The door as a testimony of a past life, a symbol of hospitality and opportunity. The door as protection and shelter.
I’ve always been fascinated by ancient and abandoned doors. They are centenary doors, marked by time that tell old stories.
Doors deteriorated by time. Closed and opened thousand times.
The doors intended as a passage in a lost world and metaphor for life itself.
Over the years I have realized that those beautiful wooden doors that had welcomed me during my youth, spent in the medieval village of Moricone, the country where I grew up, they were slowly disappearing because they were replaced by new materials such as iron or aluminum.
It was a real mourning to see these doors gradually disappearing. It was like losing a part of my memories… of my story.
A story made up of workshops and old cellars, always buzzing where you could find artisans and farmers busy with their work tools and always open to dialogue.
During my childhood I remember grandparents who left the doors of their houses open or left the keys outside. As if the possibility of a thief was not contemplated. As if in the world there were just friends. There was an idea of utopia in all this, a reassuring utopia.
I felt the need to document those fragments of doors that have been lost or that sooner or later will be. And with them an enchanted world disappears…a world, which, trustfully left the house key attached outside the door…