Something is about to happen or has happened already. A prelude after the end, since it keeps starting over. Confronting a lost horizon and contemporary fossils, the awareness of our own absurdity. And it always starts over, like a cycle that is worn off, leaving a trace of erosion, energy, and relentless efforts at every round, like the noise of a never-ending departure. On the oxymoronic path between individuality and universality, life is seen as a breath, stardust and cosmic discovery.
Numerous are the sources of destruction that devour time and space, twists of fate. But the path is frozen into ice, imprinted within the soil. Ancestral images go beyond the reflection over the human condition, and go towards the universal questions of a never-ending story. Disappearance becomes memory.
Return, self-reflection, transition. Rebirth of a liberated conscience, the resonating body with matter, up to find the way to the aquatic origin of our ephemeral existence.
















