Piotr Pavlenski. This is the man. He nailed his private parts on the paving stones staying there for one whole hour to protest for the political paralyzation of Russian people. Previously he wrapped his naked body in barbed wire as an image of the power of government has on society, hurting at the most minimum movement. And before that, he sewed his mouth to support the Pussy riot action. This last one had site specificity: it was in front of the cathedral in which the Pussy riot group did what brought them to prison (singing against Putin in that orthodox cathedral).


Private space, a space of freedom.

A working space in which we decide what to leave in and what to leave out. Porous but filtered space, since the world outside needs to enter, like a house needs to open its windows to let the light in. In our inner world we need to let the outside enter. We might want to filter those invasions, but to grow, to understand, we need to let the outside in. The world outside is our mirror, we would not know ourselves without it, we need that world to challenge us and then we can perceive our limits, our possibilities.

A resting space, being  inside that private space gives our only rest, because we can close the door and go to bed, or we can close that door and do whatever is up to us, the limits of the ethic fade, we can just do what we feel is appropriate, and also we can do something not appropriate, and that will not be anybody else business. We can have everything neat or we can have just a mess. It depends on us if we decide that that space is O.K. for us. Big, small, just living in a corner of it, or not leaving any corner visited and revisited.

How much space occupies “our” space? Just our mind, our mind and heart, our body. And more: our corner, our room, our working space, our whole house, our house and garden, our favorite corners of the city, our office, our classroom, our city, our country, our western world, the whole earth. It depends on our context, and we can feel at easy everywhere.

And also our private space is the room our beloved have for us to occupy. The strange and ironic thing is that also our enemies belong to our space and we fight with them, and we cannot avoid giving them space inside us.

In our space there is also room for infinity an eternity. Transcendence and salvation, and even downfall into doom. Life, death and transformation.


Public space. A visible place. After we are born we cannot hide anymore, says the title of a movie. We play a role in a public space. We are judged by our behavior in a public space. We judge others in a public space. We want to be known in a certain way in a public space. We can pass, like in a plaza, we can stay and enjoy a performance, in a theater, we want to have a voice in a public space. We have rights and duties in a public space. Respect, justice. Space todeclare what we are, what we believe, what we enjoy. Terrell mall in concert time, in stands with social, political or economical purposes. All wanting to involve passing people to a relatively meaningful activity.


A liminal space. A border line space, a passing place  in which we cross path with whoever, and we just share with them the fact that we are human beings. Passing human beings. Each one with a different world. Sharing a moment in space and time. We can be very similar, or terribly different, the only thing in common is that short time, and that limited space. We share gestures in a liminal space. A waiting attitude: think of an elevator, or of a bus stop. We wait, we don’t know what to look at, we can share a irrelevant experience: it is cold today, sorry I bumped into you!, I apologize, did I bother you?, excuse me!, pardon! Our sight lost in the infinite, not to have anybody uncomfortable with us staring at him/her, if we feel the sight of others on us, we start wondering if something is wrong with us.

Is the Terrell Mall a public space or a liminal space? I think it might be liminal or public, depending on how it is used. A walking gesture, we walk from one place to another, infinite lines might represent our movement, parallel, diagonal, slow, fast, but always one foot ahead the other. We might be alone, or in company, but our movement is the same. Think in the Terrell Mall at changing class time during the midday. Movement of people brings life to a space that when is empty, feels very empty.



5 plastic bags. I lined them up, one over the other, and at first it was the closing, blue and violet that caught my attention, 5 lines, parallel lines,  I move the bags and I can have rays that spread from a unique center or just a disarray set of 5 lines. But later the lights and darks over the plastic surface. Some bags are smooth, one has a folded corner, another, even if new was not kept neat and offers an uneven surface, another one is not new, and was closed leaving some air inside. The light reflect different in each one. Transparent, allow our sight to pass thru, we cannot hide  anything inside them, or beyond them, they will show up. Whatever is inside does not go anywhere, it is tight, it restricts their movement. Whatever is inside loses their surface characteristics and let the plastic bag be their new surface.  If I insufflate air inside each bag and enclose it their volume and shape changes dramatically, instead of a flat surface I have a volumetric shape. If I clap a full and closed bag, I can make a noise leaving behind just a broken bag, with the weaker point open in a nasty way. I can open it, and close it, it can be useful, it can be reused. I can put inside air, liquid, solid things and the bag will change its feelings. I can put a dangerous material and limit its contact with other objects.


Our performance was planned on Saturday. The initial idea was me and Hiromi and one third person dressed up in black, with some black clothes in between us, moving around, making sculptural shapes. Hiromi thought that instead we could have a black sleeve joining us with colorful wide strings floating with our movement, but finally we got these black graduation like over clothes and we did what she called the dance of the spirits.

We set up two spaces for our performance: the hall in Fine Art, like everybody else, and the back, where there is a piano and where with found objects Hiromi set up the stage: a sculpture made of two red car parts, a metal net (that I loved) and 3 metal stick. Several other objects to make sounds, I got cymbals, there was a little bell and many metal cans with noisy stuff inside.

A random companion was our third person and the dance in the hall came out wonderfully. How interesting sound the three of us came up with our voices. Later, while Hiromi set up the camera, I led everybody to the back space dancing with a black scarf. All our companion-spectator took some element to make noise and some used the piano making sounds without using their fingers, and Hiromi and I danced around everybody, exchanging the dance-scarf and finally I slowed down the dance, using the cymbals until I lay down the floor.

Somebody asked if the spirit was dead, but spirit don’t die, they just rest!!!


