I trust to Nature. I recover my place when I’m received, recognized as a sister. To walk, to gaze through, to gather a leaf, a stone, a grain on the ground, it’s like to kiss lightly the beloved ones. To draw a part of them closer to me, to lead it by the hand into my own world to look at its colors together, that’s the sweetest game to open a passage among realms and languages, to find yourself near, the same matrix, same marks. This is the ecology of my heart in the heart of the Earth. Every other instance comes later.
Shield from the world or canvas where to represent signs and drawings of my imagination, closely in contact with the body the cloth remains impressed by traces from insubstantial spaces and on instinct becomes a dress, a second skin that swings between chosen and imposed role, among acknowledge forms and unconscious signs.
Walking in nature with no aim than observing and listening to clues on the identity of the place, you chance to stay certainly daunted. Somewhat as it happens in front of the kaleidoscopic world of natural dyeing, so remotely ingrained with the human history yet so complex. Nevertheless, if you let the technical issues slip to the background and open yourself to the spurs aroused by walking the landscape with the help of a leading guide, well you run the fascinating risk to find your point of view completely changed in just a weekend.