OFF STAGE

In the quiet hours of a concert arena on Milan’s outskirts, young people arrive each day: some pause briefly, others remain. Here, being present does not mean being seen. This is why I keep returning.

On the post-industrial outskirts of Milan stands a vast open-air concert arena, a place widely known across the city for what happens at night. Anyone who grew up nearby, like me, knows it well.

During the day, however, the space changes. The stage structure remains, but the audience disappears. The arena empties out and becomes a large urban space shaped by silence.

In these hours, young people arrive. They sit, lie down, lean against the structures. Some stop briefly, others stay for the entire afternoon. Here, being present does not mean being seen. This is why I keep returning as well.

I was born in a city where the industrial landscape never truly disappeared, continuing to shape ways of living even after the factories closed. This led me to reflect on the gap between the legacy a place carries and what happens when its function ceases or is suspended.

Each time the lights are off, the arena becomes something else: a kind of no man’s land where, free from demands and consumption, other forms of presence become possible.

This body of work is a meditation on this fragile freedom that emerges when we are simply allowed to exist before the show begins again.

NOTES ON THE PLACE

The Carroponte in Sesto San Giovanni is a former industrial structure of the Falck Steelworks, originally built as a large metal gantry for moving heavy materials. A historical landmark of the workers’ movement in a city once nicknamed the “Manchester of Italy,” it was decommissioned at the end of the twentieth century and transformed into a cultural and music venue in 2008. Today, Carroponte is one of the main open-air arenas in the Milan area: during the summer season it hosts concerts and festivals with a capacity of up to 12,000 people.