back to the forest-blue eyes

they wait, they stay, they think, they look ahead, these
teens suspended. that seem remote, but are determined,
their tension is a decision. to not do one thing is certain: do
not rest. they are wide awake, eyes open and alert, and not
batting an eye. to be awake means to be alive. up front.
icily alert. opposing, by virtue of a static posture. but
they are not stationary. the block is resolved. it is attent,
silent, listening. they are not at rest, these guys. there
is a tremor buried in them, rebellion, rejection. not an
extrovert reaction. rather a reactive energy accumulated
and concentrated, emanating from the corners, cuts,
busts inclined, bodies taught, mouths and eyes from the
hills behind torsos, these young creatures, unassimilated,
non-integrated, aggressively mute, in contrast. a world
populated by the young, still wet, that does not seem
to civilise.assuming this position, locking, criticising,
opposing what they see and breathing through and
through and this defines them. to gray, contemporary
inertia, impermanence. challenge and refuse the incivility
of civilization, dug out from these teens de martin topranin,
who are soldiers, even when they are angels. closed in their
uniforms daily, coming from the street, by the company. a
world built on the precepts of image and communication
icons, fleeting, volatile. in which the references are lost
and direct relations with the outside and the inside, and
where the boy found refuge in a new, introvert, urban
tribalism. no smile, no words, they oppose, with a gesture
(gesture carved). the banality of being hostile, to sacrifice,
futility. but this rejection, the grind too and intention to
speak, crystallizes in plastic poses of war that are sweet
and hard. boys awake and silent, do not give to be, do not
crystallize their discomfort in a final posture. reacting. we
must learn to reawaken and keep ourselves awake, not
by mechanical aids, but with infinite hope in the dawn. a
new dawn still livid that redesigns, by itself, wearing its
refusal of irony, mocking irony here is the fold. teens de
martin topranin simply no longer want to remain in space
where they are to be found. the space of modernity, it is
not clean, not real. a painting that is more sculpted. reality
is not vivid. the culture they are immersed in, it is imbued
and saturated with artifice, speed, distancing from itself,
the abandonment and removal of processes, practices of
unconsciousness. here it is because of the steady gaze of
the glassy block, the opposition, rejection. nature, man,
the earth, it is now far, it seems lost. the separation of
man from nature, from real space, has grown. He is now
isolated in a bubble suspended above the ground. the
boys of de martin topranin, have decided to return to the
earth, the woods. come from the cities, that dresses them, it
generates the contemporary housing, but has not affected
the identity and look. certainty: ipod, jeans, hairspray. but
do not look and be bewildered, it wanders not, try again.
disoriented, not lost, they have decided to return. return
to the woods. back to the forest. want to find a primeval
river bed , as clean and strong and fresh and real. their
gown is one of the city, which comes from the street by
walls, from the comics. street art, and marvel, have fed
these boys, their aesthetics, their costume. but fed what?
now they come back, to regain the space of the earth,
the woods, to seek detoxification, reclaiming, through
silence, through work, and working with the axe, a simple
job right in the woods and on earth. here’ is the wind in
the leaves, and there are the smells. eyes open, the first
sign. the awakening of the senses. feeling inside, inside
of something. outside, not isolated. the new motions, and
odors.
gianluca d’incà levis