The Age of the wingless whiteflies Part. I

script by Nicola Bettale

We are all like wingless whiteflies that fight up to the end of their strenght in a surreal setting where the space of strife is defined as indefinite.

Their eyes, ruby eyes, spurt blood.

[the fight continues] All these wingless whiteflies were destinated not to flutter anymore. Although they have fallen from the sky, they keep on struggling on earth as well.

Their rarity is not source of a lively debate among rare birds but it is source of a discriminating force that has no other way out but clash. I wonder what will be the destiny of all these whiteflies then?

Many of them have already fallen from the sky and they cannot fly anymore, others have already passed away and others more will fall, dragged by events. They will fall like rain drops, whitening sky at first and then making earth turn red.

A metaphor about human beings that states both their inability to withstand their own emotions and the perseverance in remaining faithful to their limits as transience and unhappiness.

Humans tend to keep their own particularity and condamn other people's otherness, creating a diversity that transgress man's nature herself.

The difficulty in coming across a love-deed along their journey lead men and women to set aside good inentions and to have a preference for the dark will to graft. Fallen, anonymous, surprised, hindered, furtive, awkward, Mephistophelian, imprisoned, hallucinated, indignant. Here is as I describe humans, me included.

“The Age of the wingless whiteflies part I” is part of an ampler anonymous project where photography and video act together in a complementary way.

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