DAD

When I think about my father and my childhood memories, the exhausting list of eccentricities brings a refreshing smile to my face. Here are just a few anecdotes that come to mind... I recall the time when we arrived in Italy for our holidays and I realised Id forgotten my doll at home, swiftly Dad was busy carving one out of wood for me and devoutly painting it. It even had articulating arms and legs. His patience for ne detail was admirable which leads me on to the tooth incident... He lost one of his teeth while we were on the island of Panarea, there didnt seem to be a dentist available but this wasnt a problem for Dad, he simply carved a new one, again out of wood, painted it exactly the same colour as his teeth, he even varnished it then neatly slotted it into place. You would never have known the difference and his custom made tooth resisted many plates of pasta untill we returned home. Fairly soon after arriving in Spain or Italy it was normal practice to go rummaging around dumps and dried up river beds searching for interesting objects that could potentially be used in future constructions or sculptures. Old brushes, rusty pots, broken cooking utensils, wooden table legs etc, what was abandoned junk to others was inspiring material to Dad. I used to love helping him nd things and felt honored when he accepted my humble offerings, I can still hear him say Oh hey thats a rare thing! Beach combing was also a favourite pastime, he especially loved old rope, oats and driftwood. He even found it amusing to discreetly take posession of bits of my toys against my consent, I only realised they were missing when I discovered them in another context! Dad never really stopped drawing or making things, even when we were on the beach if he wasnt constructing something, he was building me a dream sandcastle that would enchante me for hours. At supper time he would mould little objects out of compressed bread or use the red wax skin from edam cheese and roll it into all sorts of shapes. Often I would take these miniatures and add them to the objects in my dollshouse which of course had been entirely created and furnished down to the last detail by Dad! There was no end to his imagination. On our way home one summer after a productive holiday in Italy, Dad had meticulously packed up his wares, he had made a huge bird out of organic roots and dried palm and bound it up in brown paper and string to protect it in the plane, the only problem was that it strongly resembled a machine gun in disguise. Proud of his package, he didnt think twice about it untill we were stopped at the customs and he was ordered by very suspicious looking ofcers to unpack the whole thing. I really dont think they had a clue why Dad was travelling with such an unusual souvenir but after lengthy heated discussions between the Italian guards with hands ying everywhere we were nally allowed to board the plane. Dad needed his dose of watermelon when we were in Italy, there was the occasion when we were driving through Lucca on our way back from the beach one stiingly hot afternoon, in those days watermelon was sold in slices on ice in little stalls by the side of the road, Dad spotted one of these stalls on a busy intersection and insisted we stop the car, forgetting he was only wearing a pair of swimming trunks he bolted across the road with the hope of satisfying this urgent need, only to be whistled down by the Polizia and warned that This is Lucca! Not Viareggio! It wasnt unusual to nd Dad dressed up as a clown or wearing a curiosity from his hat collection. We had a huge dressing up chest full of costumes that mum and dad had created for their various parties, I used to watch them passionatly prepare for these events, no details were omitted. In the 70s a pair of his white bell bottom jeans shrunk in the wash and were a couple of inches too short so he glued strips of white curtain tassels along the hems, they looked very dapper with his white Italian loafers. Dad was great fun to be with except when you had him in your team while playing Pictionary! Usually anyone wouldve jumped at the occasion to have him in their team but he didnt quite catch the jist of the game, that you have to draw as quickly as possible for your team to guess your image. The game was just another excuse for him to draw, he

DAD
would spend ages on all the details, the composition and intense concentration was always accompanied by tunefull whistling! Meanwhile the other team was winning! Dad was rst and foremost a father to me but he wouldnt have been Dad if he wasnt an artist rst. Annalisa Morrocco