DIO HA LASCIATO L'EDIFICIO
GOD HAS LEFT THE BUILDING
teca rammemorante
recollection display case
Confinata in una cittadina di mare per tutta l'estate, in compagnia della tata, dopo pranzo, verso le due del pomeriggio, venivo costretta a fare un sonnellino pomeridiano. In camera da letto, con le persiane chiuse, si consumavano minuti interminabili inzuppati nella luce del sole che filtrava, arancione, nella stanza arredata con mobili marroni: il vetro smerigliato della porta posta davanti al mio lettino rappresentava la forma rettangolare di luce bianca lattiginosa assoluta verso l'esterno, in quel piccolo paese di pescatori. Non prendevo mai sonno. Venivo informata in anticipo sul fatto che il sonnellino pomeridiano non si poteva assolutamente evitare, e, durante quell'eternità solitaria post prandiale, minacciata di astinenza dal gelato pomeridiano se avessi tentato di alzarmi o avessi fatto rumore, passavo i miei attimi nella penombra silenziosa. I miei due cuginetti si sdraiavano nel grande letto matrimoniale con la mia tata. Tutti e tre cadevano addormentati come in letargo: io occupavo un lettino posto ai piedi del lettone e stringevo i denti, con gli occhi il più delle volte spalancati e talvolta socchiusi, sperando che quel tempo finisse presto. Questi esercizi di meditazione si sono susseguiti per molte estati, per tante ore: restavo sveglia, quasi immobile nell'afa estiva su quel lettino: il cuscino e il lenzuolino diventavano ben presto caldi e avevo imparato a muovermi poco per volta, spostandomi millimetralmente nel lettino per cercare ristoro. Captavo i pochi rumori che provenivano dall'esterno, conditi dal frinire delle cicale e dal rumore di qualche sporadico e fastidioso motorino. Percorrevo nella penombra i contorni legnosi del letto, dell'armadio, dei comodini e delle abat-jour: poi ritornavo con lo sguardo di bambina sul rettangolo di luce e iniziavo a fantasticare.
Confined at the seaside for the whole summer, in company of the nanny, at about 2 pm after lunch, I was forced to take my afternoon nap. In the bedroom, with closed shutters, I would pass endless minutes by the orange beamlight of the sun seeping in a room stuffed with wooden dark furniture: in front of my little bed, the door frosted glass created the rectangular shape of the outside milky absolute white light in that little fishermen village. I could never faal asleep. I had been well instructed on the impossibility of avoiding that important "siesta" nap and, during those lonely timeless afternoons, threatened by the consequent punishment ( that was simply the denial of the afternoon icecream) if I eventually dared to get out of the room or make some noise, I used to spend my endless instants in a silent half light. My two little cousins slept in the big queen size bed with the nanny, drifting off barely two seconds after touching the pillow: I had a little bed at the feet of the large one, and I lied there with eyes alternatively wide open or half closed, hoping that siesta time would end soon. Those "meditation" exercises came in succession one summer after another, for many years, for many hours: I was awake, nearly motionless in that summery muggy weather, lying in that little bed: the pillow and also the little sheet would soon become boiling hot and so I had learned to move little by little in the narrow bed, trying to find refreshment. I picked up few noises coming from the outside, spiced by the cicadas' songs and some lonely isolated moped in the distance. In the half light my eyes wuld wander to the surfaces of the wooden bed, the closet, of the bedside tables and the turned off lamp: then I would stare again at the door's white light glass rectangle and started daydreaming.
Confined at the seaside for the whole summer, in company of the nanny, at about 2 pm after lunch, I was forced to take my afternoon nap. In the bedroom, with closed shutters, I would pass endless minutes by the orange beamlight of the sun seeping in a room stuffed with wooden dark furniture: in front of my little bed, the door frosted glass created the rectangular shape of the outside milky absolute white light in that little fishermen village. I could never faal asleep. I had been well instructed on the impossibility of avoiding that important "siesta" nap and, during those lonely timeless afternoons, threatened by the consequent punishment ( that was simply the denial of the afternoon icecream) if I eventually dared to get out of the room or make some noise, I used to spend my endless instants in a silent half light. My two little cousins slept in the big queen size bed with the nanny, drifting off barely two seconds after touching the pillow: I had a little bed at the feet of the large one, and I lied there with eyes alternatively wide open or half closed, hoping that siesta time would end soon. Those "meditation" exercises came in succession one summer after another, for many years, for many hours: I was awake, nearly motionless in that summery muggy weather, lying in that little bed: the pillow and also the little sheet would soon become boiling hot and so I had learned to move little by little in the narrow bed, trying to find refreshment. I picked up few noises coming from the outside, spiced by the cicadas' songs and some lonely isolated moped in the distance. In the half light my eyes wuld wander to the surfaces of the wooden bed, the closet, of the bedside tables and the turned off lamp: then I would stare again at the door's white light glass rectangle and started daydreaming.
