Il dottore della peste draws on the iconography of the plague doctor — a figure both healer and harbinger — to examine the rituals we construct around vulnerability. The project moves between still and moving images, weaving domestic spaces with gesture and concealment.

Flowers become masks, bodies become landscapes. The work asks what it means to care for someone when the act of proximity itself carries risk. In one sequence, faces disappear behind bouquets; in another, a woman inhabits a room as if rehearsing a departure that never quite arrives.

The project grew out of a period of confinement and was shaped by the tension between intimacy and distance that defined those months. It is less about illness than about the strange beauty that surfaces when ordinary life is interrupted — when a window becomes a frame, a radiator becomes a companion, and the person you live with becomes someone you must learn to see again.

Shot on film in Brussels, the work pairs color and black-and-white to distinguish between two registers of looking: the warm, close, bodily present, and the cooler, more detached observation of someone watching from just outside the scene.