Dresses

These long dresses were found along the “death pass” of Ventimiglia. They are minimal, designed to be practical, easy to wash, and quick to dry. The sleeves are long and straight, without any visible decoration; the neckline is simple, barely suggested, with a small opening at the front closed by a few buttons. On the chest, almost invisible, there are small traces – perhaps signs of wear, perhaps stains: clues of prolonged use, of days spent without the possibility of truly stopping. These dresses were made to accompany, to cover, to protect, and it may have been packed into a backpack for exactly that reason: they are loose, designed not to cling to the body and not to draw the unwanted attention of men. One can almost imagine a woman folding them carefully into her backpack, together with just a few other things. On the “death pass” of Ventimiglia they were resting on a rock, perhaps laid out in the sun to dry, and left there after a hasty escape. And just like a stone, it transformed from a garment into a trace. Today, whoever wore them is no longer there – at least not there – and perhaps, we hope, she continued her journey, or perhaps she was forced to stop again, somewhere else. But her dresses remained, like a suspended presence, and it holds a memory. It is the outline of an absence. It tells of a life in transit, of identities reduced to the essentials, of decisions made in a matter of seconds that shape entire destinies. Looking at it, one has the feeling that they were never truly abandoned, but only left behind – waiting for someone, passing by, to stop and read the story it carries with it.