For me, travelling does not mean going far away.

It means shifting the point from which I look at things.

An unfamiliar street, an almost empty station, a voice heard in a market, a window lit at night: it is often through such small details that a place begins to enter us.

Travel is not about escaping from one’s life, but about encountering it outside the place where we are used to recognizing it.

When we walk, we become more receptive. We look more closely. We speak to people we might never have met in our everyday lives. We accept not knowing exactly where we are, having to ask, having to wait, sometimes even getting lost.

And that is when geography stops being merely a map.

In a video I made, Under the Same Sky — We Have the Same Future, I brought together places that seem geographically distant from one another, yet remain connected by the same sky. Beneath it, human beings have drawn borders and built barriers. The sky, however, has none.

The places we pass through begin to mingle with our memories, our absences, the questions we were carrying with us without even knowing it.

Perhaps this is what I am looking for whenever I leave: not another place in which to live, but another way of looking at the place I come from.

Because every journey, in the end, crosses two territories.

The one before our eyes.

And the one we carry within us.

A Bruxelles perfino il ferro, materiale che dovrebbe essere serio, industriale, affidabile, improvvisamente decide di diventare un fiore.
La natura non conosce la linea retta.
Gli alberi crescono storti.
I fiumi cambiano idea.
Le montagne non rispettano il piano regolatore.
Solo gli uomini, a un certo punto della storia, hanno deciso che essere diritti fosse sinonimo di essere corretti.
Forse non siamo venuti al mondo per diventare perfettamente diritti.
Forse siamo venuti al mondo per trovare una forma capace di contenerci.
Anche se irregolare.
Anche se incompleta.

Bruxelles ti insegna le istruzioni per restare storto ed essere felice.