Sentinelle di Sabbia Rossa

I sign the Sentinelle di Sabbia Rossa wallpaper as an act of devotion to the oldest and most silent land I know: the desert. It belongs to the desert landscape genre, that way of looking which reduces the world to a few essential forms and makes them monumental. Here I wanted to hold the red sandstone towers and the isolated mesas of Monument Valley, rising abruptly from the flat, open ground: three, four, five formations gathered in an asymmetrical group, a slender pinnacle standing apart from two wider mesas with flat tops, while to the right the land opens empty to the horizon.

The low sun, just above the rocks, sets the vertical walls alight in rust red, burnt sienna and ochre, and lets them slide into grey-violet and dusty mauve inside the shaded clefts. Above, a pale sky between apricot and lavender holds the early morning. In the foreground, sparse bushes, dry grasses and ripples of wind-moved sand breathe towards the base of the rock, while the horizontal sedimentary band and the vertical fissures tell, close up, of millions of years carved into the stone.

In this silent immensity I find a lesson in measure: greatness needs no noise, only time and the right light. It is the same principle that guides our craft: every roll of Sentinelle di Sabbia Rossa wallpaper is printed and finished by hand in Italy, with the care of those who know that a landscape, in order to live on a wall, must first be understood.