DIRTY EDGES

I was born many centuries ago. I ran, on foot, now I go around by car. I feel the pavement slide fast under the wheels, I see the city, the crowded streets, I hear its noises, I breath its air, I absorb all the faces, gestures, fragments, trash. No one sees me, yet I never stop seeing. To see or, more precisely, in my case, to scrutinize. To make myself sensitive to the slightest variations, the dirty edges, the hidden backside. I think watching is the most political gesture of which I am capable, my freedom, my responsibility. And I don’t stop running.

ELISABETTA BENASSI
Artist. Lives and works in Rome.