desiderio (de.si.dè.rio) s.m. (from the Latin desiderium, derived from desiderare) 1. A feeling of passionate searching or expectation of possession, the attainment or execution of what is felt as appropriate to one’s needs and tastes; when it constitutes the object; yearning (for the absence of someone)
de.sire (from French desirer, Latin desiderare, French de+sider-, sidus, body of paradise)
deseo (from Latin desidium) Movimiento enérgico de la voluntad hacia el conocimiento, posesión o disfrute de una cosa
désir (end of the XII century)
DESIRE IS TO SEE AND NOT TO SEE
The interpretation through the photographs of Mimmo Jodice
Desire runs within like the fingers of a hand slowly lingering on precious silk; the fingertips note the texture, the delicate subtle fibres; the eye, captured by the colours and reflections constantly changing caressed by light, softly mistaken, promising wellbeing at the first touch.
The senses cautiously register the pleasure and the desire that accompanies and grows, amplifying the emotions born out of this experience.
The senses, all the senses, are faithful and dangerous allies of desire.
Desire as the promise/premise of an experience as yet not consumed, but only imagined; a huge, growing illusion, that envelopes and consumes body and mind breaking defences, taboos and fears.
Desire flows from a word barely whispered in an ear; from a taste barely perceived: from a sound that accompanies a world unexpected and charged with mystery; from a flash of the eyes, from a visual premonition that is stuck within; from a slight contact, only hinted that sensually rings through the entire body.
Desire is seeing and not seeing; perceiving without having a complete vision of the picture; indeed desire is completing inside oneself, with the inward eye, the painting as one would like to see it, truly indifferent to reality and the disappointment it could bring.
Desire is a search engine opening new roads, unexpected emotions and thoughts; to desire is to decide never to stop.
Il mio oggetto ideale, se ci fosse:
tenero come della pelle del collo della mia ragazza,
preciso come il grilletto di una pistola,
trasparente come il blu zaffiro del cielo alle sei di mattina d’estate,
bello come la delphica di michelangelo,
prezioso come l’acqua, leggero come la fiamma che mi brucia.
e utile come un’eredità inattesa.
– STEFANO CHIODI –