Beautiful lines of a prosthetic limb:

fluency in the lines of a boat for wealthy people:

Kika by Amodovar (A Journalist who does “extremely violent live news” appears on TV with this explosive outfit) :;_ylt=A2KJkK2L.mNSPGMA4LOJzbkF;_ylu=X3oDMTFyNjZuZ2kwBHNlYwNzcgRzbGsDaW1nBG9pZANlNmRmNzVjZjFhMjU1MzViMzZhNTcxY2RhNDZlMjkyOARncG9zAzY0?

The skin I live in by Almodovar (A crazy doctor, makes many surgery on a young man he kidnaps to convert him in a woman. This surgeon uses prosthetic to enhance the new body of his creation. The doctors fall in love of his creation):;_ylt=A2KJkCGL_WNS2FEA67.JzbkF;_ylu=X3oDMTFyN3VyNG9yBHNlYwNzcgRzbGsDaW1nBG9pZAMxMGJlODg4YTc1YmRkMmJmMTA5ZDI1MTliZDgzN2Y2MwRncG9zAzY4?

An action of art, a simple performance. I think it should have a social meaning, very basic. That is why I thought in this one titled “Pleading for salvation”.

Step 1: a work in group with all the participants of the performance to have a brain storm about to whom or to what we plead for salvation: God, money, the university, the president of our country, the president of our university, etc. (it could be even for absolutely opposite things)

Step 2: Prepare a list in a long scroll of paper with to whom we plead and for what.

Step 3: The action. Al the participants are lined up in a triangular shape, but with the front corner marked with a circle. One person has the scroll in the center of the triangle, on the floor with a number of pens. At certain time, one by one, each person will go to the circle and will do one of the plead, joining the hands when saying what is pleaded for, and moving them up in the moment of the actual pray: Example: “Save me to prepare dinner, Mom I plead you for salvation!”. When all are done, we have to invite the people in the hall to make their own plead, and each person, after saying it out loud, should go to the center of the triangle to write it down.

This is to stress that all human being are “needy”, and we have to achieve what ever in a social way and inside our culture, and also a critique about all the ones who oppress us.

Do passing people realize the quality of what is in front of them? Probably they just infer that being offered in the street, all must just be just some cheap copy: BIG MISTAKE!!!


Was my heart in peace? Were my feet in peace? Were my eyes in peace?

My feet were tired, 5 hours tired.

My heart was turbulent: it is always like that lately.

And my eyes sometimes rest in details; other times go from one focus of attention to another.

I chose a work in front of a seat, feeling pity for my feet

But it was a storm for my eyes: Dust from a Water planet.

It looked like a runaway after a world, that seemed stable, had exploded, and now, it seemed that all us human beings were trying to escape, hopefully finding another planet, generous enough to receive our cold deadly mind.

A spatial ship. Yes it looks like some objects that we have put into spatial orbit; but a half of this one also might look like the bullet container of a revolver, at least at the eyes of somebody like me, who has never seen a revolver except in movies (and hope never see one for true).

Colors: red, the illusion of a metal ring in the inside that shows reflections of red, dark inside. The bullets, like cylindrical whitish shapes. On top of this figure a series of lined up green and cold pencils, flat, with the shape of a winged vessel, in the center nine or ten long pencils, one that is longer than the others and join different levels of the work, downward a line of pencils in a decreased length, up  a line of pencil pointed top, just cut at the base , no illusion of volume at that ending.  Green, flat cold, pointed left to run away for the mess.

I identify those pencils with the human beings who have allowed or have provoked all this mess.

Full of death, in the center, as a broken heart: an irregular shape that takes again the colors of what looks like the water planet behind the ship. The Earth? Light blue, red, yellow, violet, white. The Earth round and regular; that shape like a stain, like a wound, with two white blades pointed at almost opposite directions. 

Behind the planet, the explosion made of color dots. Flows of red; a violet and white shape among red shapes, with few dark dots at the left side, forming a kind of uneven shape, somehow balancing the round shape of the ship. At the right three waves, red and yellow the two at the bottom, pointed. Red with a white inside the other, it reminded me of the mouth of a mask. Dots, dust, shiny dust.

All around spatial darkness, broken at moments by dark human figures, recognizable in the reflections in the bottom of the glass covering the work, three of four light  on top and the architectonical lines of the room behind me. Once a man dressed in a soil-of Siena-outfit, passed in between the work of art and me.

If my feet and my heart would have been in peace, probably I would have retained the name of the author, the correct title and all the little information at the bottom right of the work. Now at ten hours of distance I cannot remember.

When I was going away, my final sight at a 10 degrees angle instead of at 90, changed everything: the illusion of volume disappeared, just the bright and contrasting colors were there. Even the green didn’t seem cold anymore.

I would have spent more time looking at the dust from the water planet, from this new perspective, if my heart had not been in turmoil and my feet had not been burning so much.

Interesting photographic work: Sleep of the lovers

CIMG6903How it might be to make a totem out of hands? We walk through the world building our life with our hands, they dig our roots, they form our works, they caress our beloved, we hold ourselves until we see the need of extend those same hands to the sky toward our creator.


At first I thought to rend it throughout temperature: a light warmth. But easily it becomes an orange yellow feeling, too warm, until it burns in red. And if we go cool, just to drive into the opposite direction, it becomes white-ish, and a white blue.

In landscape paintings the sky yellow and bright remind us of the spiritual world beyond earth.


The acidic feeling of the lemon came to my mind, and its fresh aroma. It is nevertheless a yellow that goes into green too easily. Same as the yellow green fresh feeling of the wheat just looking at the first light of the world, green until it becomes yellow again, but this time it is warm, it is the golden yellow feeling of the mature grain and straw.