Cloro, Condominium, 2023

Cloro’s book for Grani edizioni has as its matrix an obvious reference to Ballard’s book, Condominium, from which the title is quoted. Condominium is described as a container, compact, univocal, like a skin, even functional, at least apparently, organism that contains, however, a heterogeneous, disjointed whole, lacking concatenated relations of cause and effect, even, at times, dramatic.

“Unlike J. G. Balard’s novel High-Rise (Condominium), from which I was arbitrarily and laterally inspired, here the full-fledged skyscrapers are replaced by squat, yellowing apartment buildings. The human dynamics bring us back to an inescapable perception of apathy and atavistic nihilism, well concealed behind a technology that has found dopamine to be the goose that lays the golden egg. There is no revolt here, or rather, there seems to be no reason to enact it. Living cohesively in the same structure means making compromises and consciously accepting the long-term damage. Photographs are mostly taken indoors using analog and digital cameras. The negatives when not printed in the darkroom are rephotographed on the window glass, photocopied, rephotographed, and so on.” Cloro

The book’s hardcover wrapper represents the container-condominium, enveloping and containing a set of heterogeneous elements that coexist, represented by the use of different papers and formats, with different textures, colors, and weights. The texts are cut-ups, written on a Remington typewriter. The deluxe editions contain a photo printed on 20×30 cm aluminum and on a slim card the video Volubilis with music by Gianluca Ceccarini conceived and produced by Cloro for Insect Panic.

Notte,

Notte.

Notte sul nuovo mondo,

Quella cadente casa piena degli ululati del vento

Col suo orizzonte

Tornammo nel nostro appartamento al quarantesimo piano.

Luci intermittenti,

sui piani più elevati del grattacielo

Un alto fuoco sulla cime,

tanta gloria sembrò inopportuna,

Un inutile spreco,

(non è indispensabile fare le corse con qualcuno)

Conquistarsi faticosamente qualcosa e lo strepitio

Inventarsi astuzie, lottare, lottare, lottare sempre

Non posso fare a meno di questa vita che veramente non è.

Sonnacchiosa esistenza in cui affogano spiriti inqueti.

Luci intermittenti,

Le braci del fuoco brillavano nella sera

Inebriato dall’alcol mi misi faticosamente in piedi,

verso destra la cortina delle mura avanzante e rientrante,

avanzante e rientrante fino a perdermi nella caliggine lunare

Un cane sullo spiedo faceva pensare ad un uomo mutilato,

I tizzoni incastonati nella sua pelle brillavano come gioielli

Un sibilo mi percosse gli orecchi, un risucchio,

non era prima del tempo, non era prima del tempo.

Fuori, fermi, altri gruppi di persone,

massa critica.

Il canto di caccia, cuore, baratro infernale,

se stesso divora.

Se ne ripromette, esso cuore, un ritorno alle origini,

all’alba.

(from the text within the book)