Melancholic tin can

Places that we get in touch with randomly in our daily life are destined to leave traces, but not because of their functional aspects or because of their declared implications.

Let's take a small food shop in the suburbs, the kind you've spotted right before entering the subway, one evening when it's late and you have nothing for dinner. Inside, neon lights emit imperceptible vibrations. There is noise from refrigerators. A little sawdust on the floor, to absorb the wet of umbrellas. Few customers wander among jars. Prices are written with a chalk on small blackboards. There might be a radio on, tuned to a foreign channel. Immersed in an inexplicable nostalgia, cans of tomatoes seek a solid grip on the edge of the shelf. While I am there looking for dried lentils, inside my head cogs are creaking, because I know all this is poetry. I also know I won't play according to a meaning, it's the residual dust that clings to me that I am interested in.

Enjoy life peeping out from a rack!

Giulia Mouse

Giulia Mouse, Pot

charcoal, pencils and acrylics on paper

2019