HORROR VACUI

A few minutes to the impact, the explosion, an implosion, an end, or perhaps a new beginning... We don't care. How much life can you concentrate, make you stay in those few / many moments of nothing? How hard do we actually try to make them important, about something intelligent? Being aware of having thrown away many, too many, until recently. Which memories emerge? Which are the important frames of a life? Which daily actions, without care repeated gestures, words and speeches become mantras, sounds, simple vibrations. Only now can now how to evaluate the waste: "I would have liked ..." Too late, game over.

We enter a smoky room, a suffocating atmosphere: a woman (perhaps a metaphor of a nation) alone, abandoned, dusty, stale, waits in the freezing wind, we don't know how long and what, but she believes her time has come. The old boots are one helpless, exhausted in the inability to leave, now one with the ground, perhaps frozen, nailed, glued. In the distance we perceive, rarefied and mixed in the wind: fragments and sounds of indelible moments of daily life... We see her and she recognizes us, we have been (perhaps) passers-by in her life, now memory’s incrustations; she is there, lost in her world that slowly thickens with details and memories up to an overdose, an epiphany, the "rebirth" before the “grand finale”, the last exhalation, the crumbling, the void. A few minutes to throw up your life without being too pathetic.

A performance-installation that amalgamates sound effects and body, making the viewer, in intimate contact with the performer, a voyeurist spy who participates in the stage act.

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