Roberta Conigliaro

Siracusa, 1971

It all begins in a hidden room in the heart of the Roman countryside, beyond a glass door that opens up to a world of mysterious and sacred, where two hands, transform words and emotions in the pages of a diary made of stone. Figures that emerge from matter, are shaped like a painful and releasing birth, or softly folded into themselves, the intimate naturalness of a thought-haired women full of wind, embraces translating the infinity into the poetry of a body immersed in another.