Low cloud of fog yesterday in borca, down to swallow the swallowing nature (the forest of Borca, which would love to swallow the village, but it can’t; it gets in, and the village expands in it).
Dim sky, a few, scattered lightning bolts, made up of that slow opal-like brightness, from above, soon gulped back down by the humid, and, we’d say, marvellous cabin (perhaps the little child with the fishing line in the ditch is afraid of the water – but no, not even him fears it –, but these cruise-goers here are laughing it out, and pulling it up, greedy, from their Clarks shoes’ soles, assimilating the slope: nothing obstructs this process of nourishment).
There is no way to de-saturate this site, whose incandescence has now been taken and flipped over: and is being opened. Every time we reopen the Colonia (Eng.: Summer Camp Building), the new guests see it a little more lit, ablaze, and their eyes are well open, open and capacious, and we load them up.
The spaces aren’t deserted, or silent, or unmoving, when that time is over…

…People and things: objects and intentions, the circulation of people: it looks like a garden, now, this maze, a garden built, at last, the Colonia, crossed by people, who move and reach fulcri of activation, the posts in which the artists have focused their gaze on the thing itself, taking the parts of the large body, of its viscera, its fragments, its colours, the wall painting, the furniture, the irons, the glass shards, the doors, the papers, the chairs, the wood, the remnants, the dirt, the stuff found in the infirmary, the curtains, the trees, the firewood, to feed the majolica stoves, always lit up at this point, the plastics, the pine needles, the geometries, the sounds, the glimpses, the strength, the disorientations, the rehangings, the fears, the loneliness, the extroversions and overflowings, and all the other things, all of them.
These materials, a body split in atoms in the large Colonia, themselves nourish the building, as if having broken a vein to find warm blood once again, not at all coagulated, and licking at it, pouring it over, filling up containers, and it’s lava, which flows, and activates the mallets, and the pulsing can be felt, and seen, not just breath of the forest, now, but its swarming, there’s the re-taming of the space, which isn’t alien, closed , mute anymore, and it’s easier now to move around in the Colonia, and it’s enjoyable to lose oneself in it, when that happens, again, because then, you can find yourself again, you can be found, the space itself is found, the space is active, re-taming means that “they live here”, also, that it feels like we’re moving around in a house, now, a huge, extended house, made up of one thousand two hundred rooms, from which the dust is coming off, and the memories come out and up, taken again into the action, the senses, in the re-emergence of the objects, which were already there, since forever, but that were not there anymore, from a long while ago: and now, there they are, alight again.
Low cloud of fog yesterday in Borca, down to swallow the swallowing nature, and it was a pleasure, to enter it, and walk, this warm snake of people in the mouth of the large, planted body, and following the branches, their warmth captured by Stefano Cagol, the other nuclei of strength and energy, Sandra’s, Stefano’s, Fabiano’s, Elisa’s, Luka’s, Marta’s, Jeremy’s, Chiara’s, Gino’s, Marco’s, and mine, and Veronica’s, Alice’s, Marcello’s, Giacomo’s, Paolo’s, Sergio’s, introjected by the walkers of the ramps, a big snake whose spires, tended in reflective torsion, envelop the space, from the inside, dynamic canalization, have released the waves towards the outside, and the water, well, we’ve seen more than a few drops, it quickly vaporized on the branches, the pine needles, the trunks, feeding the cloud again (and thus we were the ones inside it, we’d say, to weigh now the sky, and not the other way round: it was more loaded downstairs, and the dark unwound, clearly, in light).

#dolomiticontemporanee #borcaproject