Part of spacetime and love stories.

‘O come t’inganni se pensi che gli anni non vanno a finire‘

The ‘Golden Light’ story encapsulates a stranger day. 

Outside, the smell of a hot Italian summer in August sets the scene against the blue sky, while the sound of relentless cicadas play their never-ending songs on repeat. I am hypnotised while remembering to breathe the hot air into my lungs. 

The morning was highly charged with emotional releases of energy during a ceremony that holds intrinsic cultural connotations to commemorate the course of life. 

Inside, the temperature drops like a sudden dip into the cold ocean. One sound dominates and it’s shared among every single one of the participants. Together we are forming a macro-organism that moves in unison. The soft cries are interrupted by echoing sounds, whose nature I can’t explain by any combination of letters.

It’s powerful and it forces you to remain powerless in solidarity. 

The sound of the camera shutter drags my mind back to my body and I continue to document the ritual. 

Into the open field we move, slowly, covering the green grass with our black shadows and black attire. The ground is covered by neatly assigned spaces, adorned by flowers and engraved stones. An indispensable organism is suddenly no longer present in the form that is commonly understood; Slowly pervading the atmosphere with panic and the urge of disappearing with the missing part. Your sensory impulses are numb but gravity pulls your body into the ground. 

Among departures and arrivals, the smell of pizza and cappuccino, the afternoon is a waiting game. Life is again relentless and enthusiastic; chasing the idea of linear time which constantly fails to harmonise with cosmic time.

A game of hide and seek that never ends.

I hold back and wait to be chased. My waiting game becomes a long four hours of anticipation, painted with constant insignificant background noise and pure breathing space. 

She is here and wants to go to the beach. 

The stormy sea keeps her body afloat, playing dead, seemingly as if the atoms in her body have become fluid and melted into the interchangeable waves. This picture makes me realise what really happened in the morning, and how peacefully it all fits back into place. Following the lead of electrons that form sudden bonds, too strong to be reversed, in symbiosis with the cosmic time; which cannot be rationally translated by the positively charged ions transmitted in your brain.

If the golden light would have a smell that would be the right metaphor for it. 

When we got back home, she opened the car and puked the margherita in the courtyard. We made each other laugh and stayed together.  

The ‘Golden Light’ picture is part of a limited collection of T-Shirts now available for PRE-ORDERS here.

The T-shirts are printed with photos from the project Escaping Velocity 1.4142 about spacetime and love. There is a story behind each picture, but I hope they won’t make sense on the first read, and leave you with just a feeling, or the smell of summer and good food.