Some time ago, while walking through the streets of Naples I had into an unexpected encounter: crouching in the doorway of a building, an old man strove to forge an unlikely form.
Curious, I stopped and waited. Creased, folded and pleated, the form finally came to life: whistles, whistles and whistles again! (those that emerge from a bucolic memory when you acted as a policeman blowing blades of grass). The man had given some beauty back to himself and to that obsolete sheet of paper.... and, to the sound of that screeching, harsh and discordant device, was smiling like a child.
I thought about his face marked by the wrinkles of a hard and uncertain life, I thought of him as a free man, a funny and noble subject to draw.