LE NUVOLE VANNO E VENGONO, SEMBRANO ANIMALI, MA LI VEDONO SOLO I BAMBINI (The clouds come and go, they look similar to animals, but only children can see that) Edoardo Rito and Lorenzo Bucci
PV Aug 26, 2024
SE14 5UP

The following is to be read in conjunction to Edoardo Rito and Lorenzo Bucci’s show Le nuvole vanno e vengono, Sembrano animali, Ma li vedono solo i bambini, written at the request of the artists.  *

I have no choice but to tell a story that refers to the past. Using the words and notions from the past. A story to the rhythm of anachronisms like stuffing cash in my pocket, and all the other stories we tell ourselves about things like that. Plot: near the site of an old building being renovated, there are skips filled with tradesmen’s tools or children’s debris or whatever else might fill them. Disposed things in a pile, sort of like lying vacant words, expendable.
 And the old building stands not unlike an earthwork, large and glacial, stained green by moss. It was built in an architectural language that centuries have allowed us to unlearn, and left us only to poorly reenact. Maybe the old building was once a museum. With catalogs of bones of lost and indescribable archetypes of flesh. Sights that can no longer enliven certain possibilities within us. 
The builders make adjustments and bore holes into the masonry for wiring and tubes. So, throughout the building are sprouting systems tendrils. Planting or installing: latices of metal brackets, mass produced blues and other synthetic color use to make distinct fibers for the nervous system. Wiry, eclectic and electric. Reaching through the buildings’ innards like antennae. Like when you were still a growing child, though there are certain expectations of what your final reach may be, the final extent can only be guessed. Wires all linked to the signage’s eyes that blink, belonging to what will soon be the face of a new Blank Street Coffee location; as well as to its A/C breath.
In the summer the A/C will blow, ironically wind like, in the hair of some pretty person, or it will push my paper to tell me to stop reading. The A/C will blow uncannily like something akin to what pushes the clouds. The picture I’m painting: the new Blank Street Coffee’s facade, port, is a mouth to a synthetic environment of man made wind and light. Fending off the encroaching archaic environment, and, also, that it’s lovely inside. 
So, the gutting, boring, and building’s refuse fills up the nearby skips. They are now filled with such novel waste for artists to scavenge and fight over and redefine. The wasted material is sort of like lying vacant words of a language you don’t understand, so you give it a new meaning. They take the found objects to their respective windowless studios in dank repurposed office building cubicles that have a faint smell of mold. Reliant on their projector lights to see, they experiment with forms of found objects and misuse office stimulants. Using the excess material waste in a way that is self-evident. The artists make physically imposing installations engaging architectural and sculptural histories. Continuing to redefine the way individuals relate to their ever-changing visual and material environments. The results are vacantly looked on upon by a college student drinking bubble milk tea.