I've always been interested in the exploring the various conditions of reality. What is in fact "real"? What isn't? Everything believable is real, at least in my life! I have been studying since a long time the concepts of reality and virtual reality. What connects them? What makes them alive? How do we approach one or the other? People are the common denominator. We make places alive. There would not be a city if there were no people inhabiting it. Making it alive. Virtual reality is something completely different but yet so similar. It is defined as "that which is not real" but is it really? I feel it is real, maybe lacking in different aspects but yet it is real. What you see might not be complete, yes, you can't smell it, you can't hear it, you can't physically feel it but it is there. On your screen. In your mind. In your imagination. Complete it! Do something!! I read somewhere that social networks such as Twitter are just a mere fake reality. Nothing real happens, since you are actually discussing, interacting with nicknames, with a screen. I know that...but behind a nickname, behind ideas there are real people. Interesting people with ideas, projects, dreams. Yes, you don't actually know them in the real world but they are there. They exist. I have lots of friends in the real world, and sometimes I think "what differs really from a realationship where you sit down next to each other talking about stuff or sitting down and talking to someone who is located in the other side of the world?" What about going to a party with your friends on a friday night, ultimately discussing about the same old stuff? What about going to a virtual party? Isn't that more interesting in a creative/constructive way? That's what's happening right now on twitter! A group of interesting people inventing a party, bringing art, interesting conversations, imaginaton, fun, laughs, music and drinks! I find this idea very interesting and creatively constructive! Imagination and words can make a great party! The Campari orange I'll drink is going to be real...that is certain!

What goes through my mind everytime I start a new "project".........

°{TRANS}~Formation ° Production °Physicality °Language

°Interaction °Circulation

°Spectacle °Heterotopia °Details

°Culture °Utopia ° Association ° Memory

°Reality °Space °Process °Reading °Directionality

°Consumption °Perception °Experience °Dimensions °Cartography

°Psychogeography °Existence °Time °{Con}~text

°Metaphors °City °People ° Perspective

°TooMuchCoffee °Overlap °Attempt °Partiality °°°

°Readers °Objects

My life, an ocean of thoughts, ideas, concepts, projects, funky stuff. Where will my brain drop anchor today? Everyday an harbour. My "boat" takes me to new places. Places? Spaces? States of mind?

Which Harbour will I discover today? Will it be easily accessible? Will I find heavy seas? Will the right wind accompany me? Who will I meet on the way? Other nomadic brains? A painter. A poet. A graphic Designer. An Architect. An Art lover. A Baritone. A book Addict. An Idealist. A performer. Dreamers. Whose destinies cross in a unexpected harbour.

Where will my brain drop anchor today? Will I meet you there? In an ocean of thoughts my nomadic anchor will find a creative and productive home. Even if I will not meet you there I know you left leaving a piece of your {hi}~story there. One day we will surely cross path again in another unexpected harbour.

These title is the one given to the last poetry in a book my grandmother wrote years ago. I started to read it this morning and suddently I've realized I didn't really know her. I didn't know anything about her beside the fact that she was a sophisticated intellectual (3 degrees, 5 spoken languages, writer, professor, historian...) and that she wasn't the sweetest grandma you could have. I knew she had an adoration for nature that she would collect( flowers, stones, leaves) and then draw with her enormous collection of pencils. I want to share her story with you, an incredible story. The photos are my way to look at nature, not designing it but capturing it. Something we had in common. And I realized it wasn't the only thing.

I guess she was sort of an enigma for many, including all the family members. Going through the pages of her book I actually came across the most beautiful poetries I've ever read. Deep, romantic but at the same time frightening, intellectual thoughts I didn't even know I shared with her. I suddently saw my grandmother as a totally different person from the one I knew. Then, the book ends with the {hi}story of her life and that of her {my} family. I was astonished when reading it. Who knew? Not even my mother! I learnt everything that follows this morning:

My Grandmother Barbara Metzeltin was born in Pola in 1910. The town was, at that time, under the Habsburg Empire and had the most famous military harbour. My grand grand father enlisted in the military and started working on the "Viribus Unitis". He participated to the war and, while the boat was sinking because of the bombing he was able to save himself by jumping down and swimming back to the harbour. Pola was conquered by the Italians . The grandgrand father survuved the war but disappeared without a trace for a long time. So myBarbara moved with the rest of the family to Moravia where my grandma attended schools.

After years her father shows up again and they all moved to Vienna. From what I can uderstand she was never able to fit in the city. After finishing high school she wanted to go to the Academy of Beaux Arts but she chose History, Antropology and Germanistic instead. She gets involved in different Intellectal groups where she found a little comfort in a city where she didn't like. In 1934 she graduated Summa cum Laude and she moves to Madrid to work as a lecturer at the local university. She meets my grandpa Günther (german) there.

