text.

It is a very fine thread that links objects to memory, nontheless it can be made visible. Through bold borders and heavy walls. As if only they were strong enough to reveal intangible ephemeral energies.

The Italian landscape is full of abandoned historical houses. I wanted to document the time which is left to these beautiful colored walls or the leaves that fill a room without a roof. And I wanted to document how easily people destroy their own heritage.

Perhaps it is true that the more you move the less you remember. In the thirties, in Russia, the forced "relocations" of government "dissidents" were policy. In an efficient yet subtle manner the relocation made them think of anything but the reason they had been relocated.

Somehow this strategy continues. Here in Italy. Even Today. If not why are houses built quickly with cheap, insubstantial material intended to last only a few years. Is it to prevent us from nurturing and embroidering certain thoughts?

Faced with this visual abandonment and sad violence, I wanted to react and I chose to do so through poetry. Even to imagine a metaphysical medicine or attempt to find magic in the heart of these stones that shout and are silent at the same time provides relief.