Places of departures and arrivals
Outside Bergamo’s Caravaggio Airport there is this statue, suspended amid the endless flow of people.
Every time I look at it, I think of how much Caravaggio has always fascinated me: the shadows, the sudden light, the faces that seem to rise out of the dark like apparitions.
Maybe that’s also why I’m drawn to the margins, to waiting, to quiet people.
Because in Caravaggio’s paintings there are no perfect figures: there are real bodies, wounds, weariness, life.
And in that seated figure, alone in front of so many travelers, I find something of his own restlessness.
A man inside the chiaroscuro of the world.