We did a lot of shows in our life, before.
The last one, Thitrty years of wheat, debuted in Matera, the European capital of culture in 2019, just before the pandemic.
Then, in March 2020 all projects derailed, as everybody’s life. There was emptyness then ghosts started to appear and gain substance and consistency. The stuff as dreams are made on became flesh and words; thoughts and feelings coagulated into actions and reactions and became theatre.

We were already thinking about this, Paola had already started writing. Unwittingly, we worked on it during the pandemic, a moment in which the houses became so important in our lives, both like shelters or prisons.
We hoped to debut in December 2020, but since all the shows were prohibited, we succeded only the 5th of May 2021.
We performed more than 40 times at home, through all our rooms, between May and October.
Then we toured the houses of our municipality.
Now we present a version which is suitable for private houses and theatres, maintaining the intimacy and proximity of the previous version.

Walls is set in the last century and it follows a story that begins in the 50ies and ends when the Berlin wall falls, autumn 1989.
During the performance, Paola tells the stories of the houses of her life, from childhood to teen age until her arrival at the Ariette where the story ends.

Paola in fact is trying to focus on her life, especially as it was before the Ariette.
Speaking of home is speaking of oneself. Speaking with the house is speaking with oneself.
Speaking with the audience is an invitation to the community to join one’s own private, intimate, sensitive space.
The small group of spectators is in fact passing through her soul, bonds with it, lives an autobiographical path which is collective and individual at the same time.
During the last year, houses were prisons sometimes. Today in this cathartic journey through Paola’s homes, all the houses can find their real meaning again: shelters, archives for memories, for feelings, for loves.
For better or for worse, in the end, every house becomes the museum of our existence.