NTT8-Bell tower with threatening shadow
Matera is the city where my mother was born and where I spent most of my childhood summers. Matera for me: has the taste of whipped cream just made, placed in waffle baskets left on the kitchen table for our breakfast; it smells at the kitchen cupboards of my grandmother's house; it is the look out of the windows with green wooden jealousies, watching people without them being able to see us; is the afternoon ice cream walking through the main course, dressed as princes and with the perennial terror of staining the shirt