We are before a thin and monumental presence of a life now worn out by the inexorable change of seasons. All is silence, the shadows grow longer, there is nothing but stillness. A concrete equal to the mirage appears, a memento mori that is still a symbol and representation of existence.
"Hours that passed slowly, interminably, with his gaze turned to the door of the studio as if at any moment the ghosts of the archive must appear (...) close your eyes and discover the universe in the dust that lies on top of things, in a bottle, in a jar or in the fibres of a leaf. Hours and days spent waiting uselessly in torment. (...) Morandi wanted to return, at least for a few moments, to his old room, in that laboratory of solitude that had seen him work for fifty years. On the easel there was his last still life, on a shelf the three objects were still in position."Franco Basile
A dusty blanket envelops the space, which imposes itself sharp and decisive, raw and verisimiltudinous, with a neorealistic force. The opacity of the painting makes reality visible, understandable and possible, makes it ours, makes it authentic.
The composition is intimate and humble. A nostalgic feeling echoes in our hearts, perhaps something that we have never possessed, but that we have eternally desired and lost.
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