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“In vain, great-hearted Kublai, shall I attempt to describe Zaira, city of high bastions. I could tell you how many steps make up the streets rising like stairways, and the degree of the arcades’ curves, and what kind of zinc scales cover the roofs; but I already know this would be the same as telling you nothing. The city does not consist of this, but of relationships between the measurements of its space and the events of its past”. Italo Calvino (Invisible Cities, Einaudi 1972) brilliantly describes...

They are among us. And they greatly outnumber us. Three thousand billion individuals, grouped in millions of communities, organised into authentic nations. But we hardly notice their presence. They - trees - in their communities - the forests - live, grow, die and regenerate in silence. But more than ever before, we realise that we can’t do without them.

“All great literature is one of two stories; a man goes on a journey or a stranger comes to town”. In this short phrase, presumed to have been