So, without further ado he set about working and modelling a strange material, something not unlike clay but far redder, almost a newly created putty-like material, and rather fragrant as well. As he worked something reminiscent of his own perfect and agile body began to emerge from the initially indistinct mass, imbued with the beauty that he had managed to impart to the trees and birds, to the landscape, and to the whole world as well. It was turning out to be something that, in his intentions, was meant to incorporate all the strength and prestige as befits one who had conceived the whole universe in the first place, and namely the ultimate creator. –There we are, a touch here, another there, and two forelimbs like mine, plus a dash of my brains, a pair of eyes, a nose and mouth, muscles, and whatever else can be useful so that posterity may be reminded of me, he said to himself as he wrought the new figure to perfection. It was indeed turning out very well, almost in the image of its creator. Not so beautiful and majestic, mind you, but nevertheless quite impressive… –Fine, and now where do I go from here?, he suddenly asked himself. –Ah, yes, I’d better add the breath of life to it. After all, I must present it to the other animals, otherwise how could they ever recognize me through it?

No sooner said than done, of course. Also because the creation of all that had been created was a serious matter, and certainly not undertaken to please someone. True, between saying and the doing there’s the sea, as the old adage goes, and in this case what a sea! Perfect, in all respects. So, quicker than a blink, the new form had come to life, and it had hardly opened its eyes that it was already speaking in the most polished of styles. But then, what else could have been expected of a creature whose creator was so absolutely intel-ligent and sensible. –Well then, and who are you?, inquired the newcomer upon beholding the person standing before him. The creator was taken by surprise at such an inquisitive first remark. –Who am I?! I’m your … erm… I’m the one who made you, he gruffly mumbled. –Is that so? And what’s your name? After all, we haven’t been introduced yet, you know? The creator was becoming more taken aback by the minute and couldn’t help looking at the creature with a growing sense of apprehension, catching a glimpse of himself in the creature aright, yet somehow not being able to identify with him altogether. –Listen here, you, what’s this business that you don’t recognise me? Honestly, can’t you spot a similarity between us?, he at last dared to ask the creature who was apparently so oblivious to everything surrounding him. –You and me the same?… You must be joking! Here, do you see me with a long white beard and two black rings around my eyes like yours? So… who are you then?, sharply retorted the other, putting himself on the defensive. –Oh my god, and now what?, cried the creator. –And now what?, you say. You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you? What am I doing here, to begin with? And what’s this god you’re talking about?.

The two were by this stage clearly at loggerheads, standing in front of each other, both very much in a defensive mood that had soon turned to a standoff. Neither, in fact, intended giving in to the other and the situation was getting more embroiled by the minute. –Listen here, I can just as easily destroy you, just as I made you!, at last shouted the creator, who was beginning to feel very uneasy and disconcerted by the presence of the other. –That’s a good one; I reckon we’re going to hear that line spoken quite often! Excuse me, but you’ve just created me and now you already want to cancel me, do you? Don’t you think all the effort you’ve put into creating would be wasted? Rather, tell me why you did it in the first place? And now, what am I supposed to do? Don’t you think what I’m asking is logical?. The other simply couldn’t help looking at the creature, utterly astounded by his exhibition of so much lively intelligence. –Mmm, yes, I reckon you’ve got a point there.

So, without any further quibbling, the creator hastily explained to the other the reasons for his resolve, describing to him everything else he had created as well. –Really? You made all this, and me as well?, inquired the other almost incredulously, overwhelmed at the thought and sight of so much power. –But from what you’re saying about me, am I to presume that I can do just as much? At this point, the creator couldn’t help looking upon his creature with a growing sense of despair. And yet, at the same time, the creator couldn’t help feeling affection for the creature, who despite being so young was already striving to imitate him. Then, just as suddenly as when he had decided to create him, the creator had come to a new decision. –Steady on there for a moment, will you? Look here, you and I might have a lot in common, but I’m the one making the decisions here!, he roared in a frightfully awesome voice. –That’s fine with me; what are you waiting for? Go on, make your decision, then. So, what is it you want from me?, the other had rejoined, without betraying the slightest sign of being perturbed. –I’ve decided you need company, also because I can see you and I inevitably ending up quarrelling.

As usual, no sooner said than done, and the creator had ripped out a rib from the man’s side, turning it in less than it takes to say “amen” into a new figure endowed with first-class reproductive organs. –Here then, and now what do you reckon of this?, he asked the man, not without a certain degree of self-complacency. –Looks fine. What was it you were saying about that place? Earth, you called it, didn’t you? Well, if you’ve nothing else to add, I’d say I’m off and taking this figure with me.

The new figure looked both up and down, bemused at first and then rather querulously. –Hey, who are you two? And what’s this business about this one here taking me down to Earth? As
if I couldn’t decide myself where to go!

The two exchanged bewildered and incredulous glances, quite unprepared to be confronted by such a determined and strong-willed creature so soon after it had been created. –Oh no, what the hell have I let myself in for?, the creator suddenly cried. –Now, I’m really fed up with the two of you, so be off and let me rest! The Earth is over there, see? It’s all yours; go and be sure to use it wisely, I urge you.

Taken somewhat aback by such bitterness, the two quickly moved off and by and by reached the Earth. –What a lovely place; it’s all so gorgeous!, the woman couldn’t help exclaiming to the other upon seeing what was to be their abode and being almost moved to tears by the sight of two magnificent fawns staring at them. But without even answering, the other had raised a large boulder above his head and in one blow had dashed the brains out of the animal closest to him. –Woman, get the fire going, I’m hungry.

