performative text / site-specific / poetic-critical / artivist action
I.
– ICE – THE SPACE THAT MELTS
(Performer stands above the ice.)
This is not a monument
not the marble of Piazza Duomo
not granite
not steel
This is ice
The breath of the Arctic briefly held in form
A cube
A fleeting figure of silence
But beneath the surface
air from the age of glaciers
Inside – fractures
as if the ice wanted to say something
Each breath is a decision
There is no wind in Milan
There’s PM10, NO2, O3
letters that don’t form words
but write the future of illness
Cars stand like figures of concrete
but they don’t remain silent
Noise doesn’t recognize red lights
Ice melts faster than the data says
faster than the patience of those
stuck in traffic on Viale Forlanini
It melts like social housing in San Siro
like the dream of clean air in Porta Romana
Ice is not just cold
It’s what falls silent when no one listens
It’s what vanishes before you notice it was ever there
In 1898, there were people here who were given no bread
They were given bullets
From the San Giovanni bridge, they fired at the unarmed
The cathedral watched in silence
Today, that hunger has changed its face
it is the absence of silence
the absence of shade
the absence of trees
the absence of shelter
the absence of safety
the absence of a voice for those in need
A hunger for community
that can’t afford rent
A hunger for rest
that granite squares can’t provide
It is a hunger for “here”
Not everyone has one
A melting “here”
II.
I – THE COLUMN – THE BODY OF THE CITY / THE SELF
(Performer shapes a column from clay and places it on the melting ice cube.)
The city has a body
“I” like a column
“I” like the performer
“I” like the vertical line between ice and letter
Milan was built by hands
and by dust
By brick, grime, industry, credit and promises
By relocations
by migrations
by forgotten districts
But clay resists haste
It resists pretend equality
I shape it from what is still malleable
from clay that remembers fingers
Not from marble
not from luxury
from need
This column wants to carry the city
but the city does not want to be light
There are districts cracking under prestige
and districts crumbling in silence
Gentrification is a new word for old displacement
Luxury rises on this clay
But borders are not always drawn on maps
Isola, before it was fashionable
Niguarda, before it faded from sight
Bovisa, before it was smoothed over
This clay holds ruins too
Leoncavallo – a threatened social center
Walls painted with spray
not noise, but a manifesto
not a party – a form of survival
I shape it from forgotten languages
from mothers of migrants who arrived by train to Stazione Centrale
and have no time for architecture
From the color of hands on the green metro line
from silence in the eyes of those left out of the smart city briefing
This clay holds what no one exhibits at the Expo
Clay is a language
not polished Italian
but the dialect of construction, night shifts and permesso di soggiorno
Inside
microfractures
Like in the structure of the city
like in friendships that break on rent day
And maybe here
in this clay, in this void
there’s also the echo of the table in Santa Maria delle Grazie
The Last Supper
without bread
without light
with Judas and without voice
with hands that do not touch
with a body about to vanish
with a stranger you deny a place at the table
Does anything here still hold the imprint of a hand?
Here, things are stolen not from hatred
but from exclusion
From the absence of invitation
Because expectations grow faster than chances
And window displays don’t recognize hunger
Here, a metro ticket is folded six times
and no one tells you – because it’s profitable
Here, honesty is a luxury
and the law – a decoration by the door
III.
m – THE LETTER – VOICE / EXCESS / REMNANT
(Performer places the letter M on the column, on the melting ice.
Everything sinks slowly. Clay mixes with water. A trace remains.)
The letter “m”
Not “M” as in Monument
A lowercase “m” – 3D printed
Made of plastic
of intention
out of the need to speak
But also out of the need to produce
To overproduce
Out of the need to be seen
The need to exist behind a window
Style – not as language, but echo
Each season a new message, the same void
“m” – like a trace that won’t disappear
like plastic in the soil
like a label that survives generations
like art that doesn’t weigh but takes up space
like art that doesn’t mean but merely appears
Are we allowed to make such art today?
Like an exhibition repeating another catalogue
like a document with no recipient
like the word “I’m” someone once engraved
“M” for Milano
“M” for Miglioramento?
“M” for Mask – worn on every walk
“M” for Monopoly – over land, water, desire
“M” for a Place that melts in your hands
“M” for a City that says there is no place
“M” for the March of people without keys
“M” for Mammon
“M” for Mother
“M” for the Love of a city that doesn’t want you
Napoleon – here, in the cathedral
not the city
not the people
not the community
God
“And woe to him who touches it”
But now everything melts
Even the sanctity of power
even the foundations of the square
even the certainty of where we are
Today, that crown doesn’t shine
Today, only the window of a vacant apartment gleams
Instead of placing “M” on a pedestal –
I lower it
Let it touch the ground
Let it meet the stones
that remember blood
and bootprints
and the tears of those who left
Because the city doesn’t need more height
It doesn’t need marble
It needs balance
IV.
I’m – CONCLUSION
– the ice that disappears
I – the self, the column, the vertical voice
m – the mark, the plastic, the afterimage, the excess
I’m
I am
In between
Not above
I do not crown
I do not raise monuments
I do not demand attention
ARcTic TALK
Not a manifesto
Not a rally
Not marketing
Just a conversation
With ice
with clay
with the square
with you
