Description
Sibilla
Central Italy. On August 24, 2016, at 3:36 a.m., a 6.0-magnitude earthquake shattered the daily lives of many, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.
Two powerful aftershocks, on October 26 and 30, with a seismic magnitude of 6.5, destroyed the ancient Basilica of St. Benedict in Norcia and the village of Castelluccio, most of which vanished forever beneath the rubble. There were many promises and expressions of institutional support in the immediate aftermath of the event. A meager consolation that gives way to resignation in the face of a life turned upside down. In such contexts, memory is entrusted with the task of serving as a bastion of hope—the light at the end of the tunnel that must be reached to return to the normalcy of before.
The photographic series Sibilla offers a visual exploration that refrains from intruding on the spaces ravaged by the earthquake: there is no drama, only solitude. After all, detachment and nostalgia are all that remain when the aftershocks subside and the media spotlight fades. By freezing the memory of the event in postcard format, we become messengers—senders or recipients—of a message that thrives on closeness and seems to whisper and then shout at the top of its lungs: don’t forget us; let’s not forget who we are.
Two powerful aftershocks, on October 26 and 30, with a seismic magnitude of 6.5, destroyed the ancient Basilica of St. Benedict in Norcia and the village of Castelluccio, most of which vanished forever beneath the rubble. There were many promises and expressions of institutional support in the immediate aftermath of the event. A meager consolation that gives way to resignation in the face of a life turned upside down. In such contexts, memory is entrusted with the task of serving as a bastion of hope—the light at the end of the tunnel that must be reached to return to the normalcy of before.
The photographic series Sibilla offers a visual exploration that refrains from intruding on the spaces ravaged by the earthquake: there is no drama, only solitude. After all, detachment and nostalgia are all that remain when the aftershocks subside and the media spotlight fades. By freezing the memory of the event in postcard format, we become messengers—senders or recipients—of a message that thrives on closeness and seems to whisper and then shout at the top of its lungs: don’t forget us; let’s not forget who we are.
