Touch Has a Memory

I've got you under my skin
I've got you deep in the heart of me
So deep in my heart that you're really a part of me
I've got you under my skin

Frank Sinatra’s powerful words open Corpo, umano, the dramatised reading of Vittorio Lingiardi’s homonymous book. A literary and emotional journey through and inside the human body, with which Lingiardi tried to go beyond a purely medical approach and look at the body in its parts without losing a sense of totality.

This duplicity was perfectly symbolised by the two protagonists of the piece: on one side, Lingiardi himself, the “narrative voice”, is clear, explicative, almost scholastic. On the other, the actress Federica Fracassi, the “acting voice”, is powerful, emotional, and extreme. The two create a balanced duet where mind and heart share the stage, in a constant and powerful give-and-go.

At first, the body is observed in its integrity, as a moving and desiring creature. The first body Lingiardi claims to remember is that of his mother, followed by the union of their bodies, and only later his own. A body that’s taken care of, that needs that care in order to keep functioning.

Then, desire creeps in. It grows and grows until it becomes unstoppable. A desire that is more than just carnal. It becomes an obsession for the body itself. Narrating his personal history is a pretext for Lingiardi to piece together many different voices – from Simone De Beauvoir to Roland Barthes, from Allen Ginsberg to Emily Dickinson – in a recollection that travels through the body giving meaning to each of its constituent parts.

And it’s not only about listening: Fracassi’s body becomes part of the representation. While the music plays, she starts moving: a series of abrupt, frantic little gestures – fingers, hands, shoulders, head – chaotic and yet fascinating. She lets herself loose in what seems an improvised moment of freedom, an exploration of the possibilities of her own body.

Skin, breath, brain, hands, liver, heart… From the outside to the inside, in a symbolic transformation that makes the body a text inhabited by other texts – Roland Barthes docet.

The English word Inspiration comes from Latin Spiritus, breath, I want to breathe freely.

Allen Ginsberg compares writing and breathing, while the beloved Emily Dickinson – great master of the “language of the heart”, that is, the language of poetry, connects the spirit to Nature and Love.

The Wind blows gay today and the Jays bark like Blue Terriers. I tell you what I see. The Landscape of the Spirit requires a lung, but no Tongue. I hold you few I love, till my heart is red as February and purple as March

“We were born to touch each other” Lingiardi continues. “To learn how to live you need to learn how to love”. Knowing your body and that of the other, minding the peculiarities of their shapes and desires, to create a real union. The body is not a singular entity, it lives with other bodies, in a constant strive for connection.

It’s impossible not to be moved by the power of this performance – this love declaration to the human body. Or rather, to a body that’s human. The comma in the title – Corpo, umano – creates a pause, an expectation that puts the focus on the need for a newfound humanity. It’s time to give new meaning to the body also in the political discourse, and not only in mortifying, corrupt ways where broken bodies are portrayed to be used as weapons. Creating a new ethical and moral vision seems to be the only way to avoid catastrophe. And while the audience leaves Piazza Castello at the end of the event, this powerful message continues resonating within the square’s walls.

The power of love
A force from above
Cleaning my soul
Flame on, burn desire