The home, the private space where man finds his own identity, strengthens his ties, and recovers the memory of his fathers. These designs are not able to be, in spite of living in the places of the memory, witnesses of a world constituted historically, because they seem rather to contain them inside themselves to found again new every time. They are a reserve of meanings never definitively explicable and perhaps precisely because of
this of radical novelty. They do not fear comparison with time that destroys everything new, transforming it unexpectedly into style; and when these objects live in our homes they do not seem to have any signature but being only the silent witnesses of a presence, ours.
Things that we share day after day, the existence of a man who when he performs his daily
rituals does not want to renounce himself for an image and wants the things that accompany him to be similar to him. Moving forward into that surviving place where we are extremely touched by the essential closeness of things.