Giulia Cenci, Aprile 5084, 2017, courtesy the artist, Spazio A
Feasts of Hunger, 2021, exhibition view, Spazio ORR, Brescia
Giulia Cenci, Aprile 5084, 2017, courtesy the artist, Spazio A
Giulia Cenci, Aprile 5084, 2017, courtesy the artist, Spazio A
Giulia Cenci, Aprile 5084, 2017, courtesy the artist, Spazio A
Giulia Cenci, Aprile 5084, 2017, courtesy the artist, Spazio A
Giulia Cenci, Aprile 5084, 2017, courtesy the artist, Spazio A
Giulia Cenci, Aprile 5084, 2017, courtesy the artist, Spazio A
Giulia Cenci, Aprile 5084, 2017, courtesy the artist, Spazio A
Giulia Cenci, Aprile 5084, 2017, courtesy the artist, Spazio A
Giulia Cenci, Aprile 5084, 2017, courtesy the artist, Spazio A
Giulia Cenci, Aprile 5084, 2017, courtesy the artist, Spazio A
Giulia Cenci, Aprile 5084, 2017, courtesy the artist, Spazio A
Feasts of Hunger, 2021, exhibition view, Spazio ORR, Brescia
Michael E. Smith, Untitled, 2017 courtesy the artist, M. Ghigi collection
Michael E. Smith, Untitled, 2017 courtesy the artist, M. Ghigi collection
Feasts of Hunger, 2021, exhibition view, Spazio ORR, Brescia
June Crespo, Nao, 2019, courtesy the artist, P420, M. Ghigi collection
June Crespo, Nao, 2019, courtesy the artist, P420, M. Ghigi collection
June Crespo, Nao, 2019, courtesy the artist, P420, M. Ghigi collection
June Crespo, Nao, 2019, courtesy the artist, P420, M. Ghigi collection
June Crespo, Nao, 2019, courtesy the artist, P420, M. Ghigi collection
June Crespo, Nao, 2019, courtesy the artist, P420, M. Ghigi collection
June Crespo, Nao, 2019, courtesy the artist, P420, M. Ghigi collection
All images courtesy of the artists and the gallery.
My hunger, Anne, Anne, flee on your donkey.
If I have any taste, it s for hardly anything
but earth and stones.
Dinn! Dinn! Dinn! Dinn!
Let us eat air, rock, coal, iron.
Turn, my hungers.
Feed, hungers, in the meadow of sounds!
Suck the gaudy poison of the convolvuli;
Eat, the stones a poor man breaks,
the old masonry of churches, boulders,
children of floods, loaves lying in the grey valleys!
Hungers, it is bits of black air; the azure trumpeter;
it is my stomach that makes me suffer.
It is unhappiness. Leaves have appeared on earth!
I go looking for the sleepy flesh of fruit.
At the heart of the furrow I pick
Venus’ looking-glass and the violet.
My hunger, Anne, Anne, flee on your donkey.
Arthur Rimbaud
