What I am facing now is a huge number of contact sheets, small prints, fragments of moments.

Observing them with more attention, it is my life, I can reconstruct a sort of path.

Like a painting hanging on a wall where, looking accurately, it starts to seem like something is missing.

In a way many photos are still without a specific place and wander between heaven and hell, confused like bar stories ... and every year new photos are added and the fact that there is no real reason to continue makes it the perfect reason to go on.

If in some periods I lose the sense of a city made up of so many perspectives, I have no choice but to walk and try to find it again.

As I sit here I can watch the ice melt in the drink and move like a small underwater current ... this is not the time to find solutions, perhaps, but just to give it more time, more years and in other words just let things keep coming, record, and observe how a meaning begins to emerge and a memory map begins to appear.