“One morning, not long after his return to the cave, Zarathustra leapt from his resting place like a madman, roaring in a terrible voice, behaving as though someone else still lay there and refused to rise.” Thus echoes Nietzsche’s scene: Zarathustra’s cry resounds so violently that his animals approach in fear, while every other creature flees—flying, crawling, leaping—according to the limbs or wings they were given.
“Up, abysmal thought, out of my depth! I am your cock and your dawn. Awake, sleepy worm! My voice shall crow you from your sleep. Unfasten your ears and listen—for I wish to hear you.”
At dawn, particularly in Gozo, the sound of “cock-a-doodle-doo” can still be heard. Yet this exhibition is not a nostalgic celebration of rural life. It turns instead toward the abysmal thoughts that dwell within us—thoughts that now seem to be fading. Are they merely asleep, waiting to be awakened? Or are we drifting into a zombie-like state, moving through life without truly inhabiting it?
Scroll, swipe—and never wake. We grow accustomed to cognitively painless experiences, to anaesthesia. Our abysmal thoughts would rather lie on the sofa, while everything around us struggles for survival. Perhaps we are even losing the depth required to reach the abyss at all.
This exhibition investigates different forms of “cock-crowing”: calls that summon life to rise in all its complexity—its pain, suffering, and joy. A life not yet defeated, or at least one still willing to meet the challenge.
