It is enough to dwell on the details exposed to understand that we are not faced with the classic (and typical) "glorification of the master" but with something profoundly different.

All the writings, handmade in street writer style, are considerations by Guerriero or references to Guerriero's life and thoughts and above all to people, situations or moments that were important for him: there are colleagues who they went (Mendini, Branzi, Pesce, Rota), the inmates of the various prisons in which he worked, the students of the schools and non-schools he founded, the vulnerable to whom he always dedicated so much time and energy. In a corner, on the ground, a mountain of crumpled up pieces of paper containing considerations on projects that were never carried out.

The pink box is, in short, a kind of hymn to the explosive creativity of a man who knew how to use it to make others feel good and grow.

It's ten o'clock and Alessandro Guerriero arrives.

He looks around in amazement and smiles happily: he likes that strange pink house or belly, he talks to it.

He really opens his heart, in a historical moment like this, made up of polarizations and speed, of opportunism and storytelling designed to sell, to live a moment like this.

Because remember that giving an affective dimension to the project and knowing how to make it universal, that is, making it perceptible even to those who remain outside the elective affinity that animates it, is what gives it meaning.

That design - the beautiful one, the one with meaning, the one that is a project and not marketing - is born when there is love and respect. A concept that I rediscovered shortly afterwards, completely unexpectedly, at the Triennale.

Walking sticks and dogs

“Design comes out well when you design with someone intensely in mind,” he told me just a few hours later Keiji Takeuchi , curator of the small, delightful collective exhibition at the Triennale Walking Sticks and Canes which opens to the public on April 15th.