Fieldnotes: Nuvola Ravera (3)

#03 Fragments from a fragmented place

This land torments me, the stones torment me, the sea’s threat, the countryside, the voids, the courage of the silence and I torment them. But they laugh. It is a chieldhood torment, the stones are youngsters, it is a teenager world and we put the crutches on them. If is there an invisible, unmaterial or seemingly inanimate spectator, the stones in the meanwhile listen, the water applauds, the cement suports it when it doesn’t find the kind of fragile breaks, some leaf jokes, an olive tree suffers from caries.