Chris Rain (Rome, 1984).
He began by teaching himself, immediately being drawn to the photo camera and film and above all else to developing and printing in the dark room, the place of experimentation and discovery of individual style.

The images take their form from a profound introspective analysis of the dark corners of memories persistent against the fascination of the oblivious and from infinite corridors that overflow with words and synaestetic visions. A pervasive sense of an atmosphere shattered by melodramatic invasions where the underlining theme is that of a sort of vague disinterest in that which is the space-time dimension of reality, as if the layers that make it up had disintegrated only to then come back together according to a process that generates enigmatic and dis-ambiguous notes but at the same time concedes the most totally free interpretation that the eyes might be able to see. The voice inflections builds an existential kingdom, intersected by shadows and giants, where the protagonists, it doesn't mater who they are, are always running away

from something, along a paradoxical edge between fear and the desire to be affirmed. Unintentionally it's precisely this condition of the unknown that creates a limitless mental libido in the individual, in the same way that a trip in which one goes adrift without anything happening, not caring to arrive at any exact destination.

With this intention, one is encountered with a metaphor of the tragic condition of man that, accustomed to his ephemeral and hedonistic collection of nothing, always remains a prisoner without realizing he's as such, folded into himself inside serial buildings and a city of dust that murmurs ashes, cowardly hidden by their veil of civilization.

In silence, literal and figurative, it is deafening.
To be the one anxiously forced to compensate the lived experience with that which is only imagined, to mutually exchange their roles until the difference in artificial worlds disappears where it vanishes.