Ducceschi, Artisans and Artists,
draw the light from their stones,
clean it and
delicately put it back in its place,
Art in the dust.
Slowness is the secret to very fine dust. It covers everything but the shapes preserve their hidden dignity. The embroidery it creates is delicate and elegant like precious watermarks, and the surfaces are enhanced by a minute and impalpable graininess, so fragile that a breath can erase it for ever. White sculptures, frozen, motionless silent butterflies.
I enter the Workshop where Ducceschi transforms Alabaster into “Pietra degli Dei” (Stone of the Gods) and I hold my breath in order not to break the religious silence of the dust. And beneath the level, immaculate blanket, the work tools protrude just enough, shiny only where the Craftsman’s hand guides them, reassuringly surrounded in white. One senses a serene Art. And the whiteness even reassures me.
The dust is proud to have stripped the stone from the surplus, to have uncovered its hidden nobility, and even feels modestly noble itself. Dust held together with ease by the magic of invisible glue, yet absorbs the light. One senses Art in the dust.
Ducceschi, Artisans and Artists, draw the light from their stones, clean it and delicately put it back in its place, with love. A good omen to future life. Yes. Work Working Art. Work, perfect Art. The skill of the artisan is the poetry that these Artists write visually.
The intense aroma of the sea and the bright colours suspended in an oily bath, both waiting to show their charm, accompany me until a large army of white souls, ordered and hidden, take the form of a ritual to be celebrated. Between the thousand other possible rituals, that every day, are celebrated around the stones of the Gods with shabby garments and some incense.