Scorciatoie
Photography
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Translation extracted from the original text by Massimo Recalcati - la Repubblica, 10 April 2017.
«In the foreground are anonymous corners of the city - even central ones, such as the Arena - where the privileged element is the presence of irregular and unexpected paths. Their origin seems phantasmal. And yet it is an ancient, noble theme, well known to historians and archaeologists: did the path exist before the pilgrims or did the passage of the pilgrims bring the path into existence? A network of small irregular paths is generated by the walk of passers-by along the edges of the ordinary city network. These paths do not appear in the streets, they are not classified, they are not recruited into the regular army of urban roads. They are just the fruit of the repeated walk of the city's inhabitants. They appear suddenly, they cut across our canonical trajectories, they appear as if in a dream, they seem to begin and end in nothing. They are just the sediment of the traces of our steps: nothing more and nothing less.
These paths do not deserve the glory of being named, but the humiliation of anonymity. It is not the kings, the great politicians, the architects, the most famous navigators, the most beloved saints who give them their name. They do not originate in God. They were not willed by the great architect of the city. They have never had a beginning and they do not know their end».
«In the foreground are anonymous corners of the city - even central ones, such as the Arena - where the privileged element is the presence of irregular and unexpected paths. Their origin seems phantasmal. And yet it is an ancient, noble theme, well known to historians and archaeologists: did the path exist before the pilgrims or did the passage of the pilgrims bring the path into existence? A network of small irregular paths is generated by the walk of passers-by along the edges of the ordinary city network. These paths do not appear in the streets, they are not classified, they are not recruited into the regular army of urban roads. They are just the fruit of the repeated walk of the city's inhabitants. They appear suddenly, they cut across our canonical trajectories, they appear as if in a dream, they seem to begin and end in nothing. They are just the sediment of the traces of our steps: nothing more and nothing less.
These paths do not deserve the glory of being named, but the humiliation of anonymity. It is not the kings, the great politicians, the architects, the most famous navigators, the most beloved saints who give them their name. They do not originate in God. They were not willed by the great architect of the city. They have never had a beginning and they do not know their end».
