578 gr, Polyester and family's fights
Each day, several times a day, I step on that scale. I measured, not so much my body but my "skill". I would wake up at night and, to calm my anxiety, I stood out on that pedestal. Only then I was feeling emotions .. such a strange place was it!
Weight.
How much do I weight today? In an hour?
At the end of the day?
Even small fluctuations seem crucial. Each relative error can not be neglected by scientists, neither by me. Without clothes the body appears just a mass which, as such, is subject to measurement.
Mass. Meat without memories, emotions, identity.
A set of clothes lying there, outside my closet. Sometimes you need to get rid of the superfluous “weights”. A shapeless mass, made of folds and flexion, clefts. A bit as my memory.
For each cloth a memory. Each one I discard is a feeling that I relive, and then deposit. After years it is time to grow up, I’m not who I was, I do not wear those clothes anymore, that mask.
Measurement is part of me. Counting, numbering satisfy me; I can not, I do not want to measure myself, my body, my mass, my skills, but I can measure my experience, thus giving it an order, putting points where before only commas were written.
Each material is subject to the gravity force and, therefore, falls. This is how I see it: an empty shell, a shell without a body, the body that has changed and no longer exists.
The image is part of a bigger project focused on the relationship between contemporary society and scientific measurement: a strange connection that seems to save the humans from uncertainty and anxiety, but actually drives them to obsession.
Weight.
How much do I weight today? In an hour?
At the end of the day?
Even small fluctuations seem crucial. Each relative error can not be neglected by scientists, neither by me. Without clothes the body appears just a mass which, as such, is subject to measurement.
Mass. Meat without memories, emotions, identity.
A set of clothes lying there, outside my closet. Sometimes you need to get rid of the superfluous “weights”. A shapeless mass, made of folds and flexion, clefts. A bit as my memory.
For each cloth a memory. Each one I discard is a feeling that I relive, and then deposit. After years it is time to grow up, I’m not who I was, I do not wear those clothes anymore, that mask.
Measurement is part of me. Counting, numbering satisfy me; I can not, I do not want to measure myself, my body, my mass, my skills, but I can measure my experience, thus giving it an order, putting points where before only commas were written.
Each material is subject to the gravity force and, therefore, falls. This is how I see it: an empty shell, a shell without a body, the body that has changed and no longer exists.
The image is part of a bigger project focused on the relationship between contemporary society and scientific measurement: a strange connection that seems to save the humans from uncertainty and anxiety, but actually drives them to obsession.
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