A classmate of mine drew up on the paper a big tree, with a dense foliage and some red fruits in it. All around were amazed that the colored pencil, his fingers was holding to fill the foliage hatches with, was blue. I thought it was just great, with very expressive results. A children’s book telling about a girl was living in Solferino square at Turin and leaving for safari in Africa, wearing a camera around her neck. ... We had a big mirror, in a wooden baroque styled frame. At the top of it a little hole arch-door shaped, my mother usually was filling it with short olive branch in Easter celebration. One night I dreamt about it, very probably coming back from a seashore holiday trip, cause I was usually seating in my father car looking back the road flowing away from sight; … there were many houses, colored lights, like running through the end of the tunnels on the way. I dreamt about the hole in the mirror frame, dreaming of it as it was a magic tunnel overflowing with wonderful things. Flash-back from childhood, among the oldest images I remember. … The power of images to transfigure reality; and with those, our natural readiness to depict the world in a continous journey. That's with a special focus on that place that isn’t there, what is not only one thing one step at the time but fairly more things in only one at the same time. Lifetime is crowd in images, dreams are made of images; pleasant things or cruel they are.
