Time is finite, or is indissolubly infinite.
How much time do I have? When do I have to finish?
These are prisons of existences that, in fact, know very well that they are finite and that they don’t have time. In order to try to find time, we give ourselves intermediate deadlines, we fill ourselves with time limits attempting to pretend that we don't have an inevitable one.
Yet, if suddenly it happens that one can enter the infinite dimension of time, touch the non-divisible, non-expiring essence of experience, then setting a limit, a duration for oneself—a deadline, precisely—is not necessary.
One can simply be, being without seeking, without obtaining, without asking for. In this infinite time is produced the link with the absurd infinite in which we are immersed, and our existential expiration becomes relative.
That happened to me during unforgettable days in the infinite, suspended time of the Venice captured in Molecole (Molecules), the film that I happened to shoot, unknowingly, during the March 2020 lockdown, in a still and eternal Venice, whispering and fragile.
I hope that it may happen to me again, but the fundamental thing is knowing that it can’t be predicted.
(This text was translated from the Italian by Francesca Pietropaolo.)