Storia di mosera

It is a mid-June afternoon: once the rain has passed, the rays of the setting sun filter through the wooden boards and suddenly flood the inside of the barn with light. Long clogged with hay and tools, the space now seems to be celebrated by that light in a fleeting moment of beauty, as it draws a dense web of lines across the walls and floor. The gentle motion of the clouds modulates the intensity of the shadows, and I remain there watching the luminous bands projected into the room continuously shift in tone. I enjoy this vision as a reward for the days spent in dust cleaning the barn, and I let all my tiredness dissolve into a feeling of relief.

Now that the cleaning is beginning to restore the building to its original appearance, my interest in its history awakens, for the first time, a curiosity about its builder. Robert, the brother of Walter, the barn's owner, explains to me that it was his grandfather, born in the nearby village of San Martino, who built it with his own skilled carpenter's hands. I imagine this grandfather standing exactly where I am standing now, 101 years ago, arms folded, satisfied as he looked at the work just completed among stone pillars reminiscent of Roman masonry and the scent of wood. It now feels as though I too can partake in his sensations.

Many singular things happened during the preparations for the exhibition. First of all, this building, which had been used as a hay barn for a century, had to be cleaned and put in order. It was not a simple task, and one problem after another kept appearing. Yet every time I stood anxiously at the entrance of the barn, the backlit silhouette of someone would appear. Whether they were local Ladin friends or strangers who had come out of curiosity, each one offered a clue to solve the problem, introduced me to someone who could help, or simply lent a hand themselves. Aki, the young man working with me, said that it was "our" grandfather protecting us from above, and so every time we received help I would say, "Thank you, Grandpa!" At first almost as a joke, and then with growing conviction, because these events kept repeating themselves with inexplicable punctuality.

When I learned the grandfather's name, my surprise grew even greater: "What, Grandfather Angelo?!" Even though, to be precise, he had been baptized Mariangelo. It was an extraordinary coincidence, because the very first thing I had done when I started working on the barn was to place my sculpture "Stendardo segnamento" on the roof, depicting an angel guiding a banner with two cords. Moved by the wind on the entrance gable, that angel became the symbolic work of the exhibition. Although I never knew him and have not even seen a photograph of him, perhaps it is truly Grandfather Angelo who, by pulling those two cords, is indicating the direction this exhibition ought to follow.