The civil war started and they couldn't marry there since there were lots of burocratic complication they had to go through and they get married in 1936 in London. Luckily Günther 's family help with the burocracy and helped them get the necessary papers. His father was an engineer and the General Cirector of the Hanomag, a factory where they build trains.
They couldn't go back right away to Madrid since the war destried most of the place they moved to Switzerland as a temporary residence. Even if I am swiss, after reading what happened next I am disgusted about my country...said this the story goes on:

After couple of years the swiss government decides to kick them out because the war was over, not really caring that in the meantime 4 ckids were born. After years and years of humiating burocratic stuff, the government decides to give a permit to my grandma to stay in switzerland with the kids, but not to my grandpa, who had to wander around Europe like a solitary soul. My grandma though couldn't receive a working permit so...imagine her raising 4 kids... finally some good comes.

She had to go in search for help to the last place imaginable: the church. They helped her get a final paper for her and the kids, a working permit and she started theaching german in high school. She died in 2000. Admitting through her wrting that her place was not really switzerland, nor vienna but Istria. But Istria was not longer there. At least the way she remembrerd it. She left hundred and hundred of notebooks with drawings, writings, philosophical theories and, at the end, her last notebooks were all on a search of a deep meaning of life. On religion. Bad thing for all of us is that the notebooks are not all readable. She invented a code language only she and a couple of her dearest friend could read. They are all dead.

What I certainly understand now is that she wasn't the sweetest grandmother but she had s o much to give on an intellectual level. So many things I know I inherited from her. I write, I look, I wish my stuff were understood by many. Yet I didn't know her. Happy I do now.
PS: in 2009 my oncle Michael Metzeltin was honored with a "Laudatio" in the same room 65 years ago my grandma received her Summa cum Laude in Vienna. My oncle is the head of the Romanistic Department of the University of Vienna...

I was walking on a hidden street in the town of Cannobio, where I spend almost every weekend, when I saw a very colorful facade. Blue walls with a very powerful massive green entrance door. I tried to take a picture of the whole context but, I had only my 50mm macro lense with me. I divided the image in two pieces. And something got to me:

The big door, heavy beyond beliefs and a madonna holding a child on top of it.

The first, as a symbolic protection from the outside world, from the intruders. The second one a symbolic maternal protection. Yet the door was unlocked.

Luckily the madonna is always there, protecting the house. From what? From who?

It was while walking out of the theater the other night when I noticed the structure. A building in the cultural neighborhood. a structure used for spectacles, exhibitions and other events.

A very minimalist facade, simple materials and 2 words: "spazio officina" (workshop space). After capturing its exterior with my camera I started thinking about those words. In a way or the other we all deal with this terms.

We all live in a space, we all perceive it, we all see it. There are people who write about it, there are others who write it as architects and urban planners. It is definetely physical and obviously geographic but yet it is also mental. Psychological with its related phobias! Philosophical with its related theories. Space is everywhere.
Then I started thinking about the second word: "workshop" (officina).

I have a deep admiration for workshops as in the physical space where the messy action takes place! Materials, smells, objects, colors. But also works, creations, ideas and tools. Today I went to pick up my Vespa and the feeling of finding myself inside the mechanic's workshop was incredible. All kinds of tools, the smell of gasoline, strange pieces of engines that made me start dreaming about new ideas, new projects! My workshop is my office, yet it is also my home. I have mess in both places. Pieces of things I collect while wondering through cities, neighborhoods and places. Colors and paint, papers and wood, metal parts and so many tools!

Yet I believe my ultimate workshop is in fact my mind! It is a space isn't it? It is where the action takes place before putting it out in the world. Or on a piece of paper. Or on the memory of a pc. It's messy too there! But at least I do not have to use the vacuum! There is a lot happening in there! And all I know is that in my mind I can imagine anything I want...even colors and smells, noises and objects. Yes! My mind is my real workshop's space!

Some good music, a constructive conversation, interesting people and a good cold drink (maybe more than just one!) can really make an evening spectacular. It doesn't happen very often. But it did happen last night. I shot pictures to share with you. I'll describe my evening, I'll try to point out details and make you feel you were part of it too. Unfortunately though, the virtual world will omit very important details. Here you will not find smells, sounds, and no...you can't even touch the drinks on the tables! Yet maybe this particularity of this world is the best one! It's up to you to fill the gaps.
I was told, couple of days ago, that in my favorite spot of my town, the bar where we hang out, that a concert would take place, right under the castle walls.

