What is in the sky is within the earth.
Perhaps blue, infinite water, a life in reverse.
Maybe I say, I try, I preach.
Dug the earth,
a primordial cave, from where man comes out as a newborn and knows nothing and wants to discover something,
but what he finds is explosive, it damages the earth.
A vivid wound lies within the human being, a reminder of what he lost by falling from his universe.
And he remembers the pleasure of being alone with Nature but never rediscovering that pleasure and he sinks into the atavistic pain of being alone.
I see sincere tears, lights of various colors, screens full of numbers and hopes, hopes.
Come out of the nest, lonely wanderer, come out of the wolves' den, out of the mud pond, come out of the buried sky.
Be blue too.


They tell us that to be really strong, to make sure that nothing can scratch us, we need to expose our weaknesses. Making our weaknesses into strengths, and I find it right. But, what I'm really wondering is whether it's always the best choice.

From my point of view, the world is divided into two large groups, those who, despite the fact that they can sink the blade into your wounds, decide not to, and those who take pleasure in raging. I have to deal with this second category of people every day of my life, how do I survive? Well, I tried to show my wounds as scars of war, a war inside me that I fight every day, and it destroyed me, annihilated me. Carthago delenda east.

But once we let our guard down, we take off our armor, how difficult it is to put it on again, how much effort it costs to be able to tighten all the straps, lower the visor and take up a sword, like a crusader fighting for the Church, of which we are the divinity. Instead we would just like to lie on the arid earth, among the dust raised by the wind and know that the war is over, that the wounds will close and that no more blood will be shed.

And while the body tries to stay still while conserving energy, the mind anxiously tries to find an escape route from the enemy fire that constantly besieges us, a quick escape route, a place to go that is not necessarily physical, rather dreamlike. I don't know where to go, where to take refuge when I can't find escape routes.

When the castle is now under siege, where does the King flee? The King escapes into the dungeons, and from there he arrives in a safe place where they take him away. So the dark dungeons become the ideal escape route for those who have lost a war. Only by going down to earth can one return to life, one can hope to start something again.


Not safe as help, as to save you, perhaps from the very beginning I could not save you, from your mystery, your thoughts … bastards able to obscure all that was beautiful around you. I didn’t rush to understand how you didn’t rush to see how I saw you, fragile, alone, confused, but you loved and I didn’t have a message, I didn’t send a message when uncertainty prevailed. Some of the most famous, mysterious, mysterious. Secondly, I was just a fragile troop for this world, a world that is not capable, which is not in the degree of good luck, and you are why I do not love, but you love me, that it is part of this world, so tell me, how is it possible? I would like to feel you at the same time love you.
I fell into one of my pathetic periods of closure. Often, with human beings, good and bad, my senses simply detach, they get tired: I let it go. I am polite. I nod yes. I pretend to understand, because I don’t want to hurt anyone. This is the weakness that got me the most trouble. Trying to be kind to others I often find myself with a ribbed soul, reduced to a kind of dish of spiritual noodles. It does not matter… My brain shuts down. I listen. I answer. And they’re too dull to realize I’m not there …
Porcupines huddle together to fight the cold. Their body, however, is covered with sharp spikes, which causing them pain, forcing them to move away. This is the paradox of porcupines, their need to be close to each other while hurting themselves. Schopenhauer tells it and then Freud is also interested in it, because the same happens in human relations. The closer we get to another, the more we risk being hurt. The pains of one become the pains of the other, the quarrels hurt like quills, and force one to leave. But during the winter, the cold continues to loom, and porcupines left alone risk dying. They then decide to huddle, even though they are aware of getting hurt. The dilemma arises from the paradox: what is the right distance to keep from others? Porcupines will stop suffering when they find the correct distance, not too far away so they don’t freeze, and not too close so they don’t get stung. Even if it hurts, we need others. The closer another person is to us, the more we open up to them and let them be part of us, the more we risk colliding with pain. The more we love, the weaker and more at risk we are, but despite our wounds, love saves our lives. We need to have someone close, but without straying too far from ourselves, from what we are and what we want.
Men were born and raised in a cave, they are chained, then forced to remain imprisoned there, always in the same position. Behind them is a fire that reflects before their eyes the shadows of what is happening in the outside world. This is all they see. One of them, however, manages to free himself and comes out, he is dazzled by the sunlight and sees nothing, he wants to go back to the cave, since he believes only what he had there is true and good. This tells the myth of Plato’s cave. The cave represents the daily life in which we are all imprisoned. The man who comes out of it sees the truth of things, but does not understand it. If none of us are aware of what is in front of us, it is as if that did not even exist. It is not easy, but how many times, perhaps, we find ourselves in front of a happiness, a satisfaction, a kind gesture, a truth, and we do not realize it because it is easier to settle down in our daily life, in the thought that everything is wrong and wrong . It is easier to be sad than to struggle to be happy. It is a gesture that requires effort, violence, but it is definitely worth it. In fact, Plato continues to tell that if man were forced to stay outside and open his eyes to what he sees, over time he would be able to recognize everything, the sun would no longer blind him. And once he saw it, but never would he want to go back to the cave. Even if he did so, the other prisoners would not believe him, they would even be willing to kill him. This is because it is a choice that depends solely on us. We must learn to love what we have and which, too many times, we don’t even recognize. Happiness is a choice, we must have the strength to make it, only in this way will we find our sun.

( All artworks by Kate McDowell)

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