May 19, 2009 19:00
Stazione Leopolda di Firenze | IT
within Cantieri Teatrali per Fabbrica Europa
If I walk through Naples (but it could be any other place, although it is not) for a whole spring day, many small things find their way into my nerve centres: little things I have seen, heard, smelt in the chaos that presses down on the city. Thinking this over, I come across two that sting the nerves of my imagination more than the others:
the violent scent of orange flowers emerging from the inner courtyards and the roof gardens that are invisible to anyone walking in the narrow streets, a scent which then materializes into huge masses of tiny white star-like flowers should I happen to enter one of these courtyards or gardens;
the violent, brutal stiffening in the youngsters when they play among themselves in the streets, that instantaneous rigidity of arm muscles and hands in an uncalled-for slap, of legs in a kick, of throats in a yell.
In their littleness, in their fleetingness, such things touch me at once, things that, at the precise moment of their appearance, are ready to disappear again without admitting any discourse, any meaning beyond being muscle, kick, slap, leg, hand, flower.
I believe that with nothing other than these and other minute things could I compose a theatrical piece that really concerns me (that really looks at me as I look at it)
Andrea Saggiomo