Enigma... worse than a dilemma.

Of art, of human beings, of inhuman beings and other dramas

A contemporary 'feuilleton' in the age of digital. 

 

Dramaturgy and script originally appeared on Instagram to present the installation set up with the sculptural work ENIGMA, gradually revealing its conceptual genesis and creative process. 

A narrative to guide the audience to discover the different levels of interpretation of the work, its symbolism and its relationship with other arts and philosophy.

 

 

Scene 1

 


Hello, you who are looking at me. You are looking at me, aren't you?
Maybe you could help me.

I look at myself but I can't see myself. Or I see myself and I can't recognize myself. So maybe I'm looking for myself.

I'm not good with words.

I don't know if I feel empty or drained. Maybe both. I'm looking for my identity. My identity.


My name is Enigma.
It is worse than a dilemma! "What to be?" that is the real question.


I am in crisis as a human being. In the midst of all this artificial intelligence, I can no longer find my emotional intelligence. The memories are now all on the server. I feel that I am losing my human and species memory. If I lose my account, I lose myself.


And yes, I am in a bit in crisis as a man. I see so much inequality between men and women. I don't agree with that. But even to subscribe to a long list with everything that should not be done, I would still not know what should be done. I need a new identity formulated positively-with the addition of values-and not negatively-by subtraction of mistakes. That's it.

All my certainties have been shattered to such an extent that it's easier to reshape myself from scratch, from clay, with the addition of all and only the necessary matter. 

 

Scene 2

 


I can see! And I got an idea!!!

 

Scene 3

 

He starta getting sensitive.

Shall I wash it among the delicate items?

 

 

 

Scene 4

 

 I am not delicate... I am complex.

Your brainwashing will not work! 

 

|____ GO TO -->  <PREWASHING> 

I don't care. This centrifugation is like a Luna Park, you know? Suspended in zero gravity like an astronaut. Yeah. I love it!

|____ GO TO --> <WASHING>

Well, honestly it's starting to become like a lullaby. This repetition rate... absence of time? Or too much time? I'm almost falling asleep. Asleep. Suspended between past and future? I can't distinguish memory from expectation. Strange: I have lost my temporal orientation. I can feel my hearthbeat. Is it me? Oh, very bad, I can hear myself! Where are my clocks? Where are my social triggers, my constraints, my commitments? What about the biological clock? I need my reference points.

|____ GO TO --> <AMMORBIDENT>

Should I take advantage of the situation? I mean, set a reasonable clock once and for all? Maybe it wasn't brainwashing... it was brain rehydration. Just add water at the first use! How nice.

|____-->  BRAINSTORMING AND ACTIVATION COMPLEATED

      |____--> END

Scene 5

Very strange methods, this lady.

The basic ideas seem good, though.

For example, I have eliminated all internal and external clocks. I want to see Time all at once, like an hourglass, which you know how much sand it contains. I'm fed up with instants, fragments and the like.

But it is better to keep an eye open. You never know. This lady keeps manipulating my head.

 Well, the marble dust was a good idea. I don't shine like a diamond, but at least like an old Roman emperor. Yes, the ones that sit on the shelves of the Capitoline museums... a bit like the hunter's trophies. It is just these little curls that bother me. I don't know why, but more than Caracalla or Hadrian they make me think of Medusa. It could be because of my bad conscience.

If I look in the mirror I see back in time, before the washing machine, and I see inside myself and my history: 

I come from mud, I am made of plaster, and I want to look like marble.

 

 

And then with this badly tamed Caravaggio's Gorgon hair I realise.... I wonder if... (but keep it to yourself, please) ... Is it the Medusa who petrifies us - the men - with her gaze? Or is it we - the men - who petrify ourselves by looking into her eyes? Which is the real object and which the reflected image? I fear that we are reversing the cause-effect relationship of millennia. A historical testimony of how gender inequality is deeply rooted in our society. 

Anyway, back to more practical matters. Something has to be done about my hair. Something masculine, something that allows me to face the roughness of life with character instead of locking myself behind excuses and stereotypes!

I need a break with my past. I need a new haircut! 

 

Scene 6

 

No, wait. There must...there must be a mistake.... a misunderstanding...
You the hair stylists are all the same: you always do the opposite of what you say!

This is not a Roman warrior's crest.
It is not even a hackle.
Nor are they wings!
How can I fly with these feathers - ostrich feathers – feathers of a bird that doesn't even fly?!!!

 

Well, If it didn't make me cry, it would make me laugh… especially the metaphorical interpretation!


Dear Enigma,

you are on the right direction.

There is something superior to desperation and violence: irony- especially self-irony- and dialogue.

If you then add a touch of elegance to it, you'll get the attention of everybody (even without a conventional helmet).

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