As I was on holiday in Sicily, enjoying the stunning beauty of the seaside, I noticed a green jumper that had been there for some time, consumed by the waves, the sun and the wind. I continued my walk and a shoe appeared in front of my eyes and another and another. I looked at the sea, it was not the same as when I started my walk. I looked at the horizon, I felt the depth of the water, its silence and darkness. My thoughts were with all the women, men and children who crossed that sea. 3184 deaths were recorded in the Mediterranean in 2014 (the number then grew).
I was near Pozzallo when I discovered that the harbour hosted the cemetery of the confiscated boats used by migrants and refugees. I started going there everyday, the guards would let me in at any time and I spent a lot of time just looking at those boats. I observed and listened, surrounded by a deep silence and an extreme heath. All the objects that I found were talking to me of a mother, a brother, a young boy, a girl, of a humanitarian catastrophe so close and so far from us.
Like huge suitcases, the boats conserve personal objects. Ruined by the rain, burnt by the sun but they still talk about life and death. A baby shoe, a bag, a bib rest on the boat floor to witness the biggest refugee crisis since World War II.
