When I cry, I cry.

Pianto is the past participle of the verb to cry, it speaks of a pain already passed through, left behind. Pianto is the present of the verb to plant, it tells of a new energy that takes root and opens up to the future.

The tears we shed spread like seeds on the soil of our bodies. We fertilize. The seed is a simulacrum. The seed is a shield. It has armor to defend itself, furrows and fur to feed on. How much audacity, how much strength in giving birth to our present every day. The seed is waiting to be, but it already knows the immensity of the effort to open up. Then, all of a sudden, it rips open in one place and lets the shoot come to light.

As in childbirth. To tear to leap. From pain, a new and precious origin. My seeds are arranged in the space of the African, in Palazzo Brancaccio,  in formation, like a military scheme. They surround, invite, seduce and attack. They are fortresses of love. In the first room, 4 vertical Half-Shields and 6 horizontal Half-Shields stand in their flowered position. The second is the room of the 12 Semi-lances, pointing to the entrances. Reception or supervision?

The blurred boundary between defense and attack. Finally, the room of the 15 Semi-Tears, slide off the face of a giant and arrive on the ground ready to bloom. On the top floor of the museum, in Princess Brancaccio's bedroom, a cadeau of mine. The Seed-buttock, inspired by Lodicea Malvidica, the largest seed in the world that resembles a mighty pelvis, celebrates the power of birth and of the feminine.