Every day Distéfano walks down a “pathetic road that once was lit. Now, all that remains is twisted or toppled lampposts, with broken wires blown about like useless hairs. By the sides of that road, a landscape filled with rubbish burns in small bonfires.” This is how he himself describes it.

Everyday infernos, marginality, violence. These are his landscape-sculptures of 1992-93.

Changes of distance, position, scale. Maggot-riddled figures, mutilated bodies. The suburban landscape recalls the cataclysm depicted by Brueghel in The Triumph of Death.

In Di doman non c'é certezza, 1993, the title alludes to a poem by Lorenzo de Médicis on the transience of life. A succession of scenes about the line that establishes a route: sodomy-rape-bodily disintegration-death wish. Here man has shrunk to become almost an insect. “What is degraded confronts us with states of fragility in which man wanders on territories of animality” states Kristeva (72). Metamorphosis in everyday hells.

An absurd unreal view of eyes popping out, shrunken bodies, loss of human identity. What is most painful for the torture victim is to confront the physical appearance of the torturer. Men devouring men.