MY FAKE NAILS MY REAL CLAWS

A silver ring, long belts on pale jeans, plastic sunglasses, a lace, four hair pins and hot 

glittering nails. I keep finding them in the dark corners of my wardrobe and inside my pockets. They fill up drawers, shelves and boxes - the space is theirs. Once you wear one of them and take it out of its shadow, you choose to become someone else and so do they. Some of them sparkle like nothing else, some are dusty, some are new and come from plastic packs, some were gifted, and some look so fake. They mirror oblivious desire, long nights and have nothing to do with the present. They are nothing but soft armors to you. They are a diary whilst you pick and choose what to keep. They are a closet with dreams inside. They're optimistic but deadly. I would never lose them because I love them so much, but they also belong to everyone here - would I be willing to share them? I'm happy to share my lethal and glamorous bits of memories. Are they my trophies? They are pleasurable but almost too familiar at times. I learn about my face, my body and my days when I wear them, they've got my full attention.

excerpt of the curatorial text by Arianna Tremolanti & Sofia Bordin