Where is the silence? First trailer of the documentary SILENCES.

In the coming months will see the documentary SILENCES. This is the first trailer of the documentary ... Where is the silence? Poetry, photography and music are combined in this documentary about the search for something as simple and necessary as silence. These are our silences. How are yours?


If the cold were a movement, it would be a slow movement, like the rocking of the waves on the smooth surface of a lake, in the afternoon, in the hours after lunch, when everything is paused, outside of the usual timeline. If nostalgia had a colour, it would be dyed blue. It would be an icy and sharp blue, like the wind of the high winters that are difficult to reach by bus or by car. It would have a smell, I do not know of what, but it would have one, and the smell would be nostalgia, and as blue and slow as the cold. And the cold, and the nostalgia, and the blue colour, and the wind would all be surrounded by an aura of sadness that would seem out of place from the rest if seen from afar, as if it were introduced by force at the last minute. Nevertheless, if you came closer you would understand: sorrow is exactly what this moment was missing in order to be complete, to be beautiful, to make sense.


Communication with nature must be silent. Stillness is a non-negotiable condition in order to achieve what we are all looking for, even if we do not know it: to speak with the trees, or even better, to listen to what they tell us all the time. The trees know that we are not willing to waste our time –indeed, we think we are wasting our time- paying attention to their eternal and fluent whispering, but they do not despair: they are patient. They move with the innocence of a child that acts as if he knows nothing about life, precisely because he still knows everything about it. We suspect that a universal threat will appear without warning if we pause to listen to the trees, and this will force us to acknowledge something we do not like at all: we are small, motes of dust that barely leave their traces in an infinite whole, in which not even the leafiest of trees can protect us from the darkness of silence.


Your present moment is linked with the moment before and the moment afterwards. Life’s stream can be too profuse, irrepressible. It can flood the bridges that connect every single moment with the following one. In spite of this, they resist and hold you and all your moments. They humbly embrace your ancestors: those who at every moment, conceive a reinvented life in their skinny branches. You know this bridge, you have crossed it so many times, but you have so rarely seen it … And you are there, in the background, and you will be a fertile tree some day as well. Cross the bridge again, and pay attention this time.