This body of work is deeply inspired by Call Me by Your Name — not just as a film, but as a feeling. It’s about the atmosphere it creates: the golden slowness of a summer in northern Italy, the sense of being suspended in time, the quiet intimacy of a love that is both doomed and eternal. That emotional world stayed with me. Not because it was dramatic, but because it was honest. What struck me most was how the film treats love — not as a fixed or defined thing, but as something that moves between people in subtle, unexpected ways. It’s about longing more than possession. It’s about those moments of emotional clarity that only come once — and stay with you forever. Love, in the film, isn’t confined to a couple or a label. It exists between friends, between parent and child, in gestures and silences. It’s deeply human. The color palette — sun-washed, tender, almost overexposed — and the slow pace of the days: they captured that rare feeling of just being. A summer that belongs only to you, shaped by the people who are with you in that very specific window of time. That isolation, in a way, allows for something pure to emerge — a love that is fleeting, but fully felt.The father’s monologue at the end is especially central to how I think about this exhibition. It’s a call to let yourself feel — not just the good, but the ache, the aftermath. He says: “We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty.” And I think that’s what this show is resisting. It’s asking us to stay with the feelings. To not rush past them. Because if we try to skip the sorrow, we skip the joy too. So yes, this exhibition is cinematic in tone, but more than that — it’s emotional.

It’s about what happens to us when we allow ourselves to be changed by love.

Even if it only lasts a summer. Especially if it only lasts a summer.