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A Cisterna (voice)

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Photo

Martim Plantier Varela


A Cisterna



“...one immediately feels a shift in temperature, a humidity in the air, and an isolation from the outside world. What happens outside the cistern has no influence on the interior, and vice versa—there’s a clear boundary that separates the two.”

Cisterna da Faculdade das Belas Artes  de Lisboa. 27 de Maio 2024


As I revisit these images, I realize I failed myself during the experience at the Cistern. I can’t remember what I was feeling at the time, I don’t recall the quality of the sound, and, in some way, I’m not even sure why I took the photographs I did. It’s as if those memories have been lost, leaving behind only a distant and disconnected feeling throught the images.




Upon entering the cistern, one immediately feels a shift in temperature, a humidity in the air, and an isolation from the outside world. What happens outside the cistern has no influence on the interior, and vice versa—there’s a clear boundary that separates the two.

From above, one could immediately notice a beam of light that cuts across the space from one end to the other. On the wall at the far end, where the light collides with the stone, it creates an image of a fluid pattern that moves like the flames of a fire, displaying the same spectrum of colors as the fire.

Halfway along this projection, there are objects suspended in the air—stones of varying sizes, each glowing softly under the light’s incidence. They are delicately hung by fine threads, stretching upward to places where the light cannot reach.

             

Jean François Favreau

Antonio Maria Dente 


The people occupied the space around these objects, and in silence, they simply observed—the glowing center and the projection on the wall. Silence.

In due time, Jean François and António Dente moved toward the center of the room, and with them, a group of people followed, forming a circle. The light that once crossed the space from one end to the other was dimmed.

Darkness became even more apparent.
From above, the skylight allowed the last rays of daylight to filter in. In this void of space and time, a voice calls out—singing.