A famous Dj from Milan would play all night accompanied by a violinist. I surely couldn't miss it! I love electronic music, very experimental, very addictive, and I love the idea of something so extreme combined with a classical instrument( with amazing modern power) such as the violin. All of this happening at the feet of one of the 3 castles that are located in my city! Such a splendid combination.

I was already imagining all of it even before going there, on my funky bycicle. My usual friends didn't like the proposal of the night so...I went alone! I could hear the music already from far. Imagine a classic, imagine rocks, try to hear an electronic background music and try to smell so amazing food around the city! That was the beginning!

I sat down with other friends (from the usual!) ordered a fresh swiss beer (the first one of a long night!) while waiting for the music to continue. The violinist was thirsty and sat down at our table. No music and a lot of prosecco for her! Finally she goes back on stage and start to perform incredible and amazing music!

Unbelievable! Suddently we all got taken into a complete new dimension (and believe me...it wasn't the alcohol..at least for us...the violinist was a different story!!!). No one was talking anymore, the music was already doing that for us!

The stores window seemed to be interested in this spectacle too.

Beer and food kept coming on our table. Fish, veggies, meatballs! All of us were sort of paralized listening to the amazing sounds that were echoing around.
Great.
The music kept going til 11pm. We remained alll seated thinking it would start again but it did not. Time for the last beer.

I started thinking about traditions under different aspects after reading a very interesting post named "Gone with the Wind". What are traditions and how do we/I perceive and live them? Beliefs, customs and practices, wanting it or not, affect our everyday. Festivals, food, sports, clothes, songs,and yes, even languages (as dialects) are part of us and of our (national) history. Our and the one we want to show to the world as a form of attraction, historical or merely touristic.
So, I started going with my mind in a journey through Swiss traditions. Let's set this thing straight right away: NO, we do not go around with bows and arrows and shoot apples on people's heads!
Switzerland is very fragmented. 26 states, 4 national languages, a miriad of different dialects, and many strange characters! Many traditions, some still alive, mostly culinary, others are kept alive by few, some are just alive and very weird, and believe me on this!!
One of the best is the winter food tradition. I guess every single swiss, during this period of the year enjoys eating either fondue or raclette. I adore them, especially the last one. It is almost a mandatory moment during the year. Winter isn't winter if you dont eat these cheese traditional dishes. I was so into this until I discovered I was allergic to diary. The swiss icon for excellence, the cow, became my enemy. The one that made me stop with a very important tradition. I seriously couldn't deal with this tragedy! So I discovered something new... my new friend...the goat (yes...0 lactose!!!)!

Now I understand whay Heidi hanged around with so many of them! Their cheeses are amazing!

That's when the new thought arrived: why not subjectivize traditions?? So, I started to participate to this dinners with my own cheese! Like those parties where you have to BYOD (Bring your own drinks) I had to BMOC (Bring my own cheese).

But this way this tradition is very alive in my life! So, if you can't fully adhere to a national tradition subjectivize it:
You can't participate to the traditional Unspunnenfest? Take your computer screen and throw it in your office! The screen is lighter and you can throw it further!
You can't play Hornussen? Take a fishing rod and attach a plate on the fish hook, and then place a tomato on your table...start turning like a psycho with your rod and it it...!!!
Traditions are a very good thing. Keep them alive!

I am there but in fact I am not. Is it me or a distorted non-me? The unreal real me? Future and past. Utopias and heterotopias (as Michel Foucault called them). Metaphors and contradiction. A new space and the other space. Otherness.

I love these terms. They make you think. They make you dream and they make you constuct ideas. But they also allow you to reesumate memories . Yes, because even in reflections there are hidden things. Dualities. Space with no physicality. Yet it is me. Not the real me. Just my reflection. A non existing entity. A space with a non-me.

Spaces, places, future and rememberance. It is the present. Reality as it happens. Driving along the coast of a beautiful lake in a sunny morning. Wind, birds, cyclists and cars. I shoot pictures in front of me. Towards places I will see in minutes. In the future! Then I shoot through my review mirror. The past. Eventhough the landscape and its inhabitants are right there, in reality they already belong to the past. They are behind me.

But what happens when a mirror is broken? Can I still talk about memories? About spaces and non spaces? Here I see distortion. I see multiple layers of meanings, multiple images and multiple stories. Past or future? Utopia or heterotopia? Just a broken reflection. Of me, and the non-me! A place that truly doesn't exist, neither here nor there. Just in an image. Maybe I should just stop thinking and fix my broken review mirror!