longer necessary, and, weeping, leaves him, alone and desolate, in the arms of the woman, who soon he will claim the body also.
Mi chiamo Nestore Buonafede, sono nato a Reggio Calabria il 6/8/57, risiedo a Firenze.
Da circa 25 anni faccio il fotografo, concentrando la mia attività nell’ambito architettonico e paesaggistico, e, raccogliendo, in tutti questi anni, un voluminoso archivio, soprattutto sulla Toscana, ma anche, altre regioni italiane.
Nel 1992 ho fondato “Edizioni Europa”, azienda fotografica editoriale, attraverso la quale ho commercializzato le mie fotografie, come calendari, cartoline, segnalibri, ecc.
The Oval Portrait
/Foto ritratto ovale/Ritratto Ovale.B.Corr.72dpi.jpg