This sequence of images has been realized to stigmatize a kind of communication that does not leave any space to ambiguities of interpretation. It is intentionally composed by a first face that looks far from the others. It is the identity of Hope, that never dies and always looks forward. The other kids come from haggard villages or orphanages of the site, everyone of them living in different social contexts, but also owning the same sphere of necessities (affection, food, health and instruction). As many other children in Kenya, their eyes impress something like a silent help request, that is screamed loudly, at the same time, through the strong contrast of black and white, every face pictured in an independent psychological space, everyone of them with his own strength of communication, everyone linked to the same dramatic faith, the lack of certainties and perspectives.
This sequence of images has been realized to stigmatize a kind of communication that does not leave any space to ambiguities of interpretation. It is intentionally composed by a first face that looks far from the others. It is the identity of Hope, that never dies and always looks forward. The other kids come from haggard villages or orphanages of the site, everyone of them living in different social contexts, but also owning the same sphere of necessities (affection, food, health and instruction).
As many other children in Kenya, their eyes impress something like a silent help request, that is screamed loudly, at the same time, through the strong contrast of black and white, every face pictured in an independent psychological space, everyone of them with his own strength of communication, everyone linked to the same dramatic faith, the lack of certainties and perspectives.
When I walk through the streets and I meet them in my beloved Kenya, even if I’m absorbed into the colourful world of Africa, everywhere I can only see their big, white, bright eyes that scream out their needs and their dreams; these are the shouts of my Africa, which breaks my heart every time I come back, which breaks my heart every time I think that it’s impossible to me to embrace them all. Those are the shouts of Hope that resound to the spectators with the frustration of an unbearable impotence.
When I look at them I only see their eyes...
As if I’m walking through the night...
With an heavy stone in my chest...
And a nut locked in my throat...
Only their eyes...
It’s an unbridgeable emptiness...
In which their screams resound...
Till they make me mad about deafness...