Ordinary Days
A suspended time... sudden, unreal.
A time that one thought could only exist in movies with somewhat weak scripts or in fiction on the edge between delirium and science fiction.
But the human race is a species capable of adapting to everything.
And so closed spaces become full and open spaces become empty.
Homes welcome us... squares are deserted.
All this emptiness gives me a sense of anguish. I have difficulty choosing what to photograph and what to ignore.
It's not fear of an invisible enemy, but rather a strong discomfort in seeing a city I no longer recognize.
Yes... Rome is deserted. Deserted but not abandoned. The constant checkpoints become an opportunity to have a chat with the police. Worries, hopes, and moods are shared. I perceive a reality different from the one told by newspapers and television. The people respect the rules and those who are supposed to enforce them mostly prefer a calm, conciliatory... human approach. There is a deep awareness that it is a difficult situation for everyone.
Difficult also for the few colleagues I meet. It's instinctive to think about continuing those rare chats at the bar over a coffee. But you can't... there are no open bars. Everything is closed. Just as access to St. Peter's Square is closed even on Good Friday. Immersed in the darkness and silence of the night, a small and tired holy man dressed in white embraces the cross as if to take upon himself all the weight and anguish of those days. It's a feeling I am not able to describe. A feeling I will never forget.
©Max Angeloni - All rights reserved
But there is one certainty.
The days will pass. Those shutters that are down will rise again, the empty churches will welcome us again, the desolate squares will once again be filled with the joy of living, the monuments will once again share their beauty, and the colonnade of St. Peter's will embrace everyone.
Those days will return… we will relive our ordinary days once more.
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