One year ago I made a work for this exhibition but I recently decided not to exhibit it. I realized it wasn’t good and it didn’t mean anything to me anymore. Either I changed or the world changed: what’s the difference? A few weeks ago I proposed another work but it didn’t seem good either. Everything collapsed inside of me. Doubts about my art. Doubts about my intentions. What do I want to say? How can I be authentic? And what’s authenticity if I keep saying that the self doesn’t exist and that we contain multitudes? They asked me to talk about the storm. Here’s the storm. The exhibition opens in less than two months and I’m paralyzed. I don’t know who I am anymore. It’s not about art, my whole existence is trembling. Do you want art to be political or very contemporary? What I can offer is the total inability to understand myself and the world. The words multiply, the voices overlap, I understand nothing. Everything burns inside of me. Hopeless, I have no choice but to confess everything, to be pathetically sincere. Chaos has emptied me, I’m lost at sea. As I drown I wonder if there’s anything left to do but this: to admit defeat, to expose my weaknesses, to make myself vulnerable. With these words I seek a connection with those who read them. With these words I ask to inhabit the storm together.
Photography (3): Lorenzo Placuzzi