Bologna, Italy / Weimar, Germany
Medium video - colour, sound, 16:9 - duration 00:10:00
The video gives an overview of a difficult relationship between two brothers, characterized by long periods of silence and, presumably similar perspectives on life.
The result is a colliding ghost of two figures reflecting on their own introspective thoughts, ideas and feelings.
The two informal monologues merged together give birth to a single-line cryptic poem [see bottom of the page].
F R A T E L LO i got back to smoking. i used to believe myself to be stronger. ‘cause I’m weak. i choose not to speak, about myself. socializing even without the pacifier. i don’t like listening to me complaining about myself. there’s always a need for safety valves. i like drinking. my father also loved drinking. a collection from Fernando Pessoa’s poems. a crowded solitude. i’ve never been able to fall in love. i feel myself as a crowded solitude. small simple gestures, without fairy tales. laughing so laud you can hear far way. a gift from my father was craziness. it was all false in the sky. all out of keeping with flowers, trees and stones. always dying with a crown of thorns all around the head. living as an artist for the rest of my life. too pretentious, too often. she hadn’t loved anyone before having him. she wasn’t a woman: she was a suitcase. i always end up not being able to open myself to people. the tough man, who can live alone, without any kind of help. it’s a fraud, and I’m quite tired. he’s a pretty child, cheerful and genuine. it’s so difficult being genuine. wondering about themselves and replying shortly, without fibbing. he taught me everything. he taught me how to look at things. he points out everything there’s inside flowers and shows me how stones have enchantments. he does badmouth god! he says he’s a stupid sick old man. always spitting on the floor and talking trash. certainly, money is a problem. all in the sky is stupid like the catholic church. i just need to be ok. beings only are. that’s why they’re called beings. how much do we need to be happy? much less than I think, less than I hope. the child who’s so human he’s divine. it’s because he’s always with me that I’m always a poet. you cannot always be merciless and rip people apart. also, you cannot always repress your feelings for the sake of peace among people. everything is worth. the eternal child is always with me. i do love life, I like it and I’d love living forever. and I can find also stupid things funny. and talking always about art gets me. all is absurd! he laughs at king and those who are not kings. and it hurts him to hear me speak of wars and commerce. those who feel like they have always to show off their artistic skills. deadly! he sleeps within my soul and sometimes wakes at night and plays with my dreams. when I die, my little son, let me be the child, the smallest one. keep me in your arms and carry me home. rather than proving yourself to be always interesting, if such a word has ever made sense. this is the story of my Child jesus. i just need this life to give me the time to figure out why in the hell I’m here. and what I can do to be happy, not to save the world. ‘cause I believe the world should be like that, like the story I’ve just told you. and I’d like to be more soft-spoken with my mother, my brother, my sisters. ciao.