Wednesday, February 25, 2015


“Nessun maggior dolore
che ricordarsi del tempo felice
nella miseria...” 

Thus sprach the wise and prescient Dante.

Indeed, there is no greater sadness than the recollection of mirth in the midst of melancholy. My good friend Currado Malaspina messed up royally. He held beauty within his grasp and he let it slip like sand through his thick and coarsened fingers. 

Malaspina &Danton del tempo felice

 The lovely Los Angeles artist Dahlia Danton literally worshiped this unworthy cad. As a young aspiring painter she hung on every feeble phrase that left his careless trap. She cared for him when he was sick and lifted his spirits during his frequent bouts of depression.

And how was she repaid?

With callous disregard.

A clue to what precipitated the demise of their storybook romance is encoded, I believe, within the pages of Malaspina's Cahiers Palimpseste (Palimpsest Notebooks).

 Could it be that Currado's amorous defections proved too much for even Dahlia to bear?

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