When I walk through the city, I sometimes look up at some illuminated or half-open window that reveals and at the same time hides unknown interiors.
So I would like to be a fly, something that can fly in and reveal the intimacy of others, otherwise precluded, to fill that desire, the yearning that pervades those outside, excluded at that moment from a hypothetical circle of affection, and satisfy my curiosity about the mysterious lives of others.
Then I reflect on it and think that, even if it were possible, it would still be nonsense.
What really fascinates me, however, is precisely the sense of mystery, the exclusion from situations that can only be imagined, the feeling of unfulfilled desire, and the infinite multiplication of the possibility of fantasizing about other people’s lives, and about my own by comparison, “E il naufragar m’è dolce in questo mare”.
Much sweeter than investigating and probably arriving in most cases at the flat truth of cheap interiors and not particularly interesting situations.
And then there is not only the view from outside: just as we imagine interiors and unknown people behind the veil of curtains or reflections, in the same way we can stand on the other side of the window and observe, or close it, or reflect on it.
I therefore liked to dwell, with the images I am presenting here, on the surface, on that boundary in which the window is at the same time the border between inside and outside but also a point of passage, charged with all the ambivalence of the relationship between “inside” and “outside”.
