It is under our feet, we trample it, we mistreat it, we ignore it, and if we do not see it, it is because we walk on it: the earth, of which, over the millennia, man has taken care of, representing the most authentic form and tangible wealth, guarding it, nourishing it and putting it to rest when needed, is rebelling. Erosion, chemical pollution, salinization, climate change, intensive cultivation, abandonment of the countryside, overbuilding, fires, wicked political choices have compromised the quality of the soil with an enormous loss of productive land every year. Poor land generates poor people; poor land causes more frequent floods and droughts and mass migrations beyond the borders and towards the cities. Poor people develop a social crisis, a Sicily that today at risk of social desertification and human because we continue to emigrate, not have children, and "wither away."
I am observing "my land," the result of superimpositions of recent and distant eras, the testimony of the man's action which modifies the landscape, and of the landscape that alters man. I felt a sense of emptiness pushing me to speak of desertification, linking to the soil and, above all, to the soul. "The land under your feet" arises precisely from a very current problem that does not exist for many. Often the things that are there, before our eyes, we do not see them or, sometimes, we pretend not to see them because we think it is a problem that does not concern us. The visceral bond I have for my land made me reflect a lot and led me to photograph it through a slow gaze: four years, from 2017 to 2020, were necessary to complete another long-term project. Behind every image, there is a way of thinking, of being, and living. When I started taking pictures, I went to a place that I had set for myself, but I often got lost in the immensity of my island continent. I often left to take specific images home, but instead, I found others that obsessed me even more. And the word "obsession," which may seem almost exaggerated, has always accompanied me in my works. ... are we able to listen to it to heal ourselves?
I am observing "my land," the result of superimpositions of recent and distant eras, the testimony of the man's action which modifies the landscape, and of the landscape that alters man. I felt a sense of emptiness pushing me to speak of desertification, linking to the soil and, above all, to the soul. "The land under your feet" arises precisely from a very current problem that does not exist for many. Often the things that are there, before our eyes, we do not see them or, sometimes, we pretend not to see them because we think it is a problem that does not concern us. The visceral bond I have for my land made me reflect a lot and led me to photograph it through a slow gaze: four years, from 2017 to 2020, were necessary to complete another long-term project. Behind every image, there is a way of thinking, of being, and living. When I started taking pictures, I went to a place that I had set for myself, but I often got lost in the immensity of my island continent. I often left to take specific images home, but instead, I found others that obsessed me even more. And the word "obsession," which may seem almost exaggerated, has always accompanied me in my works. ... are we able to listen to it to heal ourselves?