Without Permanence
A suspended moment, like a game without rules, has settled on my skin with the tenacity of a stubborn memory. It caresses and wounds me at the same time, leaving an invisible mark that transcends time. It’s a wild, carnal touch that has insinuated itself into my gestures, making them inevitable, like a tiny, inescapable presence that accompanies the step and becomes intimate, magnetic. There’s no longer a separation between the bearer and what’s carried. In fact, what happens merges with the skin, unfolding like an interior landscape and bringing with it the nostalgia of a suspended summer. It tastes like a promise of free and sensual abandon, without any sort of destiny or interest in the future. It’s the memory of us that becomes flesh, our desire that becomes landscape. There’s no observer, no object. Your trail is magnetic, wild, like an embrace: it captures and liberates me at the same time. There’s only the dissolving boundary between our skin and the air.
Credits: Photo by Pietro Bucciarelli and Anastasia Miseyko / Still Life by Emilio Murolo / Text by Marco Federica Romano