Works

Before every image there is light.

Before every sound there is vibration.

Before every relationship there is the possibility of encounter.

Ab origine inhabits this initial space, where forms have not yet fully appeared, yet energies, tensions and possibilities are already present.

Breath provides the generative principle of the entire work. The music unfolds through a slow alternation of expansion and contraction, whith the visual structure following a similar process, progressively emerging from an indeterminate condition.

The source evoked by the title is not limited to physics or cosmology. It may be understood as the origin of a light signal, a sound vibration, a thought, a perception, or a human relationship.

Rather than offering a fixed explanation, the work invites the viewer to dwell in the moment when something begins to appear and the world, before being fully recognized, slowly takes shape.

The work begins with the idea of propagation. A signal spreads, transforms the space it crosses, creating condensations and rarefactions, waves and particles. Rather than illustrating a physical phenomenon, the work translates its underlying structure into an audiovisual experience.

Through fractal imagery and original music, processes that normally unfold in fractions of a second are expanded in time, allowing the viewer to inhabit them. The music accompanies this continuous expansion with a dynamic, rhythmic language, while the images gradually evolve from point-like configurations into wave-like forms.

Propagation, however, belongs not only to the physical world. Every gesture, every word and every emotion extends beyond the instant in which it is born. Human relationships are equally shaped by moments of density and distance, of closeness and separation, by resonances that continuously transform the way we relate to one another.

The work therefore does not yet tell us what the signal means. It simply reveals the moment in which something begins to move.

While Fluttuazioni explored the propagation of a signal, here the focus shifts to its arrival.

The video opens with stillness. The music, flowing, suspended and almost contemplative, creates a space of quiet expectancy. Then a narrow opening allows light to enter. Nothing is explained yet; something has simply begun to reach us.

During the work, two visual elements from Fluttuazioni briefly reappear. There they represented the signal as it propagated; here they acquire a different meaning. They no longer describe what spreads through space, but what is being received. The same images become something new because the point of view has changed.

Aisthesis is not only about sensory perception. Every human relationship begins with an act of reception. A face, a voice, a glance, a word, or even a silence reaches us before thought has the chance to interpret it. Friendship, love, conflict and encounter all begin with this primordial openness.

For this reason, the work deliberately avoids interpretation. It remains suspended within the moment of reception, when the world has not yet become meaning, but is simply presence.

Among the four works of Et lux facta est, Rendering represents the final stage: the construction of meaning.

What surrounds us does not exist, for us, as image or sound until our perceptual system interprets it. Without our senses—and without the work performed by the brain—the world would remain nothing more than a collection of signals, devoid of form, colour, and meaning. Every living being constructs its own reality through the way it perceives what surrounds it.

The work extends this reflection beyond sensory perception. The same interpretative process shapes every human experience: relationships, memory, emotions, ideas, and the way we understand both others and ourselves. What we call reality is inseparable from the interpretation we continuously construct.

The images do not illustrate this process; they enact it. Forms seem to emerge spontaneously, take shape, and dissolve again, suggesting that every meaning arises from a fragile balance between what the world offers and what the mind recognizes.

The world becomes reality only when someone makes sense of it.

At the heart of the project is the Y shape, understood as a point of bifurcation: a place of separation and decision. It becomes a symbol of choice, freedom and, more profoundly, of existence itself as a continuous encounter with diverging possibilities.

The project emerges from the interaction between mathematically generated visual structures and musical composition, developed in parallel rather than in an illustrative relationship. Images and sounds share a common expressive path, creating an immersive environment in which trajectories multiply, intersect and gradually take shape.

The Y does not represent a single crossroads but a recurring structure: every decision generates new branches, new openings and new limitations. Every choice excludes other possibilities, yet it is precisely this exclusion that makes a path possible.

The four works forming the cycle trace a progression:

• The Path – origin and initial direction;
• Field of Possibilities – the opening toward multiple possibilities;
• Within the Choice – immersion into the space of decision;
• The Y Once Again – return, transformation and definition.

Every choice does more than alter the path ahead of us: it helps shape who we become.

When we are hurt by others, the wound is immediate. Forgiving others becomes a process unfolding over time: a gradual covering, a layering that tends to obscure what has caused the injury.

Self-forgiveness follows a different path. It often emerges only after time has passed, appearing as a sudden rift — a fracture that reveals, retrospectively, the harm done and the mistake, sometimes in its most absurd dimension.

If in the first case forgiveness acts as a covering, in the second it takes the form of a revelation. Two opposing temporalities, two complementary movements.

Is there ever a moment when forgiveness is truly complete, or does it continue to evolve with us?

In Matter, desire appears as a tension toward multiple objects: whatever emerges is unstable, disperses quickly and is rapidly consumed, never consolidating into a lasting form. Repetition does not generate development but an endless sequence of transient variations.

In Spirit, the same generative energy does not exhaust itself but transforms. Forms do not dissolve; instead, they change while preserving an inner continuity, as though a deeper identity persisted beneath their visible manifestations. The image tends to extend beyond its own boundaries, suggesting a space larger than what is actually shown.

Music and image unfold in parallel as autonomous yet converging processes. Rather than illustrating one another, they create a perceptual experience in which the viewer is invited to dwell within the tension between instability and permanence, without seeking a final resolution.

Desire is not judged; it is observed through its different possibilities of transformation.

In The Two Social Climbers, two figures follow parallel trajectories within a larger structure that contains and surpasses them. Although they appear to be the protagonists, they do not occupy the true center of the image. Their movement leaves behind traces and tensions that suggest consequences already unfolding. The work presents itself as a suspended moment: it does not tell a story but reveals a condition.

In Bubbles, what remained implicit in the first part gradually becomes visible. Consequences spread through space as autonomous phenomena, taking on multiple and ever-changing forms. The bubbles may seem light and harmless, yet they become symbols of propagation, influence, conditioning and fear. The two climbers reappear only as marginal and concealed presences.

The two works therefore do not portray power as an institution or as a single interpretation of authority, but as a dynamic: a force born from competition, conquest and self-assertion that continues to propagate far beyond its apparent protagonists.

From a musical perspective, the cycle unfolds as a continuous transformation. The ironic opening march is progressively disrupted by an increasingly intrusive sonic presence that breaks its apparent balance. In Bubbles, the rhythmic character of the march survives only in distorted form, becoming progressively more dramatic until it culminates in the final confrontation.

Power does not coincide with those who wield it: it continues to act through the effects it leaves behind.