MASSIMO RENIERO

At one point I found myself alone in my space, white, aseptic, with a myriad of black beads set into equally myriad of vescica piscis color white Carrara: I opened. Slowly, slowly, one at a time, in a row with a vaguely military, began to interact with The Code The silence was kept quiet by images continuously impermanent. Similarly the real life, the time was condensed in a first existed, in an after impalpable and in a present elusive. Fixed, large and small, as ebony children took turns in front input imagining all together a new reality, different and equal in its final resolution. What was this new code? What made them the Petit Prince? What was the injury?