FLYING CARPET, 360 cm x 120 cm, wire and wire, 2020

"Who wouldn't want a FLYING CARPET to fly lightly through the clouds, to move free from all disturbances and restrictions, to float in the sky, beyond all physical and imaginary boundaries? “

 

 

On Monday November 2nd, after a rather uncertain week due to the epidemic that was re-emerging in full swing in Bergamo, it was finally time to leave, to discover a new land to me, Puglia, the land of the wind that blows, of the centuries-old olive trees, of the sun that warms.

 

My eyes were shining with curiosity and happiness to hear new stories, to weave new relationships and to weave new bonds. I was pawing with joy and maybe all this euphoria was given by the idea that it could be my last chance to travel before a new hypothetical Lockdown.

The sun showed its first tender rays, filtered by a thin veil of fog that characterizes a typical autumn morning while Ryanair's Boeing 737, with its imposing wingspan, was waiting for me, ready to fly.

I took my place, as always at the window, intrigued like a child by the idea of looking outside, of observing my city, my dear Venetian walls from another point of view, of getting lost with my gaze among the white white clouds, of looking at the world from a porthole and who knows, maybe seeing a magic object in the sky.

 

Ready, departure, go, the plane began its ride, the roar of the engines was fastidious, the force of gravity crushed me against the seat, and with a slight leap the aircraft rose from the ground, with the tip facing the sky, towards infinity and beyond; the first meters of flight were tiring, the pressure bothered my ears, but after crossing the first bank of fog, the landscape became enchanting. The blue of the sky with its many shades dazzled me, the sun showed all its strength, its rays radiated the clouds, illuminating them so white that they became difficult to look at, thus creating a series of bright pixels on my retina, but my eyes, unaware of all this, swayed from one point to another, curious to catch and discover new elements.

 

It was now 30 minutes after takeoff when my eyelids began to become heavy, I began to drift, ready to fall into a sweet sleep, lulled, pleasantly, by the idea of waking up on Apulian soil, when, at the last blink of an eye, I noticed a bright dot moving freely through the sky, with fluid and gentle movements, being carried away by the flow of the wind, moving among the clouds, dancing freely in the blue of the sky.

Suddenly that glow grew closer and closer, it moved at great speed towards me and as if by magic, a flying carpet was revealed to my eyes, with the colors that characterized the lands below me, the browns of the fields, the clay earth, the greens of the first wheat seedlings, the blue of the sky, in a magical set of harmonious colors. In that moment, an imaginary and bizarre means of transport, a symbol of fairy tales, the secret dream of every child was revealed to me.

Unexpectedly, as if struck by a spell, I found myself on top of the carpet, it had me fly between the valley of Itria and the Murge, among the trulli, in the area of oak trees.

 

With the wind in the stern, we sailed in the sky, free and light without worries, among the wide expanse of olive trees, among the cherry trees, among the native vines. The carpet led me into a fairytale dimension, among the trulli, those small and white buildings with a circular roof made with chiancarelle, that were once the homes of farmers. 

Right there among the trulli, the carpet slowed down its free flight, its dance became sweet and sinuous, giving me the opportunity to analyze my surroundings and with a quick but clean turn, rushing me to the beginning of a white tree-lined avenue, where the dry, stone walls typical of the rurality of the Apulian countryside divided, with a thin white line, the agricultural fields from the tree lined avenue rich in Holm Oaks, Oaks, Fragni, Cerri and Roverelli.

 

I began my transhumance on the edge of the carpet, in front of me was a stone gate which opened the way to Masseria Cultura, a bright dot in the Apulian countryside, an ancient wine factory of the late '800, a stone memory of a disappeared civilization of a world that no longer exists.

We flew over the Masseria, far and wide, high and low, I could look at it from every point of view, the carpet transported me between the avenues that divide the land from the road, we flew inside the large and wide halls and I could grasp the close ties that had been established between the community and the great hospitality that characterize the people which permeated the air.

 

The carpet was moving like a butterfly, its motion was uniform, its weft and its warp incorporated and enveloped me in the tales and relationships that, with time, had formed between us, the bonds of friendship, awareness, discord and joy that had built and given new life to the Masseria. 

I flew light, free from all negative thought, the serenity and the desire to know the place had made me lose track of time.

Suddenly a small disturbance and an air pocket made me jerk, I was dreaming. The carpet left me with an elegant movement, having freed itself in the sky pointing towards the horizon with who-knows-what next destination. 

 

It had been about three weeks, when I realized that the carpet woven by the community, had woven me into its story, in the life of the community of Masseria Cultura.