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Rating: It's eight o'clock. I'm wearing a gray wool dress and a black sweater. I put the backpack on my shoulder and set off. I'm wearing a pair of glasses, but not my favorites. The transparent ones have been lost at home for about a month, and I still haven't figured out where I put them. These have a rather thick black frame. I see the plastic around my eyes, and it bothers me a bit. I feel a bit caged. The sky has just stopped crying, and the asphalt reflects distorted images to me. I get a little lost in it. I get a little lost in the music I'm listening to.
I pass the Arezzo exit without almost noticing. I quickly arrive, follow the signs, and park. It's just past nine. I walk inside the walls. The air is like one of those small towns in Western movies. All that's missing is that rolling tumbleweed driven by the wind and the background music. Not a soul around. I hear the heels of my boots clattering on the stones. It feels like the right evening to listen to the background noises.
I arrive in front of the pleasantly lit Theater. I go inside. I collect my ticket directly from "Luca di Paolo" and sit on a soft seat. Red. The theater is a jewel box. Beautiful and small. It's really nice to find such well-kept structures in small towns. It makes you realize that there's a bit of hope for culture, for the performance arts. Slowly it fills with people. There's a lady sleeping, even before I arrived. After all, I've already met many of these people on similar occasions. We're a bit always the same, in the end. I sit down, and promptly a tall guy sits right in front of me. Typical.
The lights go down, and the show begins. "The Noise of Books" is a show that speaks and plays music. But it's not enough to listen to music. The audience transforms and becomes a story. In my opinion, the story is that of The Little Prince. He is the Fox, and we are the Prince. He tames us. He guides us through a journey of sounds and words to lead us to understand:
The noise of Words
The noise of words, which in itself is a beautiful concept, is explained through something unexpected. It makes a book speak. But not through voice, but with hands. And with imagination.
After all, this is the basis of everything. A very unique show. Noteworthy are the two musicians with him. Especially Massimo Fantoni, who is uncontrollable on that chair. Of course, the fact that Marco Parente is left-handed adds another particular to the image of this evening.
Another detail. The sound of my camera during the show. The silence of the audience is quite present. I feel a bit alien. I produce noise that seems deafening to me.
I'm a bit ashamed and limit myself. A bit those lights are really relentless. Have mercy on us poor "apprentice photographers" with limited means... next time... [a bit more light..]
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