This is my land, a perpetual dichotomy.

This is my land, a perpetual dichotomy. A duality that has always Stirred a subtle unease in me. A

feeling that has compelled many to depart and later come back, to either resign themselves to it or

strive for change.

The Val di Cornia, located in the province of Livorno, and its surrounding areas have experienced

significant industrial decline over recent decades.

The city of Piombino, historically known for its steel hub, with factories and companies that led the

way in iron and steel processing for over a century, has been in deep crisis since 2014. That's when

its blast furnace shut down, leading to significant job losses.

This already complex situation is compounded by a broader context: according to the CGIL report,

Italy will face a severe industrial crisis in 2024. This crisis reflects the growing instability of the

manufacturing sector, with major consequences for the urban outskirts.

It's a place where the architecture itself tells stories of hope and dashed dreams. Houses, factories,

streets, and squares are all etched with the signs of a humanity that tried to shape the land, leaving

behind evidence of an existence marked by struggle, nostalgia, and the yearning for comeback.

This region has natural parks, and while they might have potential, they often look more like relics

of past failures than successful conservation initiatives

Even the many sites of historical and archaeological interest appear sidelined—silent witnesses to a

heritage struggling to find its place in the present. Beside the now silent factories stand the workers’

homes, still echoing with the memory of machinery and daily toil.

They're like frozen, fragile monuments to the instability of those who live there. The roads stretch

out between houses and woods, telling tales of days that never change. Beyond the town, the still,

rural landscape unfurls into the hinterlands, where dense holm oak forests hold the secrets of an

industrial past.

Windswept maritime pines, bent over time, speak of storms and relentless sun, casting shifting

shadows across the sandy ground suspended between land and water. Here, time does not flow, it

stagnates. The periphery resists decay, yet struggles to imagine a different future, clinging to its

roots while the rest of the world rushes ahead. The Dicotomia project

grew from the need to explore a place stuck between what it once was and what it could become.

It's where people live with their own restlessness, trying to make sense of a place that always seems

on the verge of changing, yet ultimately stays still, suspended in time.

For those who left, it’s a distant memory filled with nostalgia and regret. For those who stayed, it’s

a strange reality of hybrid, surreal landscapes.