Site Development Emanuele Mancari © 2020 BAR, Torino
Press Release

"The hand, a home, OUCH!(Repeat)"

ouch ouch ouch stop it everything agony suffering humiliation oh
poor darling what will be of you what will be of everything you loved
cherished adored cared preserved nothing nothing nothing it will
all come to naught like nothing were the ambitions while all around
look how many of them built produced completed how many of them
honored this marvelous gift of life and yes just marvelous but maybe
for others ouch ouch ouch please stop it what did I do that’s so bad to
deserve all this impossibility to access cosmic amusement impossibility
to access the ritual of elevation impossibility to rule over boredom oh
all these inabilities are a real hassle a true hassle like all these boogers
I cannot take out of my nose I suppose I will mould the world out of
them the china on the cupboard is looking at me unmoved that doesn’t
help at all and no of course it cannot be done by sheperds or ponies or
teddy bears my dusty accomplices in this little punishment mitigated
by reassuring promises oh poor darling we will have our vengeance
despite my emotional hypersensitivity my shyness my loneliness
venom to my little compromised damaged spirit like wasp venom do
you remember it used to get so swollen when they stung me ouch ouch
ouch please stop

"The messy friend"

They’re gone. I will miss their bodies, their bodies completed mine
Made me whole.
Will my absence still be a presence, will they notice?
What will remain of this split, if not the memory of a marginality that
appropriated familiar places only?
The door was not closed properly, a forgivable oversight. The last
light of day enters the dim light of the room. Really tiny particles
of dust dance suspended and suspicious, certainly embellished,
certainly magnified by the golden reflection of dusk. Every mark on
this wooden floor is a hieroglyphic sign for a dream. Everything is so
beautiful and final, my extremities touch yours,
my silence obtains the approval of your silence, my heart is the
representation of plenitude.

"Why me?"

— What are you doing here?
— What you are doing
— Let’s wait
— Let’s wait, yes
— Patiently
— Wait, weren’t there six of us?
— The other three have already left
— Departed
— Set sail
— Someone must have simply selected them
— It can’t be worse than this
— That’s all you can hope for
— We are suffering
— Exhausted
— All rumpled
— In sadness we falter
— Let’s dance
— Let’s plan
— It happened eventually
— What?
— Experience
— What experience?
— The experience of
— But why did he stop?
— He’s delirious
— Has it always been like that?
— Yes
— Of surviving against evidence
— What evidence?
— That living was reckless
— Reckless?
— He’s just fucking nuts
— Even vulgar
— Even brazen
— What held us up turned out to be nothing
— Passions have not made us immortal
— Desolation is our milieu
— All this anxiety
— It’s never left
— It’s always remained unchanged
— Hereditary
— Tribal
— Even now
— Now, too
— Exceptionally now
— The afflictions
— Our pride
— Our medals
— Our poetry
— Will he ever leave?
— What?
— You can hear murmurs
— Something is swinging
— Something is trembling
— Maybe our moment has come
— Our moment will never come
— Maybe we’ve never even had moments
— Never
— Never
— Never

Text by: Mattia Agnelli
Translation by: Chiara Spagnol

Press Release