M’OUBLIER (superior room)
This work, its creation the product of a synaesthetic vision, draws its inspiration from Dino Campana’s poem, In un momento, (‘One Moment’).
Composed of vaguely melancholic aftertastes, and immersed in a dimension of markedly romantic features, the piece is seemingly anachronistic, being, as it is, evoked by the more recent of artistic expressions; the video.
The work draws upon historical avant-garde and on the idea of producing a synaesthetic work. However, it is principally inspired by ‘libro oggetto, libro d’artista’, a concept widely explored by Futurists, and that still today has many supporters.
It is a work that is set in motion through associations and references, a work that ‘wants’ to be read. It is a work that depends upon the ticking of time, because it is precisely within this passage of time – so fragile, so transient, so brief – that its beauty lies hidden.
Fluid and light, it traces the pages of the room, changing. The video expands beyond its confines. It invades the body, the simple spectator becoming an integral part of the work; engulfed by it, enveloped by it, rendering it ‘multimedia’.
It is a work that gazes upon literature, but does not have need of it. A work that lives through atmosphere, amongst its traditional tastes, which serve only to emphasise the text of Campana.
It is an undeniable homage to Woman, who, in a vaguely Leopardian conception, dons nature’s attire and becomes now mother and stepmother ; Mother Nature, Mother Earth. She is a creature emerging from the subsoil; a possessor of power; the focus of each gaze, of each thought; swathed in the veils of such an unlikely shroud.
In un momento (‘One Moment’)
Withered are the roses
Their petals fallen
For I could not forget the roses
We sought them together
We found roses
Her roses, my roses, they were
We called this journey love
With our blood, with our teardrops, we made roses
That glistened for one moment in the morning sunshine
Beneath that sun, amongst those thorns, we withered them.
The roses that were not our roses
My roses, her roses.