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u n T I l T h e e n d
o F T h e W o r l d
F i r s t n o t e s o n
t h e r e s e a r c h o f
F r a n c e s c o F o n a s s i
There were hours spent together. No
matter if daytime, nighttime, or dawn. Some-
times I left the palazzo after the computer
monitor had already shown three films and
the morning had caught us asleep on the
couch. Other times I would get up in the af-
ternoon to go to work or do some other busi-
ness, while you were still sleeping.
I seemed to have a hangover in my head, of
words and images that I couldn’t get rid of.
He counted only dialogue between you and
me. There was a contrast of a continuous com-
parison. The only requirement was the con-
centration on our thoughts.
Throughout these moments, ranging from the
preparation of a risotto – because it was you
who taught me to cook one –to long discussions
on art, these was a sense of time standing still.
I find this same sense in your work.
It seems the ancient Greeks did not care
much about time. They did not seem to be
particularly concerned about defining if so-
mething arrived too early or too late. They
didn’t feel the necessity to place an event in
a specific past, present, or future.
Time was secondary, arriving later, with lin-
guistic categories of minor importance, and
existed only as an aspect of that particular
way to feel the reality that affects our interest
in the beginning and end of things, not as a
point on a timeline where you could fix them.
We could even extend ourselves to say that
because of these views it’s clear the only thing
that matters is action itself. How it starts, how
it is performed, how it ends, and what is left.
*
You make me think of a winged being, Fo-
nassi. You prefer the big empty spaces, where
you can pointedly interject yourself. Barely.
You like openness. I doubt you're aware of it.
The respiratory system of birds is different
from other members of the animal world, in
the presence of air sacks. Distributed a bit
all over their bodies and partly in their pro-
longed bones, they are in constant connection
with the lungs and perform various functions:
they perform the regular breathing of the
bird – which has very different patterns de-
pending on whether it is in flight, soaring, or
in the rest position – they act as an oxygen
reserve, they cool the tissues, and they lighten
the animal’ s body. Thanks to these sacks,
some species can fly to unimaginable heights,
without being overwhelmed by the extremely
thin oxygen concentration.
Indian geese, during their annual migration,
manage to reach an altitude of 6,437 meters.
We must not forget this air when we are in
front of one of your works. Because they are
full of air. And they have hollow bones.
*
The complexity of years of work cannot be
translated in a few words. Attempting to do
so would be an exasperating and reductive
activity. Also, if I wanted to summarize your
thinking, I would surely organize it into divi-
sions that would not suit you.
To be able to understand, or at least intuit,
the nature of work, gives a feeling of pleasant
intoxication. I entrust myself to it.
A man and a woman come to an agreement
on the same tone for fifty minutes. They do
not see each other. Their only task is to con-
tinue regulating a vocality. To act as a bridge.
Their restrained tone immediately becomes
a thin membrane that embodies the equiva-
