The profanation of innocence. Dressed alike human beings walk down the boarding ladder, dazed, protected by digital glasses. The TV, the gate in which reality resides and lives, the house screen materialized here, moved through tablet screens or digital cameras.
Last night – it was nearly midnight – I was driving among the hills of Reggio Emilia, where I’m currently learning sculpture, for it’s been a while – a couple of years, I guess – since I’ve felt a compelling, physical urge (and mental, too, although one drags the other) to use my hands, get them dirty, touch the matter, feel that I’m alive, create something that will survive an unexpected blackout or technological obsolescence. Something that goes beyond pixels.