Lydia Vinieri

 

The house hovers like a thought, like a nest that folds around me, like a boat that explores a forest where haunted thoughts are suspended. The chaos is before and after the order, it fills me up with optimism, gratitude, and curiosity. My temple surrounds the higher self, the healing one. The art works, always unfinished, like question marks, like the Giaconda's smile, without nostalgia for the past or strategy for the future, always forgotten and trapped into the unseen present.