#thetrottingcowboy

[thetrottingcowboy]

The trotting cowboy for Virtus Magazine

Michele Rossetti, 30 years old, Director @thetrottingcowboy.

How would you describe your style in three words?

Leather dog, cocktail party, tip Tap dancer.

Where do you draw inspiration for your aesthetic?

Undoubtedly from past icons such as David Bowie, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, James Bond, the poetry of John Cooper Clarke, or a young Kurosawa on the set of his films. I've always had a special affinity for clothing, seeing it as a kind of ever-changing uniform, always identifiable, akin to comic book superheroes. While many individuals feel most authentic and comfortable in pajamas, I, instead, feel at ease from the crack of dawn in a black double-breasted suit amidst toast and cereal. Or perhaps it's to be always prepared for any eventuality, whether it's the lead role at a funeral or an impromptu wedding. I prefer to blend elegance with irony, perhaps with a quirky pin on the tie.

https://www.instagram.com/themichelerossetti/

[thetrottingcowboy]

Running in the woods searching for bullfrogs, hiding from the farmers while running to the fields. The road where I fell many times, where I scraped my knees, scratches and marks. Who knows when going to the city became coming back home, and when coming back home turned into returning to this lake. Climb, act, time is tight. Choose a funny pose, sdrammatize an ancient portrait. My cat passed away here, He got run over by a car I miss him a lot: he used to run, fetch the ball and bring it back. Her sister is 23 years old, she plays piano now."

The trotting cowboy

[thetrottingcowboy]

My name is Michele Rossetti and I travel with my camera to pursuit old tales stocked by immagination. I took a plane with my mind from the mountains to the yellow fields without a name, so I took some shots and a piece of paper to write what I saw. To tell a tale of tall horses of the land.

I had the pleasure of embarking on an extraordinary journey alongside the young women of the plains. For months, I followed them, driven by an urgent desire to witness firsthand this extraordinary phenomenon.

The inhabitants of the plains uphold a mesmerizing ritual where daughters set out with their family horse once it reaches old age. They traverse vast distances in search of ancient lightning-struck cedarwood, an essential element in the cyclical rebirth of their steeds. This connection, seemingly twinned by nature's design, maintains a delicate balance in the eternal cycle of life and renewal.

As we journeyed across the expansive plains, the horses, steadfast companions to these women, underwent a profound metamorphosis. Their once agile strides slowed, their lustrous manes transformed into shimmering silver, culminating in a haunting transformation amidst smoldering ashes. It evoked echoes of the tale of the phoenix and the salmon leap.

One remarkable fact is that these girls are always twins and, even more astonishingly, their hair color always mirrors that of the horses themselves.

They share their food with the horses, sustaining themselves solely on grass. Fortunately, I had brought along a few provisions from my last trip in search of the Kelpie, which, alas, I never found. When we found the tree, they ignited a fire using the reflection of the 'mid-day sun,' as they termed it.

Then, an extraordinary moment ensued—the perfect mirror formed in the midst of the ashes, resembling the eye of an ancient deity. The horse became transfixed, gazing at its reflection as if in a trance. Suddenly, it vanished, submerging itself within the ashes.

I was left speechless, witnessing the most captivating revelation. The resurrected horses emerged not in youthful exuberance but in a suspended state of agelessness, growing not in years but in stature—an homage to the timeless dance of life.

Amidst these revelations, amidst whispers of an ancient tradition, I found myself immersed in a realm where time seemed fluid, life intertwined seamlessly with transition, and the age-old secrets of nature murmured tales that ignited both wonder and contemplation.

With my own eyes, I saw the horse emerge again from the ashes, diminished to the size of a toy. I had the honor of drawing close enough to gaze into its eyes, still brimming with memories of its past life. Once the ritual was complete, our journey resumed.

Now, I'm prepared to board a plane and embark on my next reportage.

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Disclaimer: None of this is real. 

The Trotting Cowboy traverses time and space, discovering old tales and reports of fictional stories. A journalist, filmmaker, singer, and writer who doesn't adhere to the factual rules of reality, solely intent on stirring emotions and embarking on spirited journeys.

The Trotting Cowboy.

The Trotting Cowboy, traverses time and space in a voyage through realms of imagination, capturing enchanting stories with his camera. From mythical twin women guiding aging horses to a ritual with ancient cedarwood, he unveils an otherworldly tale of rebirth and timeless connection amidst the plains. A journalist, filmmaker, singer, and writer who doesn't adhere to the factual rules of reality, solely intent on stirring emotions and embarking on spirited journeys.

Enjoy

The Trotting Cowboy.

[thetrottingcowboy]

Venni, vidi, Vinicio. He is a beast of an actor with enormous capability and range of expressions & tenderness. A pleasure to work with him and chat at dinner about everything related to cinema and dreams with him, Mattia and Romina.

'Cinque Atti un sogno' Soon out

Shooting at ‘la Pergola’ theatre in Florence was one of the craziest experience ever. Seeing it empty but so full of emotions was a blast.

[thetrottingcowboy]

Enchanting melodies resonate through the air, woven by the movements of a figure adorned in a vibrant yellow suit. The way I move is just a parody, Poachers are what I detest the most, perhaps as much as bullfighters, but the moves, oh the moves. Suffocating tradition with silver gloves and replacing it with culture. Zigzagging through the tangled mess of this thread. To dance is no longer dance, it's merely the way to move. There will be those who have chosen to limp, merely to move like clock hands and determine how to outwit time. Freedom of choice, ordering a sugar-free Coca-Cola, deciding how much sugar to add.

The trotting cowboy

[thetrottingcowboy]

The saddest of them all, while the nonsensical downhill of seduction crashes towards the landslide. The young prince stood there, stomping his feet to get some attention. The fault to give, the finger to point. The head of a servant, for the latest serpent.

The trotting cowboy

[thetrottingcowboy]

Nocturna.

Deceitful gaze of good intentions.

Shot by @thetrottingcowboy