Finimondo
28 May 2019. Fifty days in Italy over the last two months — something that hadn’t happened to me in 16 years. I find myself in a plundered country, gnawed by impotence and rage, a cradle of feral children. More than a country in decline, it’s a country that has crashed, one that has turned its drama into a brutal and pathetic caricature.
And yet, if I step back and listen, I rediscover the beauty of its language, rich and playful. Briccone, andare a zonzo, finimondo, origliare, menare il can per l’aia, nullafacente, occhiolino, malmostoso, infuriato, battibecco, scavezzacollo. Every language is living history, fascinating and evocative; but this one, in the mouth of a people battered by history, now sounds like a distant echo, a language as foreign to its own people as it is to the conqueror or the algorithm.
Drifts
Projects
Refugium, refugia
Projects
The Triumph of Defeat
Folios
Nomadi: Noi non ci saremo
Incisions
False realities
Folios
Machine that entertains
Visions
La Escocesa 2016-2025
Folios
Macchina automatica / no anima
Folios
To leave or not to leave the networks of hate?
Folios
Words of ruin
Incisions
Screens
Incisions
Be patient
Incisions
Busy
Transmission
Language Cartographies
Folios
Entropy
Folios
Milline
Folios
Childhood
Folios
Apriti Sesamo
Projects
It wasn’t the sun
News
«It wasn’t the sun» — solo show at Galeria Trama (Barcelona)
Resonances
«It wasn’t the sun»
Series
The ruin and the shadow
Series
The past is now
Series
Paintings of the Ruin
Series
Maremortum
Series
Landscapes of Defeat
Incisions
Cracks and simulacra
Folios
Life in a box III
Folios
Life in a box II
Folios
Dozen
Folios