Door to Paradise / #extraordinarylifeinpuglia Print

150.00lei
Product Code: print_Door_to_Paradise
Availability: In Stock

Fine ar print after an illustration by Mădălina Andronic, on matte, textured, 100% cotton paper, with a density of 310 gsm. Acid- and lignin-free. Natural white, no optical brighteners.

Please handle it with care and clean hands, so that you avoid stains, marks or folds - the paper is very special and sensitive.

Each illustration is printed with a white border of 1-2 cm to facilitate framing.

To ensure the art print a long duration of life, we reccomend you frame it with a protective anti-UV glass or position it away from direct sunlight.

The frame in the image is only for presentation purposes, the art prints are not sold framed.

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It may seem like a simple gate, but It's not. It's the beginning of a love story with Masseria Potenti in Puglia, which started unexpectedly, just like in the movies: with a lunch reservation. We rang the doorbell, it rrrringed open and that was probably the last sound I heard for a good few minutes.

Behind the tall walls, as cliche as it may sound, there was Paradise. Or at least that's what it felt for me, because I simply didn’t know what to take in first: the curtain of huge cacti sprawled over the walls, the bougainvillea climbing between arched windows, the white sheets dramatically fluttering over an area with huge, fat agave plants, the vast pebbled yard, ploughed by the vintage Fiat 500, the tree-like ficus and the green glass demijohns lined under it, the giant fig tree on the terrace, the orange grove, the colourful lounging areas with antique iron beds, shadowed by matting, sifting the sun like in a supermodel photoshoot, the cacti leaves pinned to the white walls or the various terracotta pots with dishevelled bouquets of stems and wild vegetation. Because nature didn’t seem tamed at Masseria Potenti, but rather loved and celebrated as it was, with tender care for every blooming or falling bit. There were dried flowers and chilli bouquets hanging above our heads and the starters came on plates with fig leaves or hidden under thick, soft napkins which seemed to be some of many one-of-a-kind treasures of a farmhouse dowry. One could only hear the clinking of rose glasses and there was something in the air that had stopped and stretched the time under the noon sun. We were full and at the same time we couldn’t get enough. And all this behind a door...

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