CHI SI SENTE NUDO
Who feels naked? The vest, the daily one, or the Sunday – dress, the ”I’m like that”, the “who do you think I’m”, or the “I feel like that”, it’s an acquired and unconscious prosthesis, a not removable skin. Layers left on our mind are many more than the ones that have covered our bodies.
Codes, messages, masks, credentials, identities, expectations, promises, escapes, attempts, negotiations, questions... And nudity becomes glamour, built shape, credit. Self sense , sense of things, of others, is always dressed, maybe more and more dressed, as far as liberation, the continuous changing of layers acquired will lay the dummy bare, together with the subtle power that ties it up. Ambiguity cannot be solved this way.
If dress expresses, shows, seduces and frees bodies in the social seraglio, at the same time it covers, defends, protects.
And as soon as we offer our smile fulfilled and firm like someone feeling comfortable, we've already lost our face, the understanding of the game, but even more of the player, of ourselves.
It's impossible to find a way out, because even if we dress in rags or like twenty years ago, the expression 'look at that one', more or less manipulated and conscious, will reach us relentlessly, restricting our space, our routes. Then ok, being they uncertain sings, dissolving veils, shadows dressing us naked; indefinite uncertainties, like silences, where you can lose yourself in meditation. The recall of the vague as a way out, as a chance of the beginning, even if on a known or an ambiguous background.
Then we'll dress up or not; it doesn't matter. Dress coming and going: it stops, flies, arrives.
Taking on, crossing, subverting the shadiness, one inside another one, the ambiguity of a mutual belonging.
Then someone could reach us where we'll actually are.