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Alicudi
I was watching 'Dear Diary' — the film by Nanni Moretti — with a person different from me called Paola Pivi in Italy or England in a year gone by.
In the film Nanni and his friend are looking for peace and quiet and eventually find it, after many misses, on the island of Alicudi off Sicily. The extreme peace and quiet, however, once found become too much, and they miss their favourite soap opera. They eventually run away from Alicudi shouting "Television! Give us television!" Years later I watched a lot of television in Alicudi, where you can get a good, clear picture with SKY at a very reasonable price.
Watching the film, Paola said, or I said; joined together as we were it's hard to say who said; maybe it's best to say WE said; we said "Let's go to Alicudi! Let's go there! Let's go there to that place those guys just ran away from!"
Like a cartoon island, a rock sticking out of the sea, like a drawing of an island by a child, or like a planet they land on in Star Trek which looks as if it obviously can't be real, that it must be made out cardboard; looking so zingy, bright, shiny and contrasty that it looks fake, done in Photoshop — Alicudi is I think the most beautiful place I have ever been in my life. But it's made of rock, not cardboard. I know that because if you don't wear shoes to go swimming you cut your feet. Also, if Alicudi really was made out of cardboard it would have dissolved into the sea a long time ago.
On the way to Alicudi that first time we stopped for a night — on the way to Alicudi you always have to stop for a night somewhere — in Palermo and went to see the catacombs of the cappucini monks. We were very late and only had 5 minutes to see it all before closing time. To do it we had to run. I remember running at top speed with Paola and my friends Martin and Tomma through the catacombs looking desperately left and right at all of the dead people hanging on the walls in their best clothes, trying our best to see it all. It was espressi rather than cappucini. It was a good way to see it. It was that kind of delirious running which makes you laugh uncontrollably when you're doing it. I think it's good to see museums at high speed. It leaves time for other things.
You can always see Alicudi coming. Before you get there you can see it in the distance from the boat, a little blip on the horizon; and then the little blip becomes a full size blip which you can stand on. In reverse, going away from Alicudi is amazing and sad. It is not often that you can leave a place and watch it get smaller and smaller in the distance until it is gone. When I leave my place in London I turn the corner after 30 metres and my place has disappeared from view; leaving Alicudi takes hours, and hours later you can still see it there in the distance.
Alicudi is magnetic. Going there can feel very difficult, as if Alicudi and you are like two magnets of the same polarity pushing each other away — and that's not counting the sea and the way that can stop you. Then, if you make it, when you are there your magnetic charge changes and you become glued, stuck. It can feel incredibly difficult to leave. Alicudi can feel like both a sort of paradise and a sort of prison: it depends, I suppose, like everything, on your insides.
While living there, Paola and I experimented with all of the different ways of getting there to see if there was an easy way. Train from Rome to Milazzo, taxi, car ferry, walking. Ocean liner from Pesto, Liguria, to Palermo, and then aliscafo and walking. Boat from Napoli to Alicudi. Flying from London via Rome or Milan to Palermo, Catania, Reggio Calabria or Lamezia Terme. Helicopter. Whichever way you go you always end up walking up steps in the end and all of the ways to get there are difficult. From London it's easier and quicker to get to Australia.
Alicudi is a great place to watch television. We had satellite TV with all of the channels. I spent a huge amount of time watching television there. Perhaps because it's so close to nature, so peaceful and quiet. It's great to watch television in nature: television is another little force of nature. It's great to watch TV on a remote mountain in the middle of the sea. When I'm in the city I don't watch television, maybe because it is too much like the city; too similar to the city in its speed and sound and movement.
After holidaying there in 2000, we rented a house there in 2001, bought a house there in 2002, and lived there in 2003. In 2004 Paola and I split up. The dates were not planned.
The people of Alicudi helped a lot in many different ways.
© Martin Creed 2006
I was watching 'Dear Diary' — the film by Nanni Moretti — with a person different from me called Paola Pivi in Italy or England in a year gone by.
In the film Nanni and his friend are looking for peace and quiet and eventually find it, after many misses, on the island of Alicudi off Sicily. The extreme peace and quiet, however, once found become too much, and they miss their favourite soap opera. They eventually run away from Alicudi shouting "Television! Give us television!" Years later I watched a lot of television in Alicudi, where you can get a good, clear picture with SKY at a very reasonable price.
Watching the film, Paola said, or I said; joined together as we were it's hard to say who said; maybe it's best to say WE said; we said "Let's go to Alicudi! Let's go there! Let's go there to that place those guys just ran away from!"
Like a cartoon island, a rock sticking out of the sea, like a drawing of an island by a child, or like a planet they land on in Star Trek which looks as if it obviously can't be real, that it must be made out cardboard; looking so zingy, bright, shiny and contrasty that it looks fake, done in Photoshop — Alicudi is I think the most beautiful place I have ever been in my life. But it's made of rock, not cardboard. I know that because if you don't wear shoes to go swimming you cut your feet. Also, if Alicudi really was made out of cardboard it would have dissolved into the sea a long time ago.
On the way to Alicudi that first time we stopped for a night — on the way to Alicudi you always have to stop for a night somewhere — in Palermo and went to see the catacombs of the cappucini monks. We were very late and only had 5 minutes to see it all before closing time. To do it we had to run. I remember running at top speed with Paola and my friends Martin and Tomma through the catacombs looking desperately left and right at all of the dead people hanging on the walls in their best clothes, trying our best to see it all. It was espressi rather than cappucini. It was a good way to see it. It was that kind of delirious running which makes you laugh uncontrollably when you're doing it. I think it's good to see museums at high speed. It leaves time for other things.
You can always see Alicudi coming. Before you get there you can see it in the distance from the boat, a little blip on the horizon; and then the little blip becomes a full size blip which you can stand on. In reverse, going away from Alicudi is amazing and sad. It is not often that you can leave a place and watch it get smaller and smaller in the distance until it is gone. When I leave my place in London I turn the corner after 30 metres and my place has disappeared from view; leaving Alicudi takes hours, and hours later you can still see it there in the distance.
Alicudi is magnetic. Going there can feel very difficult, as if Alicudi and you are like two magnets of the same polarity pushing each other away — and that's not counting the sea and the way that can stop you. Then, if you make it, when you are there your magnetic charge changes and you become glued, stuck. It can feel incredibly difficult to leave. Alicudi can feel like both a sort of paradise and a sort of prison: it depends, I suppose, like everything, on your insides.
While living there, Paola and I experimented with all of the different ways of getting there to see if there was an easy way. Train from Rome to Milazzo, taxi, car ferry, walking. Ocean liner from Pesto, Liguria, to Palermo, and then aliscafo and walking. Boat from Napoli to Alicudi. Flying from London via Rome or Milan to Palermo, Catania, Reggio Calabria or Lamezia Terme. Helicopter. Whichever way you go you always end up walking up steps in the end and all of the ways to get there are difficult. From London it's easier and quicker to get to Australia.
Alicudi is a great place to watch television. We had satellite TV with all of the channels. I spent a huge amount of time watching television there. Perhaps because it's so close to nature, so peaceful and quiet. It's great to watch television in nature: television is another little force of nature. It's great to watch TV on a remote mountain in the middle of the sea. When I'm in the city I don't watch television, maybe because it is too much like the city; too similar to the city in its speed and sound and movement.
After holidaying there in 2000, we rented a house there in 2001, bought a house there in 2002, and lived there in 2003. In 2004 Paola and I split up. The dates were not planned.
The people of Alicudi helped a lot in many different ways.
© Martin Creed 2006
Saturday, May 15, 2010
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