“Attese” (Waitings) was the word that completed the title of Lucio Fontana’s works called “Concetto spaziale”. I often wondered what he was waiting for or seeking. Also, if this something came directly from the cuts or the holes he made in the canvas during the act of cutting or making a hole, as if they were doors or windows. And was it someone, something, or the condition of a state of mind, the practicing of a hint, of a new space where to live and move, not producing anything? That is, a space of static idleness. Waiting is a common feeling in the people of the south. It’s not a passive behaviour, on the contrary, it indicates faith in something the imagination constantly delays in future time and space, like a spaceship lost in the sky, wandering before finding the right orbit that will take it home.
We, in Matera, have waited five years before what we had imagined became real, a long but not wasted time, useful to reveal and understand each other devising shapes and images consistent with the space of the city. Useful to enliven underground sounds that seem to animate it like the muttering of an internal organ, hungry or ready to throw out the excess. In Matera, for me, everything happens beneath the surface. Two traffics flow parallel and indifferent to each other: one over the surface with lights and paved streets, one beneath vibrating with gurgles and broken splinters. I put, between the two, a filter that explodes like the cap of a jar that has kept a mystery for too long, and now throws the seal that fastened it toward the infinite. Inside the work, beside it, in front of it, we keep waiting for this seal to be returned to the open unknown space.