Chapter #1

Goodbye, my beautiful home

My sweet beloved Coreglia that greets me lying in the mountains. It’s dawn... all are sleep... a few chimneys smoke... some dog bark in the distance... a tear runs down my face... it's time to leave, to seek my fortune in America. Will I survive without my loved ones? My affections? Who knows! Will I return? When? In my heart, I harbour this last image of you sleeping.

Chapter #2

The long journey towards the sea

I felt lost as soon as I arrived at the port... I looked around and saw only unknown faces... All as distraught as mine. I sat on my cardboard suitcase with a few clothes inside and many tools for my work... my beloved statues. The journey took months.

Chapter #3

Land, land

Gallery
Coreglia Antelminelli, figurinaio
Coreglia Atelminelli, figurinaio

After days and days, finally ground. Like a new Columbus, I set foot on American soil and a great sadness invades my body and soul. And now, what will I do alone in this foreign land?

Chapter #4

Wandering around the streets and squares

Gallery
Coreglia Antelminelli, statuine
Coreglia Antelminelli, statuine

From dawn to dusk, selling figurines... my beloved plaster kittens, how much effort but how much satisfaction comes from days when the earnings are good and I immediately send the money to my dear wife, my children, my mother and my father... Already I imagine them making plans on how to spend this money well.

Chapter #5

Returning home

After many months, many days of joy and sorrow, I come home to my dear little town, to my loved ones, a little rest and then... who knows?... if the good Lord wills it, maybe I'll stay in Coreglia or maybe I'll start another new journey with my cardboard suitcase. This is the life of the figurinaio of Coreglia... the maker of plaster figurines...

A camp to dig,
a nest to rest: rest, and yet
as if in a dream that distant cry:
Will you buy... for Chicago Baltimore.
Buy images... for Troy, Memphis, Atlanta,
in a voice that you yourself agree:
cheap! In the night, only among a crowd of
people; cheap! cheap!
Among a scream that oppresses; cheap!...
Finally another ode, that sings... Italy.
– Giovanni Pascoli