Suspended in mid-air under a naked sky: incredibly high, gloomy buildings, majestically sinister, closed up on themselves. Verging on the hostile, indeed threatening. Without doors. Without windows. Uninhabited, uninhabitable. Inspired by a Kafkaesque severity more than Euclidean essentialness. At their base are platforms. Are they the vehicles of immaterial beings such as air, light and sound? Beings that have come from another universe? Architects of buildings in a ghost city in which only they could manage to live? This is the impression which these immense panels gave me (8 metres by 3) which the slender Isabella Vismara has conceived and painted in harsh, virtually monochromatic tones. Her undertaking irradiates a dramatic form of poetry. And it is hard-hitting. Few other works could refer to the period we are experiencing with as much desperation. It is a period in which immanence prevails over transcendence, indifference over love, egotism over solidarity, the prosaic over poetry. André Breton placed all his hopes in young people. Only young people, he thought, would still have been able to change life – as called for by Rimbaud – and to transform the world – as claimed by Marx. It is symptomatic that this cry has been made today by a young person. A woman.