Languidly lying under the sun, “Incompiuta” is a timeless witness to life happening around it. Its open walls symphonize the feminine voice of the earth, echo the daily chatter about fruit and figs and of the collective consciousness, soul of the world, condensing the vertigo that comes from connecting to the archaic time of our childhood. Simply observing ordinary places and people, an intense and symbolic reading emerges of our fall from paradise reflecting upon the human condition, precarious and painful, on its unbridgeable loneliness, and on its destiny of death.
