Silvia Lagorio, Presentazione, in Memorie, exhibition catalogue, Meldola 2002
One evening at friends for dinner. Notwithstanding—I guess— the pleasure of the conversation and its discreet but warm intimacy, my eye keeps on being caught by a picture hanging on the wall that in reality I can hardly see. The lights are not bright and the picture is dark. And yet this operation—seeing a bit and imagining a bit—occupies me until I decide to get up and take a look at it. In order to describe the peculiar force of attraction that Enrico Lombardi’s dwellings have, that possessive power which produced the experience just described and thus my presence here in the guise of witness, I would like to try to investigate two effects intensely excited by them and that are constituent parts, in my view, of the overall character of Lombardi’s work: one is linked to the simultaneità of closeness/distance, the other relates to silence. Whether they loom over us or are located, very small, at one point of the canvas, the dwellings that Lombardi presents us are near and far at one and the same time and are located on a threshold. They “stay on the threshold” (as the title of one significant picture suggests), that is to say they speak of a third space which has nothing to do with outer reality, and not even with what we call inner reality. As psychoanalysis has taught us, a degree of familiarity with this threshold helps us in the course of our lives by continually putting back together the fractures and the discrepancies that mark the laborious and never-ending process of comparison between our desires and the demands of reality, between what we would like to exist and what is. For this reason, the threshold has a sacred value and staying on the threshold corresponds to the constantly made attempt to save something of the world, through a patient and difficult work of understanding and gaining familiarity with those elusive objects that are symbols. … So Enrico Lombardi’s painting is not just (as he makes us understand) a monument to leave-taking. It does not only represent that absolute uncertainty to which the tireless grip of time condemns us. It also opens up a desire for suspension. Silence dominates this state, which is certainly similar to that of dream. Both, by chance or by a kind of miracle, restore to us inaccessible memories, a different time without which the life of day would be infinitely poorer, our houses infinitely more temporary.