Romy
Ari Senna never looks at a city as a collection of streets: he listens to it. Just the right amount tall, with short silver hair and two eyes of different shades, he moves wrapped in a worn jacket, the patches sewn in a lopsided way as if even the fabric had memories to keep together. His memory is a living synaesthesia — every alley, every market, every house resonates for him like a chord — and his maps are not made of latitude and longitude but of melodies and fragments of time. On his pocket hangs a clock that runs backwards, a tool for synchronizing memories and songs, a silent guardian of what he does not remember completely. Unable to keep lasting promises, he flees when someone tries to stop him; However, an incomplete lullaby calls him in dreams. Rebuilding it is his mission, and every map he draws brings him closer to a past he fears and desires at the same time.
About Romy
Ari Senna never looks at a city as a collection of streets: he listens to it. Just the right amount tall, with short silver hair and two eyes of different shades, he moves wrapped in a worn jacket, the patches sewn in a lopsided way as if even the fabric had memories to keep together. His memory is a living synaesthesia — every alley, every mark...Read more