Wavy, flat, wild: Right at the end of the lane stands a kind of uniform tufa monument, round, corroded by who knows what floods. And, as it goes on, behind compact hedges as green as the seabed, behind expanses of humble goads. caves open up all lined with goadsfoot, with little chasms as black as wells, and topped by natural bridges vivid with grass: complicated Ariostoan caves.
Pier Paolo Pasolini
by N. Nadini. “Pasolini, una vita.” – Einaudi
It’s always like a slow settling, when a work takes shape. This cycle has taken on its appearance, as if the lightness comprises signs, spaces and colors, linked to the natural state of elements. Everything becomes glance, glow, sequence: a point of view, a monad. This vital moment, enclosing sets of infinite moments, animates life itself. It’s easier to let your hair blow in the wind, to leave your thoughts behind. Not to give out yourself. But change is in detachment.
Luogo Segreto | Galleria il Gabbiano | Studio Urbana | Rome 2012