Adele

Its absolutely no secret that Italians have, shall we say, a certain way of speaking.

To someone who doesnt understand the language, it sounds like they spend their time trying to bite eachothers heads off, or taking the piss with long drawn out cries of "Ma, Noooooooo!" (But nooooo!) "Ma cosa dici?" (What the hell are you saying?).

Gesticulating madly, flailing hands and purposeful fingers, as if communication was for the deaf. Comfortably talking over, not stopping to listen, this way of communicating is designed for the deaf.

Lovers, seemingly busting up through my anglo-eyes, she explains to me that she just gave him a defiant no after he asks her to go to town (again) to buy a single blank CD. A group throwing blankets of words over eachother to suffocate opinion and win arguement. A thunderous storm of words and chatter - that surely someone will storm out of the room at any second - but no, they're discussing the football or the price of petrol. And they'll do it again at dinner next week. "Telling you something for nothing" a friend once called it.

They are rarely softly spoken. That is, apart from Adele.

Adele is a woman scripted carefully, it would seem, by Edin Blyton. Ageless, but I'm guessing around 60 years of age with high cheekbones, soft honey-coloured skin, wide pale blue eyes and blonde whisps of fine curly hair; she moves slowly and purposefully, with a smile and a knowing glance.

And her occupation is also her passion and is no less whimiscal. Adele is an artist and, in particular, a Weaver. As a Weaver, she combines materials out of wool, cotton and silken thread, binding and threading, stitching. Her angled digits work quickly to bind and sew. Carefully colouring them by hand, she uses naturals dyes from herbs and spices she collects herself from her jungle-like garden or the rolling miles of forrest which surround her home in the hills of Monferrato.

Her home, brightly coloured in pastel pink, blue and yellow sits among ancient trees and patches of forgotten herbs is filled with rooms of carefully placed ornaments, seemingly haphazardly thrown together but incredibly creative or gifts from children - they display their simple beauty unpretentiously. Large windows light up cuttings of cloth and reams of recently stained wool.

Her studio holds a giant loom - a wooden machine from a time before automated machinery holding in its stringy fingers the beginnings or endings of a work in progress. A seamstress' model is draped with colourful patches of hand-crafted felt and a giant wooden desk cradles prints and patches, drawings and plans and the promises and dreams of things to come.

She is a softly spoken woman who speaks with gentle tones, gasps and awes and often,a hand which clasps your knee or hand in emapthy or enthusiasm - an understated delight. She leans into you; perhaps to hear, perhaps to be heard and you can almost feel her eyes searching your face for every twitch of expression, reading your lines, searching for your truth, for your meaning.

It is incredible to think that I have met her only twice. And although difficult to understand, I feel that she knows me. She has left we with an example for my life, of how I would like to be - creative, expressive, gentle and eager to look behind the person and see the meaning.

That's Adele.