While the public waits for something to happen in the agreed place (Località Sorte, VR, on the memorial stone of Boccioni’s death) I whiz past them on board the train that leads to Trento. Only a few have seen me and many have the feeling that nothing has happened or that they have lost something. After a hundred years of avant-garde we still look in a central perspective.
An hour later, I meet the public in the waiting room of the Rovereto railway station between quelli che vanno e quelli che restano (those who go and those who stay).
In the Venetian dialect Morbin is often referred to someone who never stands still and who has quicksilver on him… “Quel toso el ga el morbin”, a form of plastic dynamism!