Gray and forgotten cities, summer fog, 3d holograms, apparitions, shadows.
In the Hashima’s ruins life didn’t stop. Memories shining in the dark and in the silence and nothing is motionless: melancholic spirits dance behind large dark glasses. Every woman could be a ghost, between a thousand pois, 50s floral graphicism and embroidery of gray tears that become silver moon. Textile recycling, neoprene, extreme lightness, lace-ups, textile metaphors of the clash between real and memory.
Memories of a melancholy femininity and of a past poetry that distorts the boundary between the real and the supernatural float. In these labyrinth of ash and copper, plastic and dried flowers, the silence of a ghost becomes the couture carillon of a new woman.