VIA ROMA

When I was a child and a teenager I used to spend my holidays and summer at my grandfather’s house. It was surrounded by magic atmospheres and it was a little bit gloomy as some childhood memories can be. Even my grandfather’s tales told about bandits and terrific plague epidemics. I liked that stories and I forced him to tell them endless times. It was like a game where fiction and historical reality mixed up.
It’s always been the house where roaming ghosts, witches and strange characters coming from somewhere. Into the dark, from room to room, they could chase you and possibly touch lightly your hand. In that enormous house, similar to a castle, we always had the feeling to be chased or spied on. We were never relaxed to the fullest, especially at night. It’s always been a beloved and sometimes hated house but surrounded by fascination and mystery. Everything inside is filled by history. Every object represents thousands of memories and tales coming from the past and the present. Even the dust seems to come alive while the rest of my family that still live there turns into ghosts in my imagination. It’s like a game of mirrors where the past and the present get combined and confused.