Algol, β Persei
The sky in the middle on November contains a large instalment of bright winter stars. The zenith is occupied by the constellation of Perseus, one of the larger northern constellations, it is home to the famous variable star Algol, β Persei.
The constellation represents the Greek hero Perseus holding diamond sword in one hand and the head of Medusa in the other. The Gorgon monster, with snakes instead of hair and a gaze that petrified everyone who looked at her, was beheaded Perseus. The Gorgon’s head is evoked by the variable star Algol, β Persei also called “Demon Star”. It is in fact a triple star system composed of the primary star which is eclipsed by the dark one.
The Canes Venatici constellation from the Uranographia by Johannes Hevelius, 1690.
The view is mirrored following the tradition of celestial globes, showing the celestial sphere in a view from the “outside".
The name Algol comes from the Arabic Ra's al-Ghul, which means “the demon’s head”. For the ancients the star was possessed by the devil: while it shone with maximum brightness most of the time, it would suddenly decrease for a short time to minimum brightness. In Greek mythology it was associated with the eye of Medusa.
Medusa, 1595. Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio.
Eclipse of the city of light
I was in Paris on 13 November 2015, walking in my neighbourhood, in Rue de Charonne. The street was empty despite being a warm weekend evening. The sky was clear, in its starry vault the eye of the Gorgon shone.
Then someone screamed. There were no cars, but too many sirens. everything became darker. A stranger said something to me, suddenly I figured out.
I only looked down at the sidewalk while I was walking quickly. My eyes focused on the ground: fallen leaves, coloured lights dancing with scary shadows. I was worried I would fall down.
The darkness lengthened on us: the city of lights seemed to be eclipsed by a demon star in its darker hour.
Only a kilometre separated me from home, although it seemed further. I wasn't stopping for traffic lights or pedestrian cross walks only glancing up occasionally. Afraid that what I could see can petrify me and stay fixed in my memory.
The streets were emptier and emptier, a few people were running and the cafes were closed. The tension in the air was terrifying, some people screamed.
Every step was one step closer and each step I took I thought I was almost there.
Paris, Rue de Charonne: one year later
I returned to Paris on the first anniversary of the terror attacks. I walked the 1 kilometre route covered that night. I figured out how I was so close. I remember the guy who said to me to escape few minutes after the gunfire in one of the café affected by the attacks.
I was obsessed. The neighbourhood that night seemed so different, dilated, unusually darker and dangerous. I tried, through the photographic medium, to convey the anxiety and adrenaline of that night, when I was dragged on that way by steps faster than my thoughts. So I retraced it one, two, ten, a hundred times with the camera capturing what my eyes had recorded: the asphalt, the leaves, the papers, the lights and the shadows. I glanced up few times, everything seemed still. Then finally I reached the door of the house, the stairs, the leaves on the steps, those leaves I always fear to slide on. And then, finally, the sky above the Père Lachaise cemetery, with its few lights and the glare of the city. The night was long, the sirens screamed, the heart was still pounding too hard.
One year later, I walked the road covered that night on the opposite sense. I was obsessed. The road I knew well had seemed so different, dilated, unusually dark and dangerous. I tried, through the photographic medium, to convey the anxiety and adrenaline of that night, when I was dragged on that way by steps faster than my thoughts. So I retraced it one, two, ten, a hundred times with the camera capturing what my eyes had recorded: the road, the leaves, the papers, the few lights in the street. I glanced up few times, everything seemed still. Then finally I reached the door of the house, the stairs, the leaves on the steps, those leaves I always fear to slide on.
And then finally the sky above the Père Lachaise cemetery, with its few lights and the glare of the city. The night was long, the sirens screamed, the heart was still pounding too hard.
Visual of the Exhibition Wall