My friend Gianluca Cecere, an excellent photographer, gave me a photograph of Naples such a beauty that I see it moved. In a release, that freezes a moment, behind which, however, there are the expectations of a life spent watching and waiting for the right light, Gianluca knew, knowing me well, portraying the city 'that I grew up, my house and the refuge of my heart.In the photo, lights and shadows and flights of birds that might escape the casual eye, I have found intact the certainty that when I arrived in New York, have arrived starting from the beauty. A beauty "secret", however, often difficult to see behind the heaps of rubbish or the sadness of alleys that seem painful, regardless of time, be equal in their exhausting immutability.
Often I will "criticizes" the comments (which are always welcome), always good to speak in New York and America and bad for my country. And I understand that, obviously, in those moments I fail in trying to convey, however, the deep sense of my love for that city more than my house is my soul, the perfect place where I built my own view of the world, starting, as I said, the beauty.
But when you see that beauty betrayed and humiliated every day, and within, dies the hope that something can change and that the light can at least partially cover the concerns of the shadow, you feel the urge to scream and get angry. That's my city and I can not bear to see her so low.
Just as my country. And mine is a scream, not a criticism as an end in itself, a call to arms, often futile, to say that you can, damn if you can change. By doing. With hope and action. With anger and audacity. I understand, however, it is difficult to "believe." 'S the classic dog chasing its tail around the disgust it creates a sense of despair and exhaustion contributes to the crap inside.
Add to this, it must be said, that part of the "people" that has never been and people living in the shadow of the streets, exchanging his life for an excuse to get away, then the picture is understandable. It is clear, and Naples, is Italy. The perfect place where he could be generated and survive Berlusconi.
In New York it snows. The city is ready. The last time it was. Not be ready in New York means that if you get a snow storm as has not happened for decades and it takes longer than 24 hours to return to normal, you failed. If you then add that after the snow, the city has been invaded by junk, then you have the picture of something that went stortissimo.
Obviously, the city was not unprepared. Of course, underneath, there is a tug of war, not the public, including the mayor and the heads of the waste collection service (which also takes care of cleaning the snow-covered roads), on a war footing for the cuts in the budget. Obviously, the heads are already falling, took the responsibility and the city is clean and ready again.
In the anger of citizens in recent days, furious at those rows of bags, I felt the anger and the request "without ifs and buts" to see their rights respected citizens. And I "heard" that behind every word there was the audacity of hope that everything would be asking what happened. And it happened.
And today the city is ready. As always. At least to give answers and to listen. In New York skyscrapers that seem beautiful photograph. Me too. But just because I come from the beauty of Naples. And this beauty has stayed with me in the eye. Photo by Gianluca Cecere
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