5. Paesaggi

I am drawn to these enchanted little houses for something I can't explain, a suspension, a forgetting of everything that rises up in my throat. (G. Celati) A series of photographs tells the intimacy of the provinces where we were born; of our roots born in the air. The postcards, and in them, all the nostalgia of the fogs and the soft hues, of the quiet and invisible life we lived among the tall grasses and beech forests. It's as if to say: we have been. And now that the extraordinarily favorable moment has already passed, all the nostalgia turns into acute absence.