made of memories.
a place on the hill.
What is, after all, the power of an idea? It’s on this thought that the place arises on the hill of Lisbon, which seeks to launch a reverie capable of sustaining a renewed approach on the image of the cemetery. Maybe, it’s necessary to change the visible image of the place so that the experience can change and, in a moment of luck, one can touch the soul of a society.
Despite the magic, the spirit that inhabits it no longer tells exciting stories. Instead, it hides and shrinks, behind the walls that imprisioned him. It is a deity of distorted character. Looking at the history of this mythical place are visible the favorable currents, as well as the storms of retreat. Based on the door that Aldo Rossi dared to open, a pertinente question arises. Has the time finally come to reflecte on the design of a place that sights for another image? Let us dare to dream.
Now I’m going to tell you the story about a gesture, wich has this admirable thing about opening a door that was already deemed ajar. The towers took us on a trip. Gods detain the portal of memory, thus emerging a third moment: A unique tower completes this sacralized triad. The timeless triangle used by tribes is formed that, by the knowledge of the cosmos, came to the utopia of perpectuating their memory. The tower, differs from the others; something imaterial. A tower of dreams comprises thousands of flying balloons that rise to the limit of getting lost in the star dance that completes the sky. For each star, one balloon. In each balloon, a memory. A memory of one who has ceased to exist in the material world, but who, for the time being, remains alive in the mind of one who remembers. The balloon is a symbol. In the sight of the whole city, the tower of stars reminds who is remembered and not only. It also reminds those who have remained here that there is someone who should never be forgotten. These symbols of memory are born at the center of a dome that hides underground. There, an immense water watch breaks the geometry of the dome and causes a remarkable environment, in which the weight of the water that remains trapped meets light and reflections swim, remembering dancing spirits. Clepsidra is the heart of the idea. Here, water creates a unique and wonderful place that surrounds us with authentic tears that cry for those who go and no longer return. The analogy is visible. Life only ends when the last man stops remembering it. Therefore. The balloon is life that persists in the memory of those who stay and remember. The thread, as legacy that was distanced by the skies. The ballon has become a node of a network of invisible relationships. It is the object that retains memory and identity and, in the absence of someone who, on a possible visit, pulls him back, he loses himself in the sky. It’s lost forever. In fact, we all aspire to live in the memory of those who stay. Eternal, like the stars. This is where the poet lives. This is his nest. Between fields and hills. Those dyed memories. This is the power of na idea. Made of memories.
