Copyright © 2020 Matteo Buonomo
I’ve tried to shape my loneliness.
I wanted to give to my solitude a physical place where it could have expressed itself, resonating and amplifying with what was around without feeling guilty.
I went to the only place in my mind where solitude is a condition and not a disgrace.
I went to Siberia because I felt so alone.
I needed to be solitary, on my own but not in the sense of being alone.
Exiling mymself in order not to find out where I was, rather exiling myself in order to find out
what I was missing.
I needed to share an home intimacy with strangers and witness others people’s solitude to cure mine. This was the cure I had in mind for me.
I travelled by train, I walked, I hitch-hiked without planning anything, trying to be as instinctive as possible.
I allowed my sensations and my fears to drive me up to remote and forgotten villages.
Direction did not even matter anymore.
I walked, and when I saw a lineament, a scar, a tattoo or a certain fatigue that transpired a story that scared or interested me then I got closer and with a note with few words written in Russian asked for a place to stay for the night.
Every cure has its rules.
Mine was simple.
Never spend more than three days with the same people.
I was a pendulum.
Every time I felt comfortable and safe in somebody home that was the moment to leave.
Life is a pendulum.
Be accepted once would not have been enough.
This was the cure I had in mind for me.
I’ve suffered. Some cures are painful.
Nick Drake would have probably called this a troubled cure for a troubled mind.
I realized loneliness has no shape.