By Alessandro Guerriero

This is EMI BICI...

Time has no regrets and waits for no one. Its path has no expectations nor guilt. 

Time has no future other than the repetition of its immediate past that waits only to repeat itself. 


These are EMI BICI’s figures…

There are more controlled images almost as if she could be Lot’s wife.   

The figures regroup forming a new equilibrium only when they discover a certain solitude and isolation. 

This is the key moment in EMI BICI's Journey. 

This is how EMI BICI's body moves…. 

If the project deals with the last moment not tomorrow, if our thoughts fly far from their limits, then the images enter the ideal when, and only when, the space between the present and future opens. 

EMI BICI's performance rebels against the mundane effects of life’s natural routines and habits. 


That is EMI BICI...don’t deny it!​

 

By Benedetta Barzini

To see, to observe, to touch, to look, to smell, to run away, to spy, to go in and out, to forget, to think, to think again, to remember, something remains, fades, dilutes within and becomes, pales and passes. It does not return, it dims. It is no more.
EMI BICI's works are the material incarnations of her interior rhythms that are formed by the raw nerves of her unconscious touching our deepest parts.  This goes beyond words, beyond basic or sophisticated attempts at communication. Beyond.  Where you can no longer see. Nothingness.

 

By Clara Rota

A silent shout, cruel that does not want to be heard. ​

An interview with yourself that cannot find words. ​

A body foreign to itself, trying to find freedom from invisible lines that have formed its flesh. ​

A kind of extreme auto-eroticism that discovers the painful consciousness of the void and has, in itself,

the happiness of becoming body before form. 


“I’ve stretched my wings now, I am in a small house immense, nearly too little space for my grand gown”.

L'Angelo di Rainer Maria Rilke

 

By Matteo Guarnaccia

The dice take time to fall to the ground. There is always a moment when you are not sure who will win or lose. 

The show goes on and the audience does not want to act nor direct, but wants to burn the theatre down perhaps to rebuild in another place. What happens is not as interesting as what you could make happen.

There are fruits of our conscious mind that injure the tree trunk when they fall.  It is sometimes better to climb.

But high heels and nail polish don’t help.  We must consider scratches, tears (and shouts). Not all trains stop near home – especially if you’re not sure which your home is but you can always hop on a running train. 

EMI BICI’s art is found in the space created by indecision but even more so by possibility. The consensual reality, (already defined by someone else) does not convince her. She abhors the contradiction created between what a person really is and how the outside world represents them. It could be a mask, a dress, an object, a place, a house – the artist has declared war against all the inadequate spaces created to contain the human spirit.  Your external being must preserve your essence and allow your energy to shine through.

In EMI BICI’s world, false appearances are exposed, the mere esthetic is suspect; Maya’s veil is continually lifted.


There are no tricks or cheating.


To unmask is her personal obsession. She searches for truth as she moves stones, unearths, denudes, uncovers. Young, curious “Fauve” as he emerges from his burrow having left tradition behind, deciding to discover the world. 


In the cosmic drama, there is no time to waste in looking at the mirror and brushing your hair.   


She pushes limits within a real structure.  Impulsive and frenetic, she can be sweet at the right moment using a strategy of freeing the body from labels. Her territory is the moment of birth, the primitive, shedding mother’s womb where convention still has no form.

She is so attracted by the complexity of life’s cosmic drama that she wants to replicate it.

She throws herself in the vortex of amniotic fluid, pulse, friction, soil, darkness, colours, unaware of the mutations that are forming until the container and the contained become one. 


The internal and external are mixed.