The beauty of the mountains and the snow, as well as our passion for skiing (they used to put snowshoes in our hands as soon as we could walk alone), were the stage for unforgettable family moments, like this shot with my mother Giorgina in St. Moritz in 1964.
It was there, at the home of her father, Grandpa Guido, that we children were able to see her most often (p. 97). In fact, having left the marital roof for another man and separated from Bernardo, Giorgina had found herself ‘in the position of not being able to fight to keep me and Violetta, her children, with her. Adultery in those days could be punished with imprisonment (…), and the rules hit cheating wives harder than husbands. The doubt will always remain that, if she had been a little younger and had had a father who was more willing to fight for her than my grandfather Guido Venosta had shown at that time, she might have been able to get custody of us. Instead, my sister and I were entrusted to our father. Giorgina and Bernardo’s positions would always remain absolutely irreconcilable. (…)’ (pp. 88-89).
