Let me briefly idealize the concept of a woodstack. Woodstacks are truly altars to nature and to woodland. The word catasta is a poem in itself, because of the wood that it is made of, the things it conjures up and - in the Italian language - because of the sound of the word itself. I know woodstacks are not always well-crafted things of beauty; often they are an insult to the environment and nature. But, every now and then, they can be veritable constructions: cottages or vast cathedrals with big roofs to cover them, holding the pieces together and sheltering them from rain and snow. Woodstacks, however, have neither doors nor windows. And they can’t be entered because that is not their function. They are constructions, not here to be inhabited according to the criteria with which we inhabit our houses: they are constructions of value for what they evoke. There will never be functional adjustment, never a technological alteration, real estate profit or surveyor’s report, or a new lifestyle that would jeopardise the architectural quality of a woodstack.
Michele De Lucchi, October 2017

Photography: Tom Vack with Ester Pirotta