LOVE MELTS INDIFFERENCE

There are things nobody takes away from us.

We simply stop reaching for them.

We stop touching.
We stop smelling the air before deciding what season it is.
We stop looking long enough to understand.
We learn to move through one another without contact.

Perhaps this is one of the quietest forms of ageing: not the body changing, but the gradual domestication of instinct.

We become reasonable.

We learn what is appropriate to wear, how close we should stand, how much of ourselves we should reveal. We learn to observe before acting and to imagine the gaze of others before listening to our own.

And little by little, one day becomes a place where we store everything that still feels alive.

One day I will wear it.
One day I will go.
One day I will touch.
One day I will begin again.

No one forbids us.

We simply become accustomed to the distance.

Sottoluce began somewhere inside this thought.

The word describes something seen beneath light, but not fully exposed by it. A transparency. Sun passing through cloth, through skin, through leaves. Something revealed without becoming completely visible.

Under that light, the body remembers.

Touch before judgement.
Smell before description.
Instinct before permission.

There is something feral in recognising another human being through proximity rather than image. A shoulder against another shoulder. A hand resting on a back. The weight of a head given, for a moment, to another body.

Not performance.

Contact.

Perhaps love is not always the enormous thing we have made of it.

Perhaps sometimes love is simply the refusal to become indifferent.

To another body.
To a landscape.
To an old piece of cloth.
To time.
To ourselves.

This is why the bodies of Sottoluce come together.

They lean, touch, carry and interrupt one another. Individual silhouettes begin to disappear. Clothes pass between masculine and feminine bodies. Fabric becomes another skin.

And somewhere inside this small community appears Taranta.

A VUSCICHÈ jacquard knitwear study, developed as a recurring motif across different bodies and forms.

Not yet a collection to explain.

A trace.

TARANTA — COMING SOON.

LOVE MELTS INDIFFERENCE.