Thursday.
Fondazione Elpis.
I arrive around 6 pm.
At the entrance, a kind young gentleman in a tuxedo is waiting for me. He opens the door.
I walk through the courtyard and then catch sight of a little castle surrounded by a radiant, fragrant garden in bloom.
I enter. Immediately, I feel the sun, although night is almost falling.
Elpis has something zen
about it.
Solar. Spring. No dust, no darkness, no fog.
Everything clear as fresh air. This was my first sensation.
I look around at the exhibited works. Everything feels measured, with just the right amount of elegance. Unpretentious. Finally, I find a place in Milan which really makes me feel like I am coming home. Warm. Soft. Sunlit.
Every room has its own energy, pulse and structure.
Exhibition included works by Giammarco Cugusi, Sarah Margnetti, Luca Petti, Maria Positano, and Lorenzo Zerbini, curated by Veronica Botta. Another exhibition, curated by Ruggero’s Threes Production – Raptor del Sol by Carlota Gadea Marqués, explored sound, volcanic landscapes, and mythology.
The work by Carlota Gadea Marqués was the most poetic and the one that moved me the most
I wonder whether her poetic sensibility comes from her surname and a possible blood relation to Gabriel García Márquez. In a hundred years, I may discover whether the difference of a single letter in their surnames made all the difference, and contributed to her sensibility. His surname ends in Z. Hers in S.
Then I step outside to drink some water. Elegant waiters, all wearing soft smiles, are serving pita verde and those Italian crackers whose name begins with an F. I have forgotten what they are called, but they are excellent when your blood pressure drops, as mine does. Salty little things to bring you back to life.
Then, at the entrance, I spot Stephan.
Stephan, life is short, but you are not. That’s what I said to him. We hugged each other, and he said it was a good line.
Then I meet Linh, Simone’s wife and the mother of a sleepy beauty I keep encountering outside Eataly, always in the same position. Simone is on the phone, the bicicleta parked outside Eataly, while the sleepy beauty, with her overdone pale-blue nails, sleeps on her bicycle by herself.
Then Ruggero appears, just as tall as Stephan.
I repeat the sentence:
Ruggero, life is short, but you are not.
I like repeating things when they sound good to me.
Then Ruggero says he must introduce me to someone.
It was Marta. We shook hands and exchanged smiles.
Then Ruggero said: Julija, this is Marta. Marta, this is Julija. Julija, please send your portfolio tomorrow to Marta, and then Ruggero left. He was as short in introduction, as he is tall.
Then Marta writes her email address in my notes. Her surname is Oliva.
I tell her I love olive oil, and her surname.
Then Linh and I go to get something to drink. I take John Cage water, she takes prosecco. We talk about feelings and the sky, and a bit of astrology. We agree that we will have pumpkin soup at Casa degli Artisti on sunday, before my departure for Paris.
Then Mila arrives with her friend Jana.
We meet.
I go back inside because the performance is supposed to begin soon.
As we wait for them to let us down the staircase, a huge crowd forms. In the middle of all those people, I spot Massimo Torrigiani, Ruggero Pietromarchi, and Stephan Crasneanscki standing together, so tall they look like the Holy Trinity.
I take a paparazzi photograph of them from a distance.
So I asked ChatGPT to recreate them as saints, based on photo I had taken. I asked to create image called:
LA SANTISSIMA
SONICA
TRINITÀ
and then, with its famously infallible precision, AI of course mixed up who was who. Ruggero became Massimo, Stephan became Ruggero and Massimo became Stephan.
AI behaved as if it were our first date, so nervous that it mixed everyone up in the photo.
In the end, I began to wonder: does it even matter whether we have an identity, or can we all be someone else for a day?
Then, outside, I saw Vinicius, a member of my Kuboraum family
with glass of wine he was standing with friends who were so sweet.
All their names began with A.
They asked me: and what’s your name?
I’m Anne I said, not wanting to interrupt the beautiful procession of A-names.
Then I confessed that I was lying, that my name was actually Julija, but that tonight I could be Anna or Aurora or Aphrodira.
And so we began giving new names to everyone who arrived whose name did not begin with A.
For a little while, we could all be somebody else.
Then I left on my green horse – Lime bicicletta for ICA Milano to see book presentation of Francesco Bertocco.
But just as I arrived, the moment I entered the ICA hall, applause began, signalling the end of book presentation.
Keanu Reeves appeared on my left as I walked in.
I was so surprised to see Keanu Reeves in Milan, at ICA. What a breaking news!
He was dressed all in black.
The elegance of The Matrix, like black Parian marble.
Through the air, I sensed smell of Byredo. I got a brivido.
Then, It turned out that this was the only reason I had gone there: to see Keanu Reeves. Because, honestly, I hadn’t understood a single thing in Italian during the book presentations. Keanu Reeves had to leave ICA because he had to head to Friuli for a ping-pong tournament. I had spent only 3 and a half minutes at ICA. Then, I left too, outside, my obedient green horse, Lime bici, was waiting for me and took me very quickly back to the Elpis Foundation. Only an 8 minute bike ride from ICA to Elpis.
Then, on my way back to the Elpis Foundation, I came across an intervention in the space bearing the words: TU SEI FUTURO. It was a sign by the side of the road that gave me hope for the future. A bright future, spelled out in enormous metallic-silver letters.
I returned to Fondazione Elpis for the second time that evening.
I parked my obedient green horse outside.
The same man opened the door.
I entered.
Home again.
People. Smiling faces.
Then one face full of sun. Marina Nissim.
We met. I told her:
I love the sun in your smile.
This was the beginning of a conversation
that lasted until the end of the evening.
Her parents were Greek.
I immediately understood the smile.
Greek: perhaps a solar inheritance.
Sun genes. Generosity.
While we were talking about lullabies, her son called her on a phone. When she finished the call, she showed me a photo of her grandson, a little fluffy cloud. Then a waiter kicked us out of the foundation because we were holding glasses inside, which was forbidden. The waiter had no idea that Marina was the owner of the foundation and was perfectly entitled to carry her glass inside.
What I liked about Marina:
No ownership.
No announcement.
Only grace, spontaneity,
and the sun in her smile.
Then I saw it on the wall:
an enormous sun, an installation by an artist
whose name I have forgotten.
Marina, you couldn’t have commissioned a better self-portrait. That is you. That’s what I said and took a photograph of her beside it.
Two suns in one day, during the night. The arithmetic of grace.
I love the sun. I love people.
I love life.