One day I went to my valley, the Valley of Ravenna, where some friends used to organise lunches in the hunting and fishing huts. I was just a kid, but I clearly remember the table covered with plastic tablecloths, the sun that could cook the salami slices and that landscape made up of nature and industrial silos. My gaze settled on a few odd details: a coloured rope with strange knots that served as a pulley, broken bottles reused for other purposes. Everything seemed lacking in elegance, but in that poverty, in those rough and utilitarian formal choices, I perceived a form of beauty that involved me. Read more