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Trama Siciliana

Trama Siciliana

Once a year, in this little corner of the world, I can find in the cracks of space and time that magical realism to which I commit my photographs, hoping to reveal that imaginary requiem I keep dreaming of.

The procession is then gone, becoming the funeral itself: the dead Christ has become the Mother, the smoking men are now Fathers, and Brothers are now everywhere. There is no definite solution to these images which cannot be translated, becoming an obsession that keeps me away from sleeping for the 48 hours I consume in Trapani. Dream and reality blur together, and I no longer know what is real and what is not in the harbour’s maze at dawn.

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