riposininpace

As soon as they opened the cemetery in my town I took my bike and cycled there in a nice, warm day; in those days I was talking a lot with a friend about death, cemeteries, and grief related to the loss of beloved ones.
I’m still working on a piece that is changing and getting modified since four months, which is meant to be hanged in the cemetery (but not this one, another one where the other half of my dead relatives are buried, which is in another region, so I can’t go there yet).
I’ve always liked cemeteries because of their silence and the architectural structure, which kind of reminds me of a small town (Italian cemeteries are quite different than cemeteries in north-european countries, one of the reasons could may be that Napoleon forbid the erection of tombs within the walls of cities back in 1804, for sanitary reasons, and that might have changed the way they projected and build them), and somehow of a labyrinth.
I often visit cemeteries in different places, and I look at the pictures, names, dates of life and death of people, it kind of gives me the same sensation of looking inside strangers’ gardens or houses, it’s like a forbidden glimpse of someone’s intimacy.

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