Prepare yourself for a sort of glorious folly, a revolt of the elements, free the intercity neurons along their path, if you wish to succeed in making any sense.

Time like a fragment of memory, experienced on one's own skin to feel the great movement of music coming from within: Angels on the skin: in the awareness that each has of himself, to narrate and imagine time through clips history, capturing the ambivalence of memories, events of collective history and complexities of single episodes.

Images, polished, rubbed, compressed, vivid images, amphetaminic and troubled; interweave and rebound, in a constant succession of gestures and words, surfacing for a sudden recollection, a hint to be recalled, any reason to salvage their memory.

Insurrectional explosion, orphan stories of cold and academic: from Saint Rita of Cascia to Anna Frank, from D-Day to Marilyn Monroe, from the Soviet image of the other side of the moon to the years of women's new struggles, to the Great war to sixty-eight, from the end of the revolutionary myth of "Che" to Mara Cagol, "the angel with the machinegun". Fifteen clips, walking on the Peduncles and Predicate, before a reflection of the text becomes critical, are oriented by the Pointer, that moves them in all directions.

A new relationship with he who is other than himself in the intriguing ambiguity of doubt, in the secret message to meet only he for whom it is intended. A kind of secret code, with oneiric, metaphorical and virtual reflections for the times evoked.

One thing is certain: after reading the clips, you will no longer think as before, you will no longer think unambiguously.

The key to their understanding lies in the willingness to question everything, proving with the senses, interiorising the substance, refusing habits, not overestimating one's own ideas.

The language of the clips is an attempt to force words, to make them express what is not normally perceived. Words become things, objects, they no longer represent or reconstruct an atmosphere or situation: they are a situation themselves, before a linguistic sign, part of what has been lived, re-proposed without the mediation of conventional language. Each single part of the clips is part of the whole, embracing and absorbing what went before: words become a reality, expressions, particles, tesseras of the mosaic.

With the clips history, we are faced with a language that transforms into an image, which is not complete by itself, but needs the visual support of the senses. It becomes an act, a current action, something else. It dies, denies itself, freezes and is then reborn differently: object, light, melody, perfume, photography, dream.

It is here that the dreamlike part of the clips takes form: language of dreams that proceeds by images, the visual product of a process of understanding, deprived of any spatial-temporal consequential logic. When reading, you have the impression you are flicking through a photograph album supported by the representative force of words that shatter upon the object, revealing each single piece.

However, in the meantime we can take flight, making sure not to fall whilst crossing the oblivion, to contemplate the infinitely vast cycle of one-time with just one gaze.

Invisible presences offer suggestions for moments of apparent certainties, and then fade immediately after. There is no point in searching for them: they can teach us nothing. All paths are free and ready to be taken.

The destination is unknown.