Aches and shame is the new Spazio Revolution exhibition project, curated by Adalberto Abbate.

Aches and shame / Pain and shame plumbs in its depths the problems and social interferences that run through our time, wounded, corrupt and irreducibly charged with pain.

Videos, photos, installations and even audio recovered from an old answering machine describe a broken humanity, broken from the inside, which throws a scream out of its skin. With gritted teeth, pain and shame tell of a lived drama, of an intimate experience that is reflected in a universally shared state of suffering, disgust and anger.

In Regina José Galindo's veiled women, living monuments against oppression and violence, the vulnerability of the female body coexists with a yearning for resistance. Silent, powerful presences materialize the horror of the numerous femicides perpetrated in Germany, as in all of Europe and in the rest of the world; often invisible crimes that struggle to have justice and adequate redemption.

Forced to suffer the error of the other, we feel a deep sense of abandonment, sometimes of helplessness, which feeds obsessions and fragility. In Urs Lüthi's tears, the split between the self and the need to represent another from oneself is revealed, in a dramatic and hardly curable existential balance.

Being immersed in a judging society, which weighs actions and choices, in fact activates weaknesses that are difficult to heal. Judgment breeds shame; shame, a sense of loneliness and lack of belonging. Anguish and uncertainty arise from this instability, but also a strong desire for redemption. In the icastic use of the word by Paolo Canevari and Mario Consiglio there is perhaps the search for a resolution, for a traced furrow, for a stable but inevitably cynical point from which to start.

Whatever the path, a sense of deep-rooted uneasiness does not leave us. A human remnant dangling from a scented fur sleeve (Adalberto Abbate), the alienating and slightly demonic gaze of two boys on the day of their communion (Diego Moreno) and the voice of the elderly father recorded on his son's answering machine Doriano (Federico Lupo) are fragments of residual humanity, vulnerable, moving and tender but not at all comforting.