work
I wish I weren’t afraid, and yet I am terrified
| category | Video |
| subject | Political / Social |
| tags | |
| minutes | 17 |
| seconds | 35 |
| year | 2025 |
I chose clay in a liminal state, almost on the verge of disintegration. It is a primordial material, ready to receive the gesture and to retain its trace. I did not write, I struck. I did not engrave, I allowed my hand to sink in, imprinting words and marks in a single action. My intent is neither decorative nor expressive in a romantic sense. It is archetypal. What remains on the surface is not calligraphy, but memory, akin to Neolithic wall paintings, where human beings asserted their presence through direct contact with the material of the world. Thus, my phrase is nothing more than an act inscribed within the matter itself.
This statement, seemingly intimate, is not a confession, it is a primary utterance, drawing strength from its visceral dimension. Fear is not an obstacle here, but a starting point. It is the fundamental emotion that precedes reflection, the one that unites every living being and, precisely because of its radical nature, can become a critical tool. The gesture that generates it is simple and yet essential, immersing one’s hands in the earth and writing. The margins of the sentence blur into the smudges of clay, the edges are uncertain, just as the boundaries between inside and outside, between the self and the world, are uncertain.
It is a question cast into space, a symbolic act situated at the crossroads between language and matter, between instinct and thought. The archaic nature of the medium, a mixture of mud and water, evokes the need for a pre-linguistic form of affirmation. Before grammar, before narrative, there is the pressure of the hand on the surface. There is the body seeking, through contact, a validation of its existence. Within this tension between fragility and necessity, my work situates itself in raising a reflection on what we call emotion, on how language betrays its complexity, and on how, at times, only matter, especially in its humblest and most unstable forms, can become the vehicle of a truth that is not subjective, but shared.
This statement, seemingly intimate, is not a confession, it is a primary utterance, drawing strength from its visceral dimension. Fear is not an obstacle here, but a starting point. It is the fundamental emotion that precedes reflection, the one that unites every living being and, precisely because of its radical nature, can become a critical tool. The gesture that generates it is simple and yet essential, immersing one’s hands in the earth and writing. The margins of the sentence blur into the smudges of clay, the edges are uncertain, just as the boundaries between inside and outside, between the self and the world, are uncertain.
It is a question cast into space, a symbolic act situated at the crossroads between language and matter, between instinct and thought. The archaic nature of the medium, a mixture of mud and water, evokes the need for a pre-linguistic form of affirmation. Before grammar, before narrative, there is the pressure of the hand on the surface. There is the body seeking, through contact, a validation of its existence. Within this tension between fragility and necessity, my work situates itself in raising a reflection on what we call emotion, on how language betrays its complexity, and on how, at times, only matter, especially in its humblest and most unstable forms, can become the vehicle of a truth that is not subjective, but shared.
