To the north wind

To the North Wind

Video art, slideshow

Tavarnelle Val di Pesa, 2002. Late afternoon: the tramontana enters through an open window and sets the curtains in motion. In that small choreography, I feel a pull toward my homeland—toward Zeeland. The gesture summons the imagery of a Japanese poem:

A ship from Holland!
With numerous sails,
Ahead of the embowed clouds.

Assembled in 2025 from photographs taken then, the video returns to the same movement, but the longing has turned. The wind is unchanged; the vantage point has shifted. What once reached northward now reaches back to Tavarnelle—an inverted heimwee, carried across time.

Part of an ongoing series of slideshows, the work makes wind visible only indirectly: through what it stirs and sets into motion—a curtain, a tree, a plant.

A late-afternoon tramontana enters an open window in Tavarnelle Val di Pesa (2002), choreographing a curtain into a moving image of longing—reassembled in 2025 as a silent slideshow film.

Related works – photo-still video

I make films that slow down seeing, where looking becomes a form of listening.

My process begins with curiosity about what persists at the edge of attention: a shoebox of ribbon cards from a brocante, each bearing a carefully inked date; an afternoon curtain responding to wind; ivy slowly overtaking trees along the Po River. I photograph these moments and objects, then arrange the images into sequences guided by duration rather than plot. Instead of telling stories, I am interested in how long it takes before recognition gives way to deeper attention.

Poetry enters as a parallel rhythm. Words appear gradually, incompletely at first, asking to be read at the pace of breathing rather than information-gathering.

In Towards the Voices, language becomes a bilingual dialogue that seems to emerge from the landscape itself. This creates a double attentiveness: to image and text, neither complete without the other, both requiring patience.

 What draws me to these presences – whether intimate objects or reshaped trees – is what they carry beyond their original use or form, a quality that remains transferable. Not nostalgia, but something that persists beyond context.

These films create space for a quiet encounter with time itself, where dated cards, moving fabric, or overgrown trunks become ways of listening – and of being present with what continues, wordlessly, beyond us.