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Opera

alRossoBiancoVerde

incieloazzurro

The Opera at RBV number zero is the study of a larger project, which will include various stages and forms of expression, on the myth of the Unification of Italy.

L’OalRBV è nella sua forma espressiva una fusione acustica delle due arti sonore: musica e teatro, in un discorso drammaturgico assolutamente irrazionale.

Il suono va fuori e dentro le parole, gli sguardi le immagini e i silenzi; si fa regia per dare alla rappresentazione l’illusione del melodramma.

Un’incollaggio trans-temporale e linearmente caotico del nostro essere popolo italiano.

Un accostamento narrato in dissolvenze sonore di atti fatti parole e musicalità di tre italiani: Francis (of Assisi), Silvio (the peg), Giuseppillo (?).

Francis highest expression of spirituality, sports and Silvio monument Giuseppillo issue of nothing.

A triptych italics where they represent the human form the most emblematic of our sacred soil: a saint, a hero and a fool. The Good, the Drilling el '(im) perfect punctured.

musical direction, piano and electronics: Fabrizio Ottaviucci

theater director, libretto and vocal action: Umberto Fabi

organization: Marco Format

production: Scenarios Harmonic

Jan. 7 hours 21

Magnani fidenza theater theater season 2010/2011

Making A Rams Horn Walking Stick

two story

here at the station Pontremoli September. You can tell by the caress of the wind, soft and sharp images: the shelter, even one of my childhood, Green decided, and the opposite wall, embankment to the river of iron that will take us to other places leaving intact our suffering. My mother is gone, the shelter is. My father è ancora più lontano, è ormai verso l’oblio dei viventi che l’hanno conosciuto. Io sono il picco supremo, quello che per primo si sgretolerà piombando senza più forma a valle, e così lasciando alla pietra che segue tutto il vento e la luce.

Qui alla stazione siamo in pochi ad attendere un’onda che ci porti a La Spezia. Due arabi senza colpe con la colpa nella tasca, una coppia islamica: un lindo chador con antico viso appoggiato alla coscia del maschio fiero, incazzato e pulito che vede, che spera. La vecchia dalle mille rughe, e neanche una che sorrida. Dei ferrovieri dignitosi. Un vecchio galeotto vestito da bambino idiota dalla pelle liscia e la tomba tatuata sul braccio. Nessuno condivide, everyone to contemplate its trajectory lost in the mists of the future and past.

The train does not go to the stake, do not go to heaven. My wrinkles are not smiling, some crying. The child is desperate when you say wait, or try to talk to him after, does not have the vision of time, much less the fate and opens his mouth and screams, her lips are one or deformed by pain, his voice is Aeschylean the scream of immutable human tragedy. You change. A La Spezia train is varied, rises and falls. I get so high, I would clean the glass, and I would like so many other things. The windows are dirty. I would cry. It comes from the black sea and mighty blink of black stone. It does not matter. The beauty parade regardless of all the demons and ghosts. And wins. Merciless you do not collects, are you that you have to jump on her. ... And the moments you do not stop, repeat. Carniglia another blink of an eye on rocks fringes patients waves. The world is this and that. We climb trying to outwit the relentless moments. One room, two bedrooms, a thousand rooms that weave dreams and not take arms in their life that escapes scared. And feet that rest, no decisions have moved muoino life. Defeated dreams go down and fade into the nothingness that is the world crying, crying even when she smiles because it does not last. Weary soul springs in search of a God and her deaf mute. The dust sparkling delle onde non dice nulla al disperato che si appoggia ovunque per parlare di sé perché d’altro non sa parlare. E raccontarsi è dare libertà a quegli attimi che non sei riuscito a inghiottire. Non conta chi sei ma gli attimi che hai vissuto in tutti i loro lati, nella forma esagonale. Altrimenti si rifà il giro. O ti consumi tutto o ti si ricicla. C’è una giustizia molto ecologica. Non amare è risparmiarsi per poi perdersi. In ogni viaggio che faccio so che tornerò fino a quando non avrò decretato la mia fine vivendo. Vivendo.

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* Armless BANANAS FROM THE MONKEYS SUCK BANANOS *

















appicicarsi The heat seemed to the skin, leaving an outlet for even the smallest pores of the skin, already messa a dura prova dalle punturine di quella moltitudine di insetti che si muovevano nella notte come sciami di uccelli migratori. Li osservava come ipnotizzato, mentre seduto sulle scale dell'uscio si accarezzava i suoi corti e biondissimi capelli. In quegli istanti dilatati fino allo spasimo, pensava all'intelligenza degli insetti e si ricordava di aver letto un articolo sui moscerini della frutta che pur essendo sprovvisti di sistema nervoso si muovono reagendo agli stimoli esterni. All'altro capo del giardino si dondolava sull'amaca masticando del vecchio tabacco di importazione, una luce fioca e giallastra fa da cornice a questa quiete inaspettata. Quei giorni erano trascorsi nella più assoluta frenesia, il vecchio Motel ai bordi della strada, andava restrutturato radically. Built in the most remote outskirts of Beijing seventies, Mandarin, so called, was the place where Western managers met the delight of a watered-down Eastern grace, all female, now incompatible with the rhythms of post-modern age. The wooden floor was all a hole, he had certainly not benefited the ten years of occupation by a handful of artists disgusted by the art of the scheme, the new faces hyperrealists diaphanous silk that clog the streets of contemporary art. During the last decade, the stairwell of the Motel hosted a bunch of wooden boxes, tied to one another, individual monads who are found to coexist in harmony. Strange characters and strange habits took turns at the tail of utopia, thinking that everything had to throw a hand gave him his new friends, a young French actress and a tightrope walker with a talent of Kamchakta amanuensis. He soon went to work, someone built a ceiling of leather bags in which to place the objects and clothes, he always thought someone to distract them and make them relax after those long afternoons congested by hard work. The moments we spent together, the sleepless nights to think and speculate in the silence of the night became a perfect method, but worthy of being called such.

Marco Tagliafierro
"While unfortunate in search of natural wonders waiting in a queue to get mileage in the newly rebuilt California Academy of Sciences, last Saturday, another experience a few miles further south at the opening of the exhibition" Obsessions "at the Peninsula Museum of Art in Belmont is at the same time. The exhibition presents a series of private collections, including the collection of the Museum's Zymoglyphic Xenophora.

Here visitors carefully scrutinize these tiny shells that collect shells, stones and other objects to attach to their shells as they grow. Some have wondered if they were made the objects, perhaps a subtle variation of dogs, fish or shellfish delfni sold as souvenirs in the tourist and beach resorts. Most were amazed by the fact that these creatures, seemingly simple, can create something so interesting and aesthetically pleasing. A visitor of a certain age was even outraged by the fact that I have never learned before that the existence of these animals, believing that if there had been something so interesting, for sure she would have already heard.

collectors shells tend to like shiny pieces, smooth and far between. They find the "shell that collect shells," a fun idea, but does not seem to be very interesting to me to collect them. The Xenophora draws interest a small scientific audience, but not many more. The rival to the Museum's collection of Xenophora Zymoglyphic 's Academy of Sciences itself, which, according to its catalog has a collection of invertebrates, which counts only 18 copies of the family of Xenophoridae.

[...] ".

Xenophora - Part 2 Saturday, October 4, 2008, Jim Stewart (The zymoglyphic Museum Curator's Web Log), Translated by David Stucchi