Interno giorno

My walls do also coincides with the conception of the art of denying to show. in hiding
there is the desire to give birth to the watch. Unveiling has the particularity to imagine all
what you would like us to be. In fact, then, veils do not show anything but themselves. The feeling that I
remains is the initial one of a fragrance just tried for the fact that it did not yet manifested. at the
the same way the photograph has to smell the scent of what I put on stage. If a photographer fabric
I have to give the feeling of the plot. The sounds in the air that we can imagine are in
the image; but it occurred before or after? It is essential to know. The important thing is the story
in the image. You can stage a full canvas using the power of light as it did
Caravaggio. He began to give light to the complexion, to death; the drama in its naturalness. the
Images should be close to the ideas that generated them. "Reflection on language capacity
in the foreground, not an end in itself, but aims to reveal the psychological structures that underlie
vision "(George Verzotti).
I've always written using a passivating us or you, thinking about the role of a normal type, but I am
realize that I was wrong big. They are different and unique (not special). A human being, like many others,
but with strengths and weaknesses that characterize my stay in this world. I realize how difficult it is
express feelings. Writing helps me, a refuge in words. They do not scare me and chase
of course. I write letters to outline kilometers of emotion, otherwise difficult to express
in words. I have always found it difficult to express feelings directly and even more in person.
I realize that you have a wall beyond which I can not look, if not just after you delete a
part of me. This part would not want to make mistakes and maintain a richly elegant.
I feel fear and conceive a colorful speech that seems to satisfy both of my people. passed
the excitement and also the meeting, rework the talk and I imagine other responses, other behaviors. The final
are the sweetest, the most simple words: this was what I wanted. Still not done. I understand living
a reality distorted, blurred and hidden behind a wall. My inability to look at the lighter side,
ethereal and colorful life. I see flowing white black letters on the horizon of my fears. a line
horizontal dividing my feelings. A border beyond which perhaps is my liberty *. freedom from
beauty of speeches, poetry. Bricks of my literal sense. Some of the photos are in fact taken
in place of art. Just where words can create art. Right where I want to look at me: beyond the
muro1. I do not see the horizon, then I'll try distanced Prospettiva2 in the data flow adjustable,
coding, a pattern scanning time to Ansel Adams, who can give me an indication of a
area, where to get in touch with my feelings. But the vanishing point, is too
far and I can not focus the light "at the end of the road." I do not see the horizon:
full, full and extended. I create a world where I can create horizons and I look down. me
shut myself again, other small mondi3: mock real but empty; sciapi as my father would say. he
I saw a child, struggling with reality that I can not fight. "Poor arms build fortresses
urban. The city is listening. Donate your body to pain me free; delivered to me by moving left to fight
awkwardly toward enlightenment over the city: Provinces of us. "In these verses, I am looking for an event,
middle or just the surfaces of the time. Something that shows the passage, a memory. a
vacuum over me, I am looking for the look of the passage outside: in finestre4. Then I smell the scent: a
memory of my live within. So I build those worlds, imagined that out. Fascinated, I
I sought the light within them. But I find only empty: moments of cosmic consciousness within me. the
images again and I lie to them. In fact, just questioned express nothing but a
lack: my presence. A rational synthesis can be returned only from the inside. I need to
be at the bottom; look like a "grain of sand". As if moments or passages of time can
coexist in a view of time that only objects allowed to live. I name it what I see
and through an idea of time. I remember, and, again, still rename. But to them, I want to object
say, does not matter. They are in the shade or in the light in an intermediate location along the border: the border. hence
where the light is dark light there is a quiet moment where things are much more similar to the reality in fact
why not defined. A world without a shadow would be illegible. A common area between the white and the
black. John Hilliard, is one of the cars that most investigated contexts opposites and contrasts away in a balance
formal and aesthetic enough to touch the optical. But behind and within his compositions I find that
limit; a kind of common time slice in different places where time is the same because we may have to
be convinced. A major point in and out or spazio5-6 embracing the earth, the sky, autumn, each
place. Hilliard travels with the philosophical narrative into an epicenter of view. It brings together the cosmic dark
where visual harmony breathe and where the only point of perception is the time. But nothing happens on time
real and reality has no place. It moves on a different plane. But as we could define.
