Assigned the Monti neighborhood of Rome by his professor as something of retribution for being a smart-ass punk kid, occasionally a bit lacking in established decorum, he fell in love with the district.
Was it picturesque and classical like the others? No. But, it was alive! Even when it was ostensibly vacant, somewhere between the early rush of workers and late afternoon aperitivos, there was life. Graffiti and politics, deep catholic traditions held tightly by modernity. Fascists menacing communists, Italians menacing immigrants and everyone and everything coming and going from Roma Termini.
An illusionary game of tricks, MONTI’s delicate suspension above the ground looks to be an act of God, while its power packs a punch, draping and curving throughout the air in a bold expressive cord (of your choosing).
Much like its inspiration, there’s an evident tension between its structure, its sensibility and its celebration of the unpredictable, the vibrancy of life.
