Andrea Bianconi and Barbara Davis have worked together for fourteen of the seventeen years he has been exhibiting. 

His most recent performance Il sogno canta su una corda sola [The Dream Sings on a Single Wire] created “grapevines” by connecting women using a “corded phone” to pass a poem along the along a symbolic route on the Canals of Milan. In honor of both World Poetry Day and the birthday of Alda Merini (a favorite poet of the artist), the project inaugurated the Casa delle Arti – Spazio Alda Merini [House of Arts – Alda Merini Space] at the invitation of Cetec, and with the artistic collaboration of Donatella Massimilla. In collaborating with Casa Testori, the project also paid homage to another poet important to the Milanese, Giovanni Testori.

Twenty one women took turns reciting the titles of ninty Alda Merini poems. The artist chose these titles because, when strung together, created a poem of their own. This free, “on the road” performance was by and for women in the performing arts, ex-detainees and citizens alike.
 
“Women who restore voice and memory, not only to the Poet, but to all who have been loved, lost and never forgotten, voices that help these women to rediscover themselves. Nostalgia and desire, lines of poetry appear as seeds of rebirth now as never before, when we are so strongly missing theatre, art, culture and beauty”, declares Donatella Massimilla.

“The dream sings on a single wire”
 
I am a furious little bee
  my poetry is eager as fire
  A harmony sounds in my veins
  I tried to cry with my hands
  Those like me 
  I open my cigarette
  You could at least call me
 I don’t want to forget love
  Unrepeatable love
  Yesterday evening it was love
 You were the truth, my border
  I came to you with the veil of my flesh
  I offered you my body
  O poetry, don’t come to blows with me
 I used to be a bird
 When the sky kissed the earth
 If you don’t come here
 The patient goats nibble the grass
  Desire for love
 The song of the bridegroom
 I advise all young people
  I wish I hadn’t hoped in you
 Thus gentle Proserpine
 I was born on the 21st in springtime 
 On the slender, rich grains
And always weeps at night
  Perhaps it is her prayer