A hand traces a sinuous line. There is no clue who it belongs to, yet as in Roland Barthes’ Punctum, it draws our attention and attracts our gaze all along the line itself – a sumptuous wave of chiaroscuro – conducting a private symphony of fullness and emptiness, light and shadow. A young girl turns like a flash, struck by a sudden light which appears in her and her male companion’s direction. The intensity of her gaze penetrates our soul with no room for escape. It is an instant torn from darkness. It is the instant of truth that we recognize as only certain poetry or photographs can do, bringing us closer to our own intimate and unconfessed reality.
We hear the footsteps inside the suggestion of a courtyard. The hint of the warmth of a mild Spring on the streets. And Rome reveals its impatience to dry out from the cold and dark days of winter, welcoming a renewed mystery of the desire of love. Marina Sersale evokes traces from which, looking deeper, we find the secret truth of things. Like the profile outlined against a window frame, we are observers hidden in the shadow, suspended in a kind of interior timing that ebbs and flows in a series of precise images in our minds.
The light that struggles for its own life in the black space, in a haunting and metaphysical void, gives us a hope for existence, of a possible and vibrating existence. And the extraordinary seems invisible to the eyes of passers-by, above whom fantasy is taking shape. Just like in a metaphysical reflection, a tribute to Giorgio de Chirico, the images of Sersale seem inspired by that metaphor of the revealing light belonging to the vast land of dreams, of the unconscious, a land where “every person and every object takes on…a more mysterious appearance; the ghosts of beings and things that appear to us; ghosts that, when the light is turned on, return to their unknown kingdom.”
– Francesco Zizola