The worst drama in the world is the despair which is capable of making the body and spirit of the human being die. Despair is the best weapon that evil uses to annihilate man in dignity and in his worth to make him his own. In the modern world, despair has spread quickly, including not only some sections of society but a bit of everyone and, increasingly, young people. Despair, more than from a lack of material goods, comes from an inner loneliness, from an inability to communicate one’s feelings to the other (without falling into hypocrisy or the usual clichés), from not feeling loved or for the less popular: all this leads to an unbearable burden of life.) We know of people who did not lack wealth or success in the workplace, beauty, approval of others (people also from entertainment, cinema) and who nevertheless felt sun and despair. The desperation of one who feels grossly guilty towards society, who has done ignoble things, who feels an outcast, a rejection of society, without hope of salvation is one of the gravest forms. Here evil plays its best card, it already has it in its coils and is only waiting for the moment that he indulges in an intimate life of extravagance or an extreme act of suicide! Daily intercourse with others can lead to despair (misunderstandings, quarrels, betrayals). In reality, every human being in the world is like a universe unto himself (a city-state, if you grant me the term). We see people around us that we don’t know anything about, we don’t know who they are or their history. The body, like an armor, contains wills, feelings, tastes, aspirations, its own characteristics that others do not know (sometimes not even the same family members) We would like others to think as we do, have the same interests, food tastes, music, sports, political ideas, artistic choices and we marvel if they don’t appreciate or despise what we appreciate. Thus we discard from our life those who are not according to our model. We are now billions of people, all different (like fingerprints), strangers to each other with difficulty in communicating and sharing. Sometimes we have something in common or that we like about each other and friendships and falls in love are born but, at the first incongruity, they decay. True friendship and true love is that of those who understand that the other is different, accept and share this diversity by reconciling it with themselves. The body is a facade that often deceives, a mask that can hide the totally different interior. In our mind there are images of beauty that overwhelm us (as well as sounds, melodies) and it may happen that a person corresponds to this image and we are deeply attracted to it but the spirit of that person is unknown to us. A peaceful and married life is possible only if one person manages to “graft” his self into the other to continue living as a single individual while facing the daily difficulties that life presents.
Art is his need. An instinctive need to create. An instinctive need to be and communicate one’s being to others. Affirming its existence with the creative act is the only way for Amleta to live. Feeling such a force within oneself, an energy, an immense explosion, a storm that never settles down. A sea that is always stormy to its depths. Being a river in flood, dangerous for others, not accustomed to strong liquid currents, but a natural and splendid element for her. Art is its power. The power to create from nothing. To give life to what has never existed, which has never been seen, which has never been read. A sublime, divine, most envied power. Art feeds on souls. Art is insatiable, it is its fierce demon, and it has walked this path all its life looking for an escape. But you never get rid of art because only art makes it free and alive. It is like a second skin and if you take it off you become skinned and you cannot live anymore. Amleta has art in every cell, like a deadly virus, which never becomes a disease but which accompanies it throughout its life as a faithful travel companion. Art grinds the flesh, the spirit, the whole life. He raises it in the highest sky, being able to see without eyes, hear without ears, draw without using his fingers; and then makes it descend into the most terrible depths of the human abyss. Art is a miracle of life and death. Whoever possesses the gift is condemned to a parallel life. Amleta goes in and out as if from a window. She enters and exits herself, feeds herself to the pigs, gives her vital breath, remains in pieces and then begins again. Who would ever want such a life? Yet many envy it and do not know what it means to have the fire of inspiration that consumes! Art is its condemnation. She didn’t choose to start drawing, then painting, writing and playing at the same time. A dark force took his hands, and guided his dark energy. He was thus able to empty the pain he felt while living and to enclose it within his creations. Nothing remains of that period: everything burned. Unfortunately, something was saved from his subsequent dark periods, still not gone and up in smoke. Hamlet was born on a cursed island, in a sick country, and soon she got rid of her life and the pain took her far away, where she continued to suffer and create, create and destroy, herself, paintings, installations, plays, notebooks, sculptures, … Amleta creates and destroys what he creates. Hamlet is and is not at the same time. He yearns for this perennial creation and has tried several times to free himself from his prison without success. This gift, this power, this torment of colors and words, is the nectar of his days. Everything else is just a bitter side dish.
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 