Civitella Ranieri
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More than this chaos, I feel that the world was always spinning, in and out of our control. In what direction? How fast or slow? How do we get on or off this complex web of design, dysfunction, destruction, death—and dreams? And what of our dreams? Like cosmic dust, my Black matter isn’t metaphysical, rather, I stretch the liminal space between message and myth. I know that when our politicians and pundits have failed us, artists have always led the way home.
We are, this place is, more than castle.
It is essential.