Articolo non ancora tradotto
To paint a murderer give me first of all a man
Monday July, 8. Woyzeck and I enter the balding gardens of a small Tuscan town, the land of my ancestors. With us, forty-three performers have congregated from various parts of Wales, Italy, USA and other corners of Europe. We have invaded the "Bombicci Gardens", perhaps the seediest part of town. Here, at night, a population of minor junkies and down-and-outs emerge from the cracks in the walls and replace geraniums, toddlers and little old ladies gossiping on benches. The gardens too are a map, a grid, a sculpted universe.
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