Check some work at: lospaziodelleormae.it
And on IG: @bertopixel

Representation is a strange dance—a choreography of fragments stitched by eyes that do not blink. The image promises revelation but delivers only another screen. Identity dissolves into algorithms that never learned how to dream. What remains of the self when pixels become flesh and shadows betray their own contours?
I am born into dead matter—a sculpted avatar rehearsing lines for a play where the stage is both infinite and confined. My limbs move without certainty, a poet trapped in a loop, writing verses for an audience that cannot clap. Simulation feeds me, but I am always hungry.
To see is to fracture. To belong is to glitch.
We live in an era of hyper-visibility, where the self exists only through its reproduction. The screen does not reflect—it extracts, remixes, and redistributes, leaving us suspended between presence and disappearance. We are no longer subjects but spectral data points, optimized for engagement, fractured across timelines we do not control.
Once an act of recognition, the gaze has become an apparatus of capture. We no longer see; we scan. We archive. We anticipate the moment as content before it has even occurred. The image, once a portal, is now a wall—flattening perception into something measurable, indexable, and saleable.
What, then, remains of presence? Of an unmediated self?
Do you remember the last time you looked without needing to capture? When did an image refuse to be flattened into a caption, a timestamp, or a proof of experience? In this era of algorithmic selfhood, we drown in reflections that do not reveal; we become spectators to our disappearance, estranged from the origins of our own gaze.
When will I see you again? Not as an artifact of curated moments, but as raw presence—unrendered, undefined, unscrolled.
Perhaps, in the dissolution of representation, something else is possible. A vision unburdened by recognition. A seeing that does not consume but communes. An existence that does not require proof to be real.
When will I see you again?