Gilgamesh meets Urvasi and thus cancels all forms of past archaeology, all chimeras of the future. Everything is! Gino (De Dominicis) sees into the imagination of the mind, two-thirds divine (in any case, unfathomable and symbolic) and one-third human (specular and enigmatic) and seeks the path that leads from mortality to immortality. Find And with it, he proceeds. He remembers it and lives with it. He makes work from it and produces with it. He names it and sounds with it. He touches it and finds treasure therein. Thus, for all time, for his entire time. Name, for him, is Divinity, is Uruk. Landscape is Gaia, is Garden. Within it, there is concrete soul: clay, sand, mud. There is abstract soul: dream, image, vision. Leonardo (da Vinci) in Principia He says that everything is undefined, mutable, as if different realities were real, different eyes: waves and dolphins, clouds and horses, lightning of life, darkness of the unknown. Art is artifice, unique, unique, impression, phenomenon, invisible noumenon. Appearance and novelty. Memory and arche. Topos is lyrism. Logos and delirium., translated by signs and contrivances, so that the forest becomes a garden, a city, a journey, true not true, truer than true; or, shadow by shadow, blacker than black, a nothing.
And so, the wind of time is born, invisible, detested by joys, too brief, and sorrows, infinite and damned. To the third eye, which knows how to count, one, two, three. A cleansing that purges and destroys, logos in topos and topos in logos, of a universe that embodies and contemplates, a spy of chaos, which is deep cosmos, of chance which is surely, destiny. A fatal encounter, between the body's filters and the mind of the work, observed and in turn observing. I think of Gino and Paul comes to mind. For the mysteries and secrets of mental associations. De Dominicis and Valery. Distant, near, opposite and overlapping; but how, I don't know, I don't see, I don't feel. Ghosts of the mind that selling at the market, I lay them out, I pretend them, I put them on an altar as a second solution, of immortality, which could not be spoken of, except after tea time. Dressed in black, in Rome in August and in the months always; so much so, everything is a circle, a ring that senses the Ouroboros, He who impregnates himself, marries himself., it interfaces itself, Because “Rome was founded by the Sumerians”, like flying deer, sphinxes giving oracles. Because everything is a dream.
KLESSIDRA | EDITED BY FRANCESCO GALLO MAZZEO
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