Studio Gavioli

Once upon a time workers were not slaves.

They worked.

They cultivated an absolute honor,
as an honor deserves.

The leg of a chair had to be built correctly.

It was natural, it was intended. It was a record.

It didn’t have to be well built just for the salary,
or in proportion to the salary.

It didn’t have to be well built for the boss,
for the connoisseurs, or for the boss’ clients.

It had to be well done for itself,
in itself, for its own nature.

A returned tradition, raising up from our race’s depths,
a history, an absolute, an honor required
for that leg to be well built.

And all unseen parts of the chair were approached
with the same perfection of the visible parts.

Built under the same principles of cathedrals.

And I am the only one - so debased now - who’s making
such a fuss about this.

For them, in them,
there was no shadow of deliberation.

The work was there. It had to be done well.

It wasn’t about being seen or not.

It was work itself that had to be well done.