Solo show at Spaziocontemporanea, Brescia

Curated by Davide Daninos

December 2023 - February 2024

low tide on the planet of sand
Davide Daninos 

Arrival on the planet of sand

The light is dim on the beach at night.
Starlight begins to illuminate the outline of some buildings emerging from the damp sand of this otherwise deserted landscape.
The night lights reflect off their shiny surface, still wet from the waters of this sea we do not know. At first their almost organic forms had confused us, veiled by the sand and the evening darkness. We were not sure if we were facing some form of marine vegetation, or if we were looking at the antennae of a parasite partly concealed within the soft shoreline.
However, their reflections invite us to look more closely, to discover the details and purplish hues of their glazed epidermis. Such phytomorphic apparitions are thus revealed as artifacts, probably made of pottery or clay fired with artisanal tools. The low tide must have made them re-emerge from their hiding places. We realize how their vertical shoots are ends connected to the same circular base, suggesting that such glazed crowns in the past have adorned bodies that are not necessarily human.
This thought can only reinforce the question that has followed us since our entrance. Where is it that we find ourselves?

Sunrise on the planet of sand

Taking courage, we step into the interior of this shoreline. We observe how the wet, dark sand, as it loses moisture, slowly softens in tone, acquiring softer hues. As soon as our eyes begin to adjust to the gentler profiles of the now-dry soil, we realize how the first crowns are not the only inhabitants of this unfamiliar place.
The first morning lights already begin to brighten that landscape, illuminating pale new artifacts emerging from the sandy soil. Hollow columns and vases emerge from the delicate floor, showcasing a composition more similar to spontaneous vegetation than architectural ruin designed by human minds.
But more than their location and proximity, what is striking is the irregular shape of such rigid sand-filled containers. Made of a material very similar to porcelain, their glazed bodies begin to converse with the muted hues of the now approaching dawn. But unlike the processions of bodies and tales that in antiquity crowded historiated columns, such constructions are not embellished with decorative designs or friezes. Indeed, when observed closely, their snow-white surfaces show a continuous alternation of hollows and depressions, peaks and heights kept in motion by the soft morning light rising from behind the dunes. Such noisy, non-Euclidean geometries appear to us as born outside the control of a rational mind. They seem created to give a solid body to the movements of a nonverbal language, full of imagination, in constant motion. Their mythless friezes seem to take shape directly from the vibrations of a thought capable of moving, of carving its own path in matter, as it was from a mind left free to dream.

The discovery

Past this pale forest, we continue to climb the promontory of our livid dream, now determined to explore the diversity of fauna and flora of such an alien planet. Now the morning sun illuminates with its golden rays a new unfamiliar landscape.
Our gaze tries to traverse a new expanse of sand stretching before us without distinct boundaries. We try in vain to distinguish the limits of the horizon, blurred, however, by the dusty glow that conditions the entire landscape with its pinkish tones.
We realize now that what we thought to be a beach was a stretch of sand untouched by the waters of no visible sea. What, then, had washed the shores of such a shoreline? As we ponder such questions, wandering barefoot over the malleable soil of this pink desert, the temperature beneath our feet seems to drop, instead of reacting to the warmth of the first light of day. At that moment the friable surface of sand, still fresh from the night just past, begins to vibrate without apparent help.
First, from the ground air bubbles emerge faster and faster, interrupting the apparent tranquility of this silent landscape. Then, clearer patterns begin to form where the air bubbles break, evoking memories of foam and sea currents. If we try digging, we find only new air currents and new sand, which slip quickly over our fingers without resistance. The more we peel off layers, the more we realize that we are actually dipping our hands inside a grainy liquid that has almost completely forgotten that it was once solid matter.
As if awakened by the arrival of the morning sun, even the dunes around us begin to move. Ankle-deep, we see such waves of sand approaching, which, slow and inexorable, are now unable to move as solid objects. No wind seems to help their advance. Indeed, the arrival of daylight seems to be the only cause of these floury tides, invited to movement by the orbit of who knows what satellite.
Now we move with more difficulty inside the sea of sand, while the foam and the waves mesmerize us with their regular movement. But the sun is now high, and its rays reverberate swiftly on the diaphanous surface of the sandy currents, forcing us to forcefully squint our eyelids in order to continue observing such a sandy panorama.

The encounter

Questions keep piling up without finding concrete answers. Where are we? On what sandy planet do we find ourselves inhabiting? To whom does the subterranean breath that shakes this arid landscape belong? But such thoughts find no echo on the sand that muffles every noise with its tender carpet.
This desert seems populated only by currents and a few white fossil shrubs, with no trace of organic life other than our anomalous presence. But this apparent solitude is interrupted when we glimpse in the distance, nestled in the dunes, the irregular profile of a scaly body. A hooked neck rises from the sand, rigid, without eyes or other signs suggesting any form of vitality.
The immobility of its body is animated by a cascade of sand that, calm and steady, flows slowly from what we believe to be its oral cavity. Are we therefore looking at a new sculpture? A monument dedicated to a now-forgotten chthonic deity? A fountain of sand? Or have we finally met a new guest of this forgotten limbo, capable of providing answers to our questions?
The sunlight, however, redeems us from the torpor of the night. And the mist around us becomes thicker and thicker, preventing us from continuing our journey. Before awakening, one thought seizes us. Will we ever be able to return to the planet of sand, where dreams sprout like plants and the desert is stirred by sea currents?