In New Zealand it's easy to take a walk along a river and get lost in contemplation of the sounds and nature that surround you. Here every place, in its magnificent beauty, is magical. Here every leaf, bird or stone, awakens your imagination and suddenly you feel the need to give an answer, in some way, to this call. So you begin to collect things, to establish a contact and a conversation with those primordial elements, and that stone becomes a sacred icon and its surface evokes the infinite. My hands then begins to slip on it, creating shapes like lines of water around the raindrops, or like the winding of that river and then they start to dig, to peer into the depths of this stone, descovering that it embodies a memory that reconnects it with its origins, in the depths of the ocean.

This contact finally brings me back to my homeland, Italy, where for centuries people have lived on the steep rock blinded by the sun, along the cliffs, finding bed in its niches, sculpting it in terraces.

And while on its top the skeleton of an ancient extinct cetacean dwells undisturbed, here at the bottom of the steep slope appears another river, which flows.

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