Filippo Zambon

Time and Space Arts

1981, Florence, Italy


One day I saw my mother watching some old family pictures. In one of the photographs my father and I were enjoying the Tuscan summer sun, posing in front of a shining sea full of swimmers. I noticed that she was crying. I wonder if she took that picture.


A few years ago a guy that I know disappeared. With “disappeared” I don't mean that he died. He left a message on the table saying: “Thank you for everything. I am leaving this place, please don't come to look for me.”


I thought that sometimes everybody would like to disappear. Maybe migrate somewhere nicer, somewhere warmer. Where nobody knows you. Where you can be somebody else.


In a way, changing is also leaving. Where did my old me go when I changed?


Some people decide to change, and some are forced to disappear.