In his images I love the ability to tell. Use photographs of subjects that are not photographed
but used to tell time by a space. In Ghirri this space becomes a distance
stellar. An empty so dense that causes the immediate feeling of having to fill up. If we look at a
his photograph, we see a mancanza7 given by an element that in turn is transformed by architectural
owners, from scenic to sentimental, from public ironic. Pictured here are a present
wall that acts as a limit to different worlds but placed in the same room or in the same framework. watch
in my hearing. A need that frequently leads me to have a vision too serial instants.
A temporal programmatic behind everything. Wait, as this flash pale waiting
the finger on the keyboard. I lose so simple and brilliant brightness around forms and emotional read.
Photographer then myself. I call my soul to show the most sentimental and sweet if (side
that an excess of zeal or discretion tend to cover and keep in the shade). But the excitement does not
plots have dense, indexes can be: spaces in the network of relationships, details of a smile, "the words
forehead and around the corners of his mouth. "A bare act where the man becomes the subject and submit it to the
knowing look of being a victim. A reflection on what is often the man says to himself. these
photographs show a realistic representation of man 'private' life of a light and thin to
which longs: enclosed in daily life. Curious, I investigate the surface of the cortex, giving images
sometimes voyeuristic myself. The eye of the protagonist becomes the threshold that allows the heavy
Diving Bell and unresponsive in his body to free the butterfly of thought. As the protagonist of the film
Diving Bell and the Butterfly, I hear my inner voice trapped by a dense network of thoughts. I feel horror
for the condition in which I find myself. But I feel an uncontrollable drive to the expression. I would like to,
I suffer and cry inside of me. It's a scream looking for a mouth that can translate into sounds and words. for now
remains silent, voiceless, translated into beats: letters. The letters in the words become filters to the vision of the
light behind the curtains. The light was always considered to be the way out. Shadow and light are intimately
connected. Faced with two poles I explore the middle ground and try the medium gray with sincerity that I
remains. At least that was what I thought before those two minutes in front of the bulletin board flyers
the library. An interview turned into a living being (Appendix 2). I discover a world full of shadows made
of lights. I understand of being blinded by the light, or what I thought it was. I can not look.
I'm an actor in the theater: I play but I do not see what makes the show and, if still there is anyone
in the same room. I live in a Kaiserpanorama where everyone is watching me, but I do not see anyone. I do not see
everything that happens around and I tend to get lost; in the perceptions of an eye into the image;
ornate representations without any shadow, where the space of gray does not exist. The unspeakable noise
light I feel the victim and viewer, is not the image. In fact, if the gray divides
the image, I do not have perception. In my not, do not you realize, "step", or are filled with
other "noise" generated by anxiety or fear. It produces a shadow in the same shade. A wall where there
are average, where the image is look and look in accepting the dark. I am looking into it. a
photographic study that aims to discover a passage of time without sublimation in a partnership
moment between visual and geometric balance as would Cartier-Bresson. I try to eliminate the position
Elevated to watch from the inside: the synergy of experienced and lived. A body that lives through the site
which is not given to know its nature. There is a will in the shot to give the emotion in
that corpo7. Feelings buried: moments, moments shared sensations granted for the shutter speed.
Two figures: the photographer and the actor take possession of a common area in which you are searching. I would
trouble to call me blind and deaf. Sometimes I would try the light of a disability to find my true
nature. "Escape from what is sneaky in that still does not speak chiaramente8. How much suffering
take root in the chiaroscuro of the soul! Ask, so long as the abscess to mature more
soon. What remains in the shadows does not find its true light. I was in a bar in Milan's suburbs
and was looking for an image to be proposed for carving competition. At some point I feel a sense
on the hand. A slight tickle walk from wrist to elbow. Strangely, I do not react to this
feeling but just look in that direction without moving any limb. A ladybug is
browsing through the folds of my skin. I am immediately filled with a sense of lightness.
I let you walk a little then blow gently. She does not move as if to say that's not you
decide. I think this just gets up and flies towards the door through which came a great light midday.
All this has meant a substantial learning to be guided by emotions and make you
that the builders of my emotions to work from the inside to surprise my real imagination. I understand
I will be on the wall myself then the photographer to search for that soul which is enclosed. what
remains is the seed coat: a symbolic social housing body by now faded from lack
of emotion. A dark soul: indexical trace of the expected window.