As deep as a bite, as dark as the night * by Paolo Ciregia
Darkness, it’s getting completely dark. Like heaven who got rid of me down here. Who had forced me to dive into the black colloid of my soul. Who launched me in front of the demons where my world is reflected. It was like being swooped into water at night. Yes, i know well that it’s daytime. A day like another.
Even thought my sky is black. Suddenly, entering, i heard the veil which separates air from liquid, being destroyed into pieces. Immediately, on the skin, after a cold embrace. Squeeze me tightly now. It wants to penetrate into my lungs, i believe.
I must oppose. I must do so with all my strength.
What sense does it have, i ask, opposing at something that can’t even see?
I have shivers…The shivering of my skin that transmits to the bones.
From these to the soul already turned upside down. In the gasps of the body which forms the demons who accompany me. Forming the shape of a swollen face, they lenghten in scratches that squeak on body stones, beneath a bear’s claws. Enormous, black, him too… The blood screams suffering, dripping down.
In any night of any guys. Them tormented too leaving scars on the tar.
I’m in a vortex of discomfort, but it’s mine or of the world?
The suffering of the graffiti is now silent and lengthens, loosing ground until it becomes shadows that in turn dissolve into a white coffin deposited under the tree. I go near. As i do so, i see the coffin rise, stretching in a light colored curtain. The black gives me truce… Although the curtain also becomes liquid, and gathers an inert body. Remains there. There motionless like in a death along a river. suspended in an surreal funeral where nobody attends. A stare moves to empty chairs, white in the night, as the coffin, as the awning. Perhaps awaiting, patiently, the corps who have to receive. Behind them , a wall of dark night , soon will become old and dirty plaster. The white iron of the chairs dark frame. In there, nailed by the time, the memory of what is the world of others ,lost in a sunflower field. I feel the flowers chase static on the wall, that sun that they can’t see, not even reflected in a painting. the petals clotting in a plot that takes shape. A back full of pain, sited at the edge of one hopeless bed.
Infront… nothing. In the black , suddenly, two light turn on.
Seem like eyes… are eyes! There is still life in the world somewhere!
I don’t know even why I am doing it, but for the first time since when I am absorbed in the dark fury of my soul, I rise up my head again. The sky is still black. However, above , one white cloud starts to annul the darkness. Down below it imitates a pure white little statue… A lamp appears that starts to destroy the darknesss and shows me the leaves of a tree above me. Awkwardly I try. Slowly I start to emerge from the pasty tar of the world that I have build . I slowly feel the undo of the hug of death which held me buried.
I try to re-open my eyes…
* from Everything At Once by Lenka Kripac
Text by: Sandro Iovine
Exhibition curated by: Sandro Iovine
Printed by: Roberto Berné
When: October 12-19, 2013
Opening time: Monday – Sunday, 10 AM – 6 PM
Location: Il Ciani
Price: LuganoPhotoDays Pass