The creator was undoubtedly a busy person with many chores to attend to, but he wasn’t one to be easily distracted and the wanton act had certainly not escaped his attention. With a sense of mighty wrath welling up inside him, in an instance he resolved once and for all that he would have nothing more to do with the two; as much as they might be like him on the surface, their frightful lack of conscience and sense of responsibility had set them far apart from him. In his heart, now swollen with sorrow at the thought of the inevitable separation, a doubt still lingered, and that is whether he should allow them to continue to exist. But why not? After all, sooner or later, they were sure to remedy his error of judgement themselves.

By listening to her dual nature, she achieved a rare ability to invent mental “micro-climates”, opportunities to avoid the here and now and enter the “forever”. However, a listening, thinking mind should not aspire to the noisy confusion of large events but should introduce small ideas. These ideas then generate transformations, tiny but active, nourished by that special form of attention: “making yourself available, like paper”.

There is nothing heroic about it: “see small, hear small and think small”, she writes on those pages typed between 1952 and 1964. Even today, in her book The other rooms (2009), she invites us to listen to shadows: “People need shadows in order to rest. I’d like you to send a bunch of shadows to a friend”. Silent shadows which could be the faces of people loved and lost, but also the shadows created by the sun in a room, which become three-dimensional before our eyes and therefore a welcoming space filled with emptiness created especially for us, a space we can fill with our bodies or thoughts.

Listening to birdsong means understanding what the emptiness of the sky contains: life. Ono’s short film Outro consists of a single image coming in and out of focus. It shows Ono, Sean as a young boy, and John Lennon in a garden, a family appearing and disappearing. It is already in a void, or no longer exists, but the game of disappearing images is guided by the constant presence of the birds.

John Cage, her lifelong friend, also dedicated one of his most famous pieces to birds. The same birds who represent the sound of the skies and also of emptiness, and which represent the soundtrack of silence. We all know what idea Cage had of silence, as he even tried looking for it inside an anechoic chamber and was forced to accept that in the absence of any sound, we hear at the very least the blood flowing through our veins and the beating of the heart. Silence, the music consisting of a rest sign written on a fiveline stave, is nothing more than another anthem to listening, to the noise of the heart, the noise of emptiness, the fullness of meaning we can achieve even when there are no more words. We should mention at this point that Japan, a significant influence on both Yoko Ono and Cage, is a universe in which the kind of silence aimed at listening to the rustling of a falling leaf is much more highly regarded than it is in the West. In this fluctuating world every moment comes and goes, and it is worth remembering this even by just concentrating on the noise that consumes it.

We should remember that ancient practice brought back in vogue by Yoko Ono: the wish tree. It can be an olive tree, a maple or even a simple wooden panel bedecked with handwritten notes declaring our wishes. The artist arrives and gathers them all up, as with the Wish Tree at the 2003 Biennale, makes a small bonfire and delivers them up to the dustbowl of the world. Burning them is not intended to be an offence, but a way of perpetrating our wishes. We, who expressed these desires, have another powerful ritual at our disposal to help us achieve them: not magic, but listening. By writing down what we want, by hanging up that note, we have had to focus on an emotion, a future prospect. Nothing, other than understanding, re-reading and listening to our desire, can help us realise it. Yoko is not a witch, she is an elderly fairy, who now has the wisdom to help us listen to what we feel.

The methodology designed to cut down on processes that do not create added value for a product is based on marginalising waste. This concept is summed up by the Japanese word muda, which means rubbish. for Italian-speakers among us, the term muda taken out of context might evoke Count Ugolino and the Gualandi tower, known as the tower of Hunger, and, even before that, as the tower of Muda. Muda because the tower used to hold birds when they were shedding their feathers. Even birds remove feathers that do not help them look more attractive or help them when flying.
Superfluous feathers. Because in nature, targets coincide with profits. For an Italophile, there is a great deal of unease between kaizen and the thirty-third canto of the Inferno, between continuous improvement and la bocca sollevò dal fiero pasto (the mouth uplifted from his grim repast). We can also add another name – the tower of Waste. Because Ugolino ate another human being, and pines away with grief and the entire world tends to close itself inside along with the damned Count. And we need to write about it.
The topic assigned to the contestants in the “Scritture Giovani” 2007 competition is “Unease”, because it is right that we demand that literature builds us a swaying rope bridge between one language and another, and between a new way of doing business and a poetic legend. Unease is the main road, never to be abandoned even when the echoes of tranquillity, success, and production at any cost transform themselves into sirens with wavy hair and fish tails. Even if you don’t fall in love with it, at least you won’t go hungry.
For the topic “Unease”, I thought of Seven fourteen Twenty-eight and wrote about a woman who thinks she is pregnant and doesn’t know whether or not she wants the baby. It all hinged on the article. first, I want a baby and a second later I don’t want the baby. Because thought alone is enough to change an article from indefinite to definite, transforming a potential concept into a material one. Even if it’s going to arrive nine months later. If it arrives. I wanted to write about the unease of language, of planning, the impossibility of reviewing, the waste of energy in conjecturing a series of approximations. Except human thought proceeds by a sequence of approximations because we cannot be exact, except by chance, but we can be better, yes. Trying all the time. That’s the story of my kaizen.