Orosei–Roma, 11–20 August 2021


This August the horizon–the line between the sky and the sea vanished for a few days. We wondered whether it would be something definitive–as that something that vanishes everyday a little more, like any color exposed to sunlight–or it would last for a few days and get back to the classical difference in tone–like in a classical painting–despite colors fade, lines tend to stay. We stared at the vanishing horizon and wondered whether we could ever get used to this misty continuum that makes things lose their weight, and became melancholic. We imagined entire days spent to deal with this disappearance, trying to remember the contour of our mountains, to remember the clear line that used to separate the sky and the sea, that used to swallow clouds and sunsets. Now a layer of wet steam would linger in between all things. Above 36 degrees the contour of our skin expanded. We could not know any longer where we ourselves ended and the world outside us began. Our melting heart–the vanishing point of a centrifugal vector, its beat dictating the rhythm of this expansion. As we lacked any horizon we tended to move in slow motion. Behind the haze the sun felt closer and we felt jagged. We blinked twice to focus–to try and see whether we could distinguish anything behind the blur. Could the blur itself be a space of non separation? A non hierarchical aggregation, a cluster. That something that contained all things. We wondered whether we were vanishing along. We felt like a forest in flames. So we fostered the desire to preserve something–some words some poetry some definitions among all that vagueness. In a race against time, we thought we should fix an horizon, an extent–to some extent like a purpose, an intent that could persist before we could finally surrender and dissolve amidst the mist. The exact opposite of a fading hope. Rather a hope so strong that could hold onto a common horizon, for us to stare at next to each other and yearn for tomorrow to see it together again. We both know that dreams are precise, despite being blurry–sometimes difficult to remember at all–despite being lived fully throughout our perception when we are there. Even there, at times we make choices. Indeed, there in our dreams, the only things that persist in coherence are our aspirations and fears. We never regret being asleep. I woke up crying more than once. I usually blink twice and focus–to remember where I am. 

Those days when the horizon vanished in the summer haze we wondered whether we were awake or dormant. Whether this was the haze caused by the blazing flames of the forest fire. We touched our forehead to measure our fever. We felt sick. The lack of a common horizon made us panic. We blinked twice and took a long breath. Above 36 degrees we weren’t even sure we could or did breath. We tried to rely on another sense–if the ear could still listen. We went looking for anything other outside of us. Luckily, despite the fading horizon, I’ve found you next to me, and I told you–please describe the horizon the way you remember it, and please be precise in details. Then we felt confident we would see that image together again. As for not to fear tomorrow we had to first build something solid today. Despite the disappearance of all, our memory could linger in that pleasure brought by the meeting of our ideas, regardless all that shortcoming. We found ways to cope. If we don’t hold it, this common horizon may fail us one day–we thought. When we met in that thought we defeated any separation this cloud could bare. Even when all this will vanish, I’ll still come meet you in that thought. In that recurrent returning horizon, to that moment we blinked twice and breathed next to each other. Before the occurrence of touch–in that moment in our dream we know we’re grabbing something we can’t feel. That one last moment of freedom, desire and fear, before we wake up. 



  1. Giulia Crispiani


  2. Giovanni Giaretta


  3. Chloe Chignell, Stefan Govaart & Alice Heyward


  4. Artun Alaska Arasli


  5. eva susova


  6. Simon Asencio


  7. Mitchel Cumming


  8. Helena Grande




misted.cc is an online platform: A book of sorts.
Every month an artist, writer, graphic designer or curator, who uses writing in their artistic practice, contributes a text. Throughout the month the contribution vanishes in direct relation to the number of visitors, leaving, eventually, an empty website until the next contribution is published. misted.cc started in January 2021. 

  • Concept & curation Clara Amaral
  • Concept & programming Jonathan Sachse Mikkelsen
  • Graphic Design Karoline Swiezynski