The "panaru", the rope, the sun, the fig tree, and the whistling wind.
My grandmother above, my grandfather below.
It's a tribute to them.
These flowers crocheted by my nonna, that undershirt always beneath nonno's shirts, those trousers that somewhat resemble their "panaru" and that suit jacket he'd never wear due to its light color, but I like to imagine otherwise.
This ensemble is them, embodied through me.

A suit, my inspirations, a broad collar that embraces us, fades from sight, covers and entwines us. A nonchalant silhouette, trousers that react and follow us. It's the steps that mold the shapes, in motion, one step shorter, one step longer.

Tuesday, December 8, 2008.
I'm slightly late for my soccer practice. But no stress, I'm almost ready, I just have to take off my puffy jacket. A short puffer jacket, imposing with its round shapes and composed of panels forming arcs. Straight shorts partially covered by a large pocket.
(Whistle sound)...
The training begins.

This sky-blue, white, striped shirt, that was him, my nonno. Wherever he stepped, it was a shirt. Work, shirt; birthday, shirt; gardening, shirt; harvest, shirt; home, shirt… A silhouette, a shirt, and a collar tucked into trousers.

I can still see them, right in front of the little me. It was grand, it was culture, it was the Greek temples adorning Sicily. That silhouette, the perfect image of my region. Its purity, its land adorned with lemon trees and movements, which have always given life to words.

Maradona, the era when jerseys had collars and shorts were short. The warm-up before the match and the song "Life is Life - Opus". Others simply played, Maradona gave birth to the art of movement.

It's a tale of comfort, nonchalance, savoir-faire, and an elegant aspect. A union, to me, of quality raw materials and the selection of refined cuts.

Mid-season, I used to make fun of them, and now, it’s a bit like me. ASULÆ flowers adorn the garment, like those flowers once adorned her balcony. This garment of laziness, caught between warm and cold, between shorts and a sweater, why must we choose?

The house of trials, the house of failures, the house of successes. You step inside, close the door, and ‘e cosi di botto, we breathe life into things.’ The workshop where everything comes to life… and also revives. I saw it with my own eyes in my father’s auto garage or my mother’s sewing workshop. A desire to revisit the work uniform while honoring its base color: petrol blue. Short raglan sleeves with cuffs, a rounded bodice, and a high-fitted waist. A shirt collar stitched with white thread, designed to highlight the delicate ‘fleur de lait’ crafted by nonna, made between one nap and the next.

I love softness, blue skies and folds.

We often wear them right side out, yet here they are inside out. A new perspective on clothing. A powerful leather like a straight, broad, and massive column. Delicate overlocking, blue finishes that represent the distant sky coming back to the surface. Creating one’s own reality and bringing a new perspective to clothing, inside out.

A blend of earth, sky, and time sculpting the stone. Like a white curtain in motion, in front of this window with a view of the sea, the sky and passing time leaving its mark.

My childhood is the month of October, and in Sicily, it is the olive harvest. Beneath the shade of the trees, women wore scarves and large pockets at the front of their aprons, to carry and store olives, but also memories. My childhood memories live in that silhouette. Like a process of creation, the raw material, oil in the making. During autumn, these souls gathered and then made their way to the factories. In the factories, I see myself as a child again, standing in front of these oil basins, a piece of bread in hand, waiting for the long-awaited snack time.

I imagine it as the perfect summer outfit: a draped cotton t-shirt, olive-colored linen shorts, and a slice of watermelon in hand. It’s light, it’s delicate.

These colors were an image. A 1980 Vespa 50 Special, parked in front of the bakery in that little alley. I passed by it every day while strolling, and it’s quite amusing how a habit from 15 years ago can bring a silhouette to life.