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Everything gets caught in the light. There’s no escaping. In the traces of the flesh of the land everything swells in the glow of our orbiting star. A garden is a place of focus and growth. Undulating in the soil of the earth things transform and birth. Things get made by the hands of undefined forms. The roots of wonder wander the expectations of life’s intuition. The kinds of things that can be made are up to imaginations and esteemed focus. The world spins forward full of its happenstance and coincidence.
A camera is focused. It is a mysterious creature folded in the illusion of literality. But like the forming of memories embellishments are most succulent. Successful parts slip into the grips of the pages of this book. Radici. They are of family and strange land—banged and blown through. Broken instruments burst wide open through the eyes of calculated and unexpected intention. Nothing is what you’d expect. A dirt road leads through the weeds of something that resembles a life, a flash before your eyes, a mind split in places current and previous. The banging breezes fingertips to the next page, to the next vision. All the parts here are one after the other; growing into a shrub, a sound, a deep exhaling cloud of something that may be gas or smoke. The face becomes obscured.
There is a boundless limit to what happens on this our planet of Earth. Feel the electricity of terra. Nothing is what you’d expect from looking at these photographs Fabrizio Albertini has made. There is a city, there’s a place, I’m sure it all exists in a line or series of events. But the unusual disorder here in Radici is something more in line with desire or consumption. A myth is epic and untamed by the fruits of the possible. What’s tangible is what’s believable. Anything can come to life when the story is good enough. And anything can become anything if it is allowed to swallow you whole.
Something runs deeper in the currents of the different situations in these spreads. Dreaming of a different you. Finding the assembly of parts to realize the visually united disorder of color imagery mixed with black-and-white is a reader’s métier. A journey is made on paths but not with specificity; it is executed in articulations that are unique to the explorer. A photo is a traced removal from something that once was. A photo’s life, if it indeed can have a life, is inescapably attached to the moment before and the moment after. There is an all-consuming wonder of removal in that fact. Something isn’t quite right, there are parts that need figuring or exuding. There is a lyrical screaming in the day and night of the photos in Radici.
Find yourself in another part of the world. Round corners in homes and houses filled with minds of madness and joy. All kinds of lush forests made of plasters and carpets. Sheens and shines echo out to the things we covet most. Love and happiness yearn for capture, but maybe those things can only happen because they are worth figuring out. The roots of planted life hold ground but ramble out in the beneath yearning for more life, new life, sprouting and coursing the surge of great landscapes. Such a journey is no small undertaking. Albertini’s roots are firmly planted in a visual vocabulary that is as exquisite as it is challenging. The flesh grafts new connective tissue allowing the body to become something more than the original organism; the photography of Radici acts in the same way.
It was a stream of consciousness lasted for a couple of years. from 2015 to 2017. I've started by taking pictures in my vegetable garden and the plants in my home garden. I was looking for something close to me and I found it by telling about that present. Radici is a project that is born as a self-analysis and, like for any self-analysis, it is not a theorem and there is no solutions.
It's just a story.
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