“The hands of those men who dug the snow cisterns with arched fingers to quench their thirst, put crucifixes on the earth-born rock and not on the bells of man, black squared vaults opened on to the white belly of the stones, they decorated the fields like a corn festival…”
“There are no books here”
“(…) in our emotional map which consists of three empty books chanched into open windows on Matera, the shape of his self-portrait walks through them”. .
Carla Corazza e Giovanna Occhipinti
“…Matera, wrapped in the shadow, for a moment, it seems to want to vanish, to make room for Mother Earth, from which everything originated”.
Faraway footprints in the memory skin of Matera
“(…) Those who leave take their memories on board,
sensations, experiences lived in the past.
A city welcomes newcomers embracing them,
and this act of love is returned with each memory imprinted in the city coming from multiple past cities of origin”.
“(…) Matera! Someone always dressed to the nines (…) From the moors imagined a skirt with festoons, from the thousands of stairs ñ I created a bodice and then reaching the highest part, from the Madonna de Idris, I made a hat. (…)
Map of architectural emotions.
“(…) stairs, terraces, streets, fireplaces, squares, bell towers … As the drawing is exposed to the alternate play of yellow or blue lights, these patterns are either highlighted or disappear”.
Emotional Map of my 17 years
“Like any teenager, I too have my difficulties, my adventures and my loves. When I realized my map of emotions, I was just facing one of the most difficult periods”.
The man, the Earth, the Sea
“The sea, patient and forward-looking, shaped internally this particular stone, tapping into his flora and fauna. Pleased with his creation, he decided to show it to the whole world. (…)
Matera Anatomical Emotion
“…the streets become veins, the heart the ìSecretissima Cameraî and the Sassi the breast, which constitutes the “nourishment” of the soul”.
“And so?” a comprehensive view of the hive”
“(…) Houses, churches, cellars, they arrange like the small cells of a hive (…) A winged eye that hither and tither flies, probing the endless balance between wisdoms old and new, and desires, with albertiana quaestio asks: “QUID TUM”“