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2007: Déntrokirtòs


Gear and Credits




This project is the diary of our journey in Déntrokirtòs. The term Déntrokirtòs is derived from the Greek “Dentro” (tree) and “Kirtos” (curved) and it’s the name of an ideal archipelago that, we think, is peculiarly everywhere. There the Curved Tree grows (spontaneously), it begins growing as a tower made of rocks but it finally sprouts as plant. You can get Déntrokirtòs through a confluence of favourable occurrences: i.e by drawing a light blue straight line between the “observing a spider” and the “painting a cylinder” at least one of its spots lies on Déntrokirtòs. Some rarefied fragments of the archipelago can simultaneously lie both inside itself and in our everyday life, it means that you may experience the existence of different places in the same appearance. In those rare circumstances you may feel the sensation to be in a highly populated territory, populated by dwellers that you cannot see due to your habit to approximate. Then, after such a sensation that we can easily define as a "total eclipse of the ordinary", as an unintentional meeting with the solemn duplicity typical of a mirage, you might feel the need to come back immediately to those places where you’ve been for few instants. But it is a singular coincidence, not so easily and voluntarily repeatable. Déntrokirtòs songs are the conscious attempt to describe this world which is visible but not immediately observed; the isle does not exist but it’s real just like the sea that bounds it and the shade of the plateau, the rivers and the trees, as an ideal counterpoint to the earth’s geography. So Déntrokirtòs is absolutely possible as an island, but it does not exist because of an unknown accident. Our diary starts with a true purification from an overload amount of “information” that is actually hourly rather than daily, and it forces our heads to wonder in asphyxial way as commuters do. Every possible reaction is vain if it is locked to the recurring day life. The only solution we found is to take a sudden flight and so here we are over the island. The natural neutrality of the landscape urges us to believe we are the proper inhabitants of this land and a sudden scent of this atmosphere tells us that a flower is the very owner of the isle. It is palpable that this aroma lies over the history and it has always lived on this land with an endless cycle of life like the sun and planets revolution and like the wind. It’s likely to be enraptured by the beauty of these natural cycles and contemplate them until you fall under the illusion to be a part of them. But it’s not like this and these natural cycles do remind it by beating us back ineluctably: because we neither are stones smoothed by waters, nor shrub that may wither and bloom again, nor wind falling from plateaus. With this knowledge the chant of Elicrisio is over, while the sky gets triangular, the maelstrom burst open and the fight between our will and coolness of the cosmos begins. We are defeated, blocked into the impossible will to completely belong to an only one kind of nature that may not be the one we have decided to escape from, but it may not be either the one we have got. There's nothing left for us to do but vanish swiftly into ourselves with the attempt to be nothing that finally does not succeed. In this very moment we have almost got the centre of our being, as a matter of fact we realize we are going beyond bounds which enfold huge range, inner and outer distances secretly match. In the vast and still cosmos we notice a presence: since we are here we have been observed and judged by an inhabitant of the isle. Understanding our difficulties he tells us we are not the first humans on this land who were lost in an attempt to belong to the isle. In fact many humans try to become those flowers (the flowers we contemplated then escape from) but the outcome is very grotesque since they get trapped in a melted and irremediably adulterated essence. Their attempt to become inhabitants of Déntrokirtòs is like the attempt to obtain the shape of a live tree by carving dead wood. Encouraged about our state and aroused by the inhabitant who has judged us (and whose appearance is turning to that one of a scorpion while talking to us, then turning to a deer and finally to a human look) we better observe him and our eyes meet, blend, in fact they have been always the same since the beginning. For the shared purpose to continue, the fellows gather. Every possibility is dried up. There is only one deed left to do we have never done yet since we are on the island: leave it. Gone beyond this moment too, what we see and feel can’t be described here.