MOTHER is the story of a son and his mother, who lives on a farm: she has fallen into a well. Was she distracted? Is she losing her mind? Did she do it on purpose? This is not a dialogue, it is a diptych made up of two monologues. He scolds her then goes to look for tools; winches and muskets, iron tubes and pulleys, all the “technology” required to pull her out. From deep inside herself, and from inside a well that’s as deep as infinity, she confesses. She’s not afraid, and she doesn’t feel distressed. 

In this desolate landscape, what emerges is the allegory of an increasingly poisoned Mother Earth, the nightmare created by a “technology” that, instead of discretely helping humanity, imposes itself arrogantly in all its potential for destruction, capable of ruining age-old balances. In the text, which interweaves Italian and Romagna dialect, these two figures are poised between the harsh reality of our times and the symbols of a threatening and indecipherable future. They seem like emblems of an oriental fairy tale.