A grandmother on a swing, a little girl pushes her. Their tender looks intersect. The strength of the filial bond that unites them emanates from this reversal of roles. The long dress with small flowers and the bun of the grandmother, the mismatched ...
A grandmother on a swing, a little girl pushes her. Their tender looks intersect. The strength of the filial bond that unites them emanates from this reversal of roles. The long dress with small flowers and the bun of the grandmother, the mismatched shoes of the little girl, install a climate of soft fantasy and melancholy hanging on the almost bare branches of the tree where the swing is stretched. The text of Marido Viale is direct. The child tells and mixes what she knows about her personal history: the death of her grandfather, the life of her grandmother at home, with what her parents say with unfavorable looks on the grandmother. They isolate him in old age, which neither the child nor his grandfather feel, "Papa tells Mama that Grandma is old. But it's not true ! ". To this very realistic situation, The child opposes the moments they live together, escapades in the park, grimaces like a secret garden where they laugh. Plane uncertain about the health of his grandmother. Death is omnipresent, at the beginning with the death of the grandfather and in the end with the horizon of the death of his grandmother. Faced with the ineluctable accepted and even claimed by Grandmother, there is only the discourse, that of the stories told, that of the histories engraved in the memory that offers a beyond. The text written in large characters, with great simplicity speaks the language of the child. Similarly, illustrations play naivety.
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