From the mouth of Alessandro,
A RITUAL THAT IS ALWAYS UNIQUE
I have always considered the fashion show as a magical event with an enchanting power. A liturgical act that interrupts the ordinary by overloading it with intensity. A procession of sudden revelations and expanded thoughts that take their place in another division of the sensitive world.
My thought takes shape and reveals itself to the public in a celebration that feeds on expectations. It mixes obsessions and anti-gravity engines. It lingers for a moment on improbability. It caresses this nostalgia for the human that some call imperfection. She sews, with the precision of love, the tiniest details of the scene to offer them to a community of performers.
This ritual, always unique, contains the rapture of a gift. The promise of a precious deliverance. The room is plunged into darkness. The congregation waits in total silence, hands open to receive my irregular heartbeats and shivers.
I offer my poetry to this tribe of liberated spectators. May they marvel at it. May they help me understand it. They can use it to awaken dormant questions. Or simply reject it if they can’t open a door of compassion. They can translate or betray. The gift is a living matter, a rebus whose meaning no one can appropriate.
This very day, we are going to experience a ritual that I consider sacred. A parade of footsteps will draw the space like the sound of bells in a temple. Mysterious seams will solemnly swear an oath to the light. A score of notes will amplify the prophecies printed on the moving bodies.
In this ceremony, however, one thing usually remains hidden: the ordeal of the parturient who accompanies the tremor of creation, the womb where poetry blossoms from a form to the other. So I’ve decided to unveil what’s behind the curtain. Let the miracle of expert hands and restrained breath come out of the shadows. May the collective intelligence that ensures gestation be visible when the shivers are unleashed. May this wild and crazy hive of which I made my home have a throne.
For such is the house that I worship: it is the blessed passage through which beauty emerges from its shell.