Avorio is a work that still leaves me speechless. It consists of three bread shovels fixed on the wall, just above one’s head, by means of small metal brackets.
I am disarmed by its paradoxical simplicity. On the one hand it is what it is: small shovels, worn out by their daily activity, hanging. That’s it.
On the other hand, there is something frightening about its fixedness. It has monsters, fears inside. They appear and disappear, crawling through thirty small shapes engraved in plastic. Rounded, drawn, loaded.
They are alien fears, not forgetful of atomic mushrooms, Korean missile tests, presences that would scare us to death in a forest that is haunted by silent and immortal beings.
Avorio is detached in the face of any possible interpretation. Either if you look at it as a set of three masks or skulls, of inexpressive-faced emoticons or bones, the answer is always the same. A complete, tight indifference.