The stage is set, and a few sheets of steel instruments, the piano on the right: the only necessary. On his right a bucket of white tempera.
dipping their hands in tempera note the tip of his index colored blue.
Without turning to seek consensus, he began to paint in a vacuum, two rows behind the amplification wonder what he is doing that strange boy: There is no canvas, just air.
But it all starts to spin around and dense that air takes shape, size, fade away and the boy painted with blue edges on top.
The breaths are panting, dumb down the people waiting for the next step.
V. turns to the audience, drawing a stool in a vacuum and you sit on. As a
early music, her voice sounds, the old castle is full of new melody.
Giulia Gonzaga seems to want to leave the underground maze that runs through the city, where it was hidden in ancient times to hear his voice.
The lights go out intimidated by the play of colors and color that makes his voice on stage: the blue of the sky, drawn with the tip of his finger, getting stronger each time the voice rises to return to the White lower notes. There
anyone who does not have a heart full, without a choice in the blood is heated by the second last row, everything slips away.
attachment to life, just a little 'color on your fingers you can use to draw the world expectations and dreams and a voice that soothes and regenerates .
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