The sensation of Spring in New York, for those who arrive from Europe,
and find themselves catapulted from the human flux of the metro into the presence of the big skyscrapers (which seem like heavenly diaphragms, walls which reflect the clouds)
it is something similar to the syncopated rhythm of jazz or the blues,
a strike in the heart, a stab in the brain,
namely a continuous passage from the blue melancholy notes of the urban landscape
to the lively swing movement of people, traffic, lights, sounds and messages;
a sort of double canon, of entwinement  between the static energy of the vertical architecture
and the dynamic anxiety of the human nature of the New Yorkers:
nowhere as well in New York lives the old dogma of McLuhan “ the medium is the message”
the photograph is the harmonic line, the bass, the drums,
the cinema is the melodic line, the guitar, the trumpet,
with the intention of expressing how much I lived (unconsciously, and only afterwards,
looking at the material, in a knowing way)
that is, this nature purely semiotic  of New York script,
I produced a selection of silent images, still,
and a brief remake of sound images, in movement, homage to an old master,
who I’m certain you will recognize.

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