When I get a new Questionnaire,

It’s as if someone is stepping over my threshold to be introduced


each blot includes both joys, seductions of life

and shortcomings, (and) sufferings...


The plate becomes moulded and disfigured,

I hit it, I scratch it,

I touch it gently,

I tint it

It becomes enriched by everything and by nothing


I will never have the opportunity to meet people that give me the questionnaire

but I am sure that, while I'm moulding the blot, my eyes contains in itself a fragment of their lived life


(Travel notes, L. Fabris, iter “never compare people’s lives to yours because you don't know their travel”)