in the morning to look at oneself in the eyes down into the deepest bowels, afraid of what we may find. or with a soft touch to arrange our hair and go out smiling, happy of what we are becoming. an exercise that we all should do. but that few of us are brave enough to cope with. because of the pain. the devastating stream of tears that may pour out and make our eyes swollen. a river whose rebellious water overflows with memories. thoughts. feelings. situations. dreams... that we may have or haven’t experienced. accomplished. had. confronted. all reflections and visions that we can only experience in the concentration and loneliness of such a common and daily gesture.
to look at oneself and analyse. criticize. undo. reveal... us and our secrets. us and our sorrows. our unrevealed joys. our suffocated pains. and then look out. and be able to SEE the others.
MAGIC MIRROR. ON THE WALL... THE TRUTH. the plain and sad truth. not the daydreams that we have been taught to look forward. and in which little by little. sometimes. we believe.
creating a self-portrait was the exercise for this issue that, like any other, is not concluded in itself, but opens a discussion in whoever wants to read and understand it. a discussion that, as far as I am concerned, is going to last my whole life through.
words. photography. drawing or painting. that reveal an essence. a personality and a series of vicissitudes.
to learn to look. to learn to listen. to learn to read. but above all to learn to make our dreams come true.
are we nothing more than what we see?
are we what we project?
are we maybe that ensemble of sad secrets that we hide?
are we that mask of make-up and clothes hanging around the streets?
are we nothing more than who we were told we should be?
dedicated to all those people that have stopped looking at themselves. and have also stopped believing. those people that each day we meet in the streets. and we often don’t see. as they don’t see themselves.