Exploring Time and Existence in Monochrome by Giorgio Bormida
The photographic approach of the works of Giorgio Bormida’s fades in favor of an extremely poetic use of the image. This somehow recalls a painting, as it leads the viewer’s eye right to the heart of a complex imagination densely embedded with suggestions and experiences.
The author highlights the sense of humanly daily events, which are likely to touch upon anybody’s existence and experience. Anybody can catch on signs and hints of something that keeps on outliving time in their soul, in their memory.
Giorgio Bormida, like painters on their canvas, works with veilings, quietly, one step after the other. Every frame opens like a scenic window, a painting that becomes a stage (as the author claims) where, layer after layer, veiling after veiling, reality becomes clear and turns into a pure suggestion.
Gloves of autumn leave your fingers, branches of memories in your hands. They explore eyes, mouth and nose like a world to discover or recognize, reorganize in space. So many things yet to say. Can we say "in this exact moment"?. This is no more the time when the eye is the sense of all senses.
Parents and, broadly speaking, relatives and kins. We know the names of some of them, a date written with a pen on the back of a photo, and we go back in time through the fragments of stories that fix moments of their lives.
We look for traces of the invisible net that connects them to us, those similarities that relate us to them. We try to understand how we have become what we are through them.
In the collection, we find the same subjects: the girl, the adult woman, the married couple, the hunters, the motorcyclist. People and objects strictly connected, so as to create the atmosphere of the time. We all have a box of old pictures and when we look at them we try to retrace the history of our origins, of the people who came before us. It is not enough to identify a body, a face. We attempt to investigate their hidden thoughts. Every detail is precious and triggers our imagination
Suspended in a fleeting time like a hare, mystically balanced between light and shadow, between ancient and new, between past and present.
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