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.