Silent Rift

Winter beach huts. This photographic series could simply have been called that, because the initial idea was to capture the surreal transformation of Adriatic seaside resorts during the low season. Then, as you know, intentions often completely change. Days spent studying these places, experiencing them as someone looking for something they cannot define. Experience draws new perspectives and shows what lies beyond simple perception. Those beach huts were no longer just colourful, neat and empty; they had become a silent rift between this world and that of thought: a glimpse of metaphysics.

There is a place where, in winter, the sea hides behind sand dunes and coloured sheet metal curtains, like those of a dream. On the other hand, passage between bathing facilities, where people whiz by like someone rushing to catch a train, consists of silent paths that are almost labyrinths. In the middle is the beach, renouncing its reference points and becoming a strange open-air museum for things lost, forgotten and left behind; random installations demanding neither attention nor glory, exhibited without context, suspended in time and space.
In that landscape, homogeneous in nature and geometric in things human, the conflict seems relegated to another dimension, tamed in the straight lines, shadows and lights of the volumes, in the solidity of barely dented objects. Observing the unnatural imperturbability of that clipping of reality, one always ends up waiting for intuition; the silent but dazzling gash revealing the world underlying the world, where everything is possible, everything is waiting.
In this metaphysics - so intimate and cruel in the absence of life and immutability of its forms, which contemplate neither unpredictable days nor the alternation of ups and downs - only the words of Fellini, perhaps born right here, seem to make sense: "the visionary is the only realist".