Io Non Ho Mani Che Mi Accarezzino Il Volto Filippo Sorcinelli 2017

Io non ho mani is a short yet touching poem by Father David Maria Turoldo, published in 1948, that describes the deprivations and solitude of priests.

Io non ho mani che mi accarezzino il volto,
I have no hands to caress my face
(duro è l'ufficio di queste parole che non conoscono amori)
(hard is the message* of those words that know no love)
non so le dolcezze dei vostri abbandoni:
I do not know the sweetness of your renunciations:
ho dovuto essere custode della vostra solitudine:
I had to be the guardian of your solitude:
sono salvatore di ore perdute.
I am the keeper of lost hours.

* To the Italian native speakers among you: I translated ufficio as Mass = message, but I would appreciate if you could offer a better option.

In the early 1960s, it inspired the Italian photographer Mario Giacomelli to create a very impressive series of black-and-white photographs, capturing a group of priesthood candidates outside of class. The most beautiful photo for me is the small group laughing and dancing in a cloud of snowflakes.

It was probably also this image that inspired Filippo Sorcinelli, the founder and owner of Unum, in the design, particularly of the cap with the soft black leather covering. It can be folded and shaped, swirling like the garments of those who are turning around the bottle.

Io non ho mani is not a simple fragrance; it does not caress the wearer, it is somewhat uncomfortable, one must engage with it. Yet Giacomelli was likely, like many artists of his generation, just the same: all his series of images are existentialist, capturing the fundamental questions of human life. Even if the viewer has no immediate connection to the depicted individuals, the message of the image reveals itself empathetically, almost as proof of how similar we humans are in all our fundamental needs, desires, and hopes.

I find Io non ho mani, like my predecessors, initially cumbersome and irritating. The extremely present metallic-medical note indeed evokes associations with the solitude of the individual in a cold world, but more develops from there. The woody-balsamic notes, underpinned with cinnamon, smoke, and floral accords show: You are not alone.

Final word: Rilke once wrote that in a marriage (this certainly applies to any other close human community as well) each is the guardian of the other's solitude. For me, this means accepting the other as an independent personality, trusting without needing to understand everything, allowing the other to be themselves instead of bending them, and thus giving back many lost hours.