Sveva’s magic eye
Once we were objects, now we are things.
Once we were footprints of life destined to vanish; now we are messengers of time. Once
we were stains, dapples, vulgar smirches, mute marginal and obsolete presences,
incurable wounds on unattended remains;
We are now footsteps of surviving memories stolen to oblivion, thin traces of daily
existences turned into revelations, improbable signs of time moved up to chimeric narrative
Once we were ordinary slaves, now we are decent patricians.
From obedient servants we turned ourselves into meaningful protagonists; from objects
having careless indifference we became subject to a tender care; from stigmata of
indifference we turned ourselves into symbolic treasures of domestic life.
Rituals of transfiguration for magical emancipation overwhelmed our miserable existence.
Sveva’s magic eye turns our silence into words;
Endless words, as our messages are inexhaustible;
As much messages as people prepared to listen through their eyes;
As much talking epistles as the eyes that listen to them;
Fairy tale missives, telling flaps of a happy existence in imaginary places.
Sveva’s magic eye crosses the doors of our sorrow;
In our hidden identity it captures the signs of our nobility;
It spies our future from behind the fences of our abandonment;
It discovers our fate in the metaphors of our guise;
It outlines the boundaries of our new dwellings;
It reveals the relationships with fine art ancestors.
Transfiguration rituals for the initiation to life.
Sveva convenes, announces, and launches, calls.
She traces the route of our aimlessly wandering;
She offers unexpected complicity with improbable friends;
She instils our ghosts in celestial trammels;
Then, with melancholic love and discrete pride, she opens up the doors of the world.
- Display exhibition: Move