• Urban Melancholies

    I don't want to watch this world with the same eyes for all my life.

    Today I want to walk in the streets and take a look of this city with brand-new eyes.

    Milan has never been this grey, the sad concrete of generic buildings, and, at the same time, multi-layered, the colours of all the existences moving inside her every day, every moment, everywhere.

    Today I want new words and new images, places where I have never been, people I have never met. I want glances, I want dreams, I want some else's life.

    And so, thanks to the sorrows and epiphanies of those around me, I discover that in this city there is no crowd, no multiplicity, no union, but only loneliness, confusion and loss.

    Sometimes, among all these ordinary and nearly invisible feelings, it is possible to find rare and precious Melancholies.

  • And Melancholy means...

    ...to look around and to look inside.

    To stop.

    To stop following, like blind moles, the flow of commuters, eaten alive every day by the underground.

    Melancholy is the overwhelming desire to get out of the tunnel that runs in the underworld and to reach out for the surface, to dig in woe to find an exit, to overlook and eventually see the world, maybe for the first time.

    Melancholies don't leave any choice: they force us to fight.

    The glance around makes us see what we are trying to get away from.

    The glance inside should show us our new goal.

    Unfortunately, sometimes this doesn't happen.

    Melancholy is trying to escape what was our predetermined Fate and to (re)build something new that has never been there.

    Losing and finding ourselves in a maze for our body and our soul...

  • ...the City

    She takes us in, embraces us, hulls in our heart and, in the end, she traps us.

    Milan smiles, scornfully, pleased with her Society, confident with her Rules, high and mighty for her Wordliness. Not caring for the Alienation, Strain and Confusion.

    The self gets lost, sometimes forever, among the thousands streets of that abominable metropolis, making us forget who we really are. The Sleeping Giant encompasses us and makes us conform, anesthetize us and lulls us to sleep, in the name of a Supreme Order that nobody seems to know, and yet nobody wants to fight or discuss.

    However, somebody, sometimes, wakes up and, as a Melancholic warrior, escapes this unavoidable flux of non-life. And so, it happens...

  • ...slowly...

    ...the stories spring out, one after the other, hopes, illusions, dreams and bitterness, everything melds in a sea of indefinite feelings.

    Little by little a new life, a new glance, a new Melancholy will join this collateral microcosm. Little by little a new hope, a new illusion, a new dream or a new bitterness will peep out of the tunnel, trying to outline new paths, far away from the crowd and from the Rules.

    Come back whenever you want, to this oneiric Milan, and take a look around, seeking for your dreams.

    Maybe you'll find what you are looking for.