Entering a space/time, that immanent world of creation home to every versificatory possibility or intuition, triggered, ignited by the imaginative process, and then made real, whose path is marked by “going back, taking up something that is in the poetic past and re-proposing it, finding new words to say it”, to sing it together, a chorality of singularities in which each inhabits his own past and builds his present as already experienced, in nostalghia for places, sounds and silences, in his own internal and external homeland.
Me in the middle of the chorus, a solitary corporeal verse, a decasyllable of the only Poetry that holds us together, that makes us equal before the divine. At a certain point in our lives we live in the space of the past, that is, memory becomes a place to be inhabited in a physical sense, of which we are prisoners because that is precisely where we continue to live. A prison of memories.
In Nabucco, two central themes of the work determine the network of relationships between the characters, war and exile.
The destruction of entire communities and large masses of exiles have long been present in our time, violence seems to be progressively part of everyone's daily life despite the signs of destruction still being present in many Italian cities, including Parma and its most representative monumental complex, the Pilotta.
The signs of the bombings at the end of the Second World War are still widely visible on this great citadel of knowledge and art, a wound still present as a warning of what has been destroyed which, paradoxically, amplifies what has instead been rebuilt, recovered, built.
A mutilated architecture, just as war mutilates bodies without distinction and the past becomes a refuge of memories, memories of spaces lived as they once were, before the disaster.
Then we reconstruct, we restore the meaning of the collection of knowledge and creations, history through works, objects, and the forms of writing, but the crack remains, testifying to the danger that still looms.
‘Our work aims to be an agitated testimony to a double violence, a double loss, a double mutilation: that of childhood and that of cultural heritage’ declare Pititto and Maestri. ‘Hundreds of small stuffed bears occupy the Sala del Sapere, the Sala Petitot, to protect the borders the choir delimits the access of adult spectators, sentinels of a new territory occupied by childhood without violence and war’.
