Staying at the Guest House Seme di Faggio in Masino is always a rejuvenating experience, but that morning I woke up with an explosion of creativity that needed an outlet. And what better place to unleash it than Gianni Rodari’s Park of Imagination in Omegna? This enchanted corner, dedicated to the memory and work of the great writer, seems designed to awaken the child within us and stimulate imagination at any age.

I grab my car and, within twenty minutes, I’m already at my destination, ready to explore a place where reality and imagination merge into one, where words come to life and dreams transform into stories. The sun shines brightly on Omegna, but not as much as the happiness that fills the air—both that of the children and, I admit, my own. Here I am, wide-eyed in front of the “Fantastic Pair.” I already feel a bit out of place… but stylishly so. I approach the workshop area, where I discover they are doing storytelling. My first reaction? “But wasn’t it just called telling a story?” Well, let’s keep up with the times.

We participate in the “Itinerant Workshop of Interactive Stories.” The facilitator invites us to reinvent a Rodari fairy tale. Of course, I can’t resist. I decide to insert an alien shaped like a giant light bulb, who speaks only in Bolognese dialect and occasionally throws kitchen sauces. I ask the facilitator if that’s okay. He looks puzzled, then smiles and says: “Of course, anything is possible in Rodari’s world!” Perfect, I think. Another one of my wacky ideas has found a home.

Then I dive into the “Workshop of Nursery Rhymes.” Here I feel a bit like Eminem meeting Perrault. The tight flow softens into a lullaby that cradles chaos. “Once upon a time there was a handsome and crooked rapper, who made his garden out of rhymes.” Does it sound like a critique of a rap album? No, it’s just Rodari doing his magic.

At this point, I slip into the “Country of Mistakes,” a space where errors are celebrated as contemporary art. Here children must solve “wrong” riddles, but deep down we know—I thrive on mistakes. They challenge me with a riddle and I confidently respond: “17.” The facilitator looks at me confused and says: “But the question was: how many planets are in the solar system?” Undeterred, I reply that 17 is correct… if you also count those still parking.

This is where I truly feel at home. Mistakes are my natural habitat, fertile ground from which to sprout critique and reflection. “Little Red Riding Hood meets the vegan wolf in the metaverse” could easily become next summer’s hit. Who knows?

At 3:00 PM, it’s time for the “theatrical performance.” They stage C’era due volte il barone Lamberto. The actors are good, the children are engaged, but I’m perplexed: why does no one ask why there were two times and not three? I’d propose an immediate trilogy! In the end, they invite me on stage to improvise a part. It’s my moment of glory! I invent a monologue about the life of molds growing on bread forgotten in a drawer. Applause or discomfort? I have no idea.

The Park of Imagination is a place where you can be creative, fun, and even a bit absurd. What do I think? Well, if it wasn’t clear already, I adore it. It’s a place where I can say whatever comes to mind without anyone giving me strange looks. Yes: Rodari understood everything about life.

And so, at the end of the day—amid alien dialects, parking planets, and philosophical reflections on molds—I am stunned, reborn, inspired. It feels like I’ve had a freestyle session with Rodari himself. I return to Seme di Faggio with my head full of rhymes and stories, ready to create surreal things never seen before.

In the end, whether you’re a child or a disillusioned artist, Rodari grabs you, shakes you up, and brings you back to square one—confused. But it’s creative confusion, chaos that generates new universes. Like music, like life, like these verses you are reading.

The message is clear: seek Rodari; find the child within you. Because only by playing with words can we truly become artists—truly free. Imagination has power for sure, but always with a dash of irony. Because without a smile, even the most serious revolution risks becoming nonsense.

Ultimately, what is art if not an eternal game of words, sounds, and meanings? And who better than Rodari to teach us how to play seriously while being serious about playing? Perhaps by the end of this journey I’ve realized that true rebellion lies in being able to be children in a world of overly serious adults.