It is late morning, I take the bicycle and with my father's mirrorless borrowed while he enjoys the day at sea, I go to the center of my city. Padua, a
city that I know by heart, every street, without remembering its name, but I know how to
get there. While living it, every time it shows up to me in a different way, probably because I
am different every time. I go to the door hatch, which in this day is filled with students, nearby faculties, sunbathing, smoking a cigarette, watching the sky hoping that time will stop and not ready to return to its constrictive pace.

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It is difficult to see inside the screen of the machine, with all the light coming from the sun, does nothing, I know that the masses are framed respecting the rules of the third, the Golden Section, and the perspective rules learned in many years of painting and guide to Reading Of the work of art history.

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Click, I move, I find a tree that looks like a lover intent to wait for the best time on the shore of the Piovego to kiss himself. The
n again, the usual bridge of the hatch, but I go on the pier where they moor sporadically the "gondolas" Patavine. I see obstacles, I hide behind, better to be shadow in this light, no one notices you. Cl
ick… click.
.. Perfect composition, feeling in the intense stomach, will be hunger? It may be, but I go on.


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My gallant appointment with her must wait, she is still intent on listening to the faculty college. Well, I smoke a cigarette, I look up at the sky, and I try, but
what? What is already there, the intense grandeur of the universe in all its forms, even in the most degrading of human life, always looking for a sense where there is no
sense. I look around, many individuals, but today is not a day to photograph the man, it is ideal to feel part of the whole, even town planning.


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And here I put in the photos of the elements of disturbance, out of focus, as often we are inside of life compared to each other, we are, but it is as we did not exist.
Yet in the composition everything is balanced, so even the disturbance is a fundamental part of life, in communicating to the other.


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Great, I'm a child with his game, ready to use it, understand it, disassemble it and make it a different one. Because? Because I'm curious, as is human nature, never stops at the routine, boredom is death, but death is fascinating.


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So click… Doe
s that make
sense? The sense of building on the if a two-dimensional form, what I know is that she has arrived, the words hours stop, and the dance begins… O
ne step, another. Th
e duvets that look like snow…


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