Immaginavo che dietro la porta della camera da letto ci fossero dei passanti o delle figure che si fermavano a parlare appena dietro la maniglia, oppure, decidevo quale animale si sarebbe potuto mettere a guardia del mio non- sonno: un enorme orso bruno, un gentile drago verde, un elefante azzurro con fiori al collo, ma... non pensavo mai al mio cane, Lola, in campagna da mia nonna, perchè già così morivo di nostalgia. Ero talmente in ostaggio di quella situazione imposta ed ero una bimba talmente obbediente che non provavo nemmeno a sgattaiolare fuori dalla stanza: gli altri tre esseri umani addormentati risvegliavano il mio interesse solo quando captavo suoni che potessero indicarmi il loro possibile ed agognato risveglio, che avrebbe rappresentato la mia liberazione da quella gogna lettereccia. Fuori c'erano il mare, il sole, la spiaggia...ed io ero prigioniera del loro ristoro pomeridiano, in balìa del loro riposino, incatenata alle mie piccole fantasie.
L'arte della contemplazione ha avuto per me un apprendistato durissimo, solo adesso gratificante. Non ho mai pianto in quei distanti pomeriggi, perchè era inutile piangere in silenzio da piccoli, ma nutrivo un senso di solitudine amplificata dalla penombra e dal silenzio quasi assoluto.
I used to imagine that behind the bedroom door there were people passing by, or human shapes standing behind the doorhandle just talking; otherwise, I would decide which animal could be my personal sleep guardian: a huge brown bear, a gentle green dragon, a light blue elephant with a flowers necklace, but...I never ever thought it could be my beloved dog, Lola, who was living in the countryside at my grandmother's big house, because this would have killed me with homesickness. I was so totally hostage of that situation, under restraint, and I was an incredible obedient little girl at the point that I didn't even think about slipping out the room: the other three sleeping human beings held my interest only when little noises, possibly signs of an awakening, could represent my relief from the bed pillory. The immense sea, the sun, the beach... were on the outside, and I was the little prisoner of their "siesta", at the mercy of their sleep, enchained to my little fantasies.
L'arte della contemplazione ha avuto per me un apprendistato durissimo, solo adesso gratificante. Non ho mai pianto in quei distanti pomeriggi, perchè era inutile piangere in silenzio da piccoli, ma nutrivo un senso di solitudine amplificata dalla penombra e dal silenzio quasi assoluto.
I used to imagine that behind the bedroom door there were people passing by, or human shapes standing behind the doorhandle just talking; otherwise, I would decide which animal could be my personal sleep guardian: a huge brown bear, a gentle green dragon, a light blue elephant with a flowers necklace, but...I never ever thought it could be my beloved dog, Lola, who was living in the countryside at my grandmother's big house, because this would have killed me with homesickness. I was so totally hostage of that situation, under restraint, and I was an incredible obedient little girl at the point that I didn't even think about slipping out the room: the other three sleeping human beings held my interest only when little noises, possibly signs of an awakening, could represent my relief from the bed pillory. The immense sea, the sun, the beach... were on the outside, and I was the little prisoner of their "siesta", at the mercy of their sleep, enchained to my little fantasies.
The art of contemplation has been for me a very hard apprenticeship, only nowadays pleasing. I have never cried during those distant afternoons, because when you are a child it is useless to cry in silence, but I felt a sense of amplifyed loneliness.
La quantità di oggetti che produciamo è incontrollabile, irrefrenabile, inqualificabile, innumerevole, irragionevole, iatrogena, inutile, incomprensibile, inquinante. Ogni oggetto, preso singolarmente, può avere un senso per un momento, un giorno, per una persona: può essere giustificato dal fatto che per produrlo si è dato sostentamento all'operaio della fabbrica che lo ha prodotto ma tirar le somme è impossibile. Questo meccanismo fuori controllo è una pandemia inarrestabile. Di oggetti, di plastica, di esseri viventi.
The number of objects that we churn out is uncontrollable, overwhelming, unspeakable, countless, unreasonable, iatrogenic, worthless, unintelligible, polluting. Every object, singularly considered, makes sense for a moment, for one day, for a single person: it can be justified by the fact that its production gives work to the factory worker, but it's impossible to take stock of this overproduction. This out of control machinery is an inexorable pandemia. Made of objects, made of plastic, made of human beings.
The number of objects that we churn out is uncontrollable, overwhelming, unspeakable, countless, unreasonable, iatrogenic, worthless, unintelligible, polluting. Every object, singularly considered, makes sense for a moment, for one day, for a single person: it can be justified by the fact that its production gives work to the factory worker, but it's impossible to take stock of this overproduction. This out of control machinery is an inexorable pandemia. Made of objects, made of plastic, made of human beings.
Una folla non pensa. Non sa quello che fa.
The mob doesn't think. It has no mind of its own.
"Fury", Fritz Lang, 1936
Assemblage, maschera facciale per anestesia in gomma nera antistatica Harol® n. 4, miniature Kinder®, in teca di plexiglass cm. 20x20x25, 2013
Assemblage, black rubber anesthesia non static facial mask Harol® n°.4, Kinder® mimiatures, in plexiglass box 20x20x25 cm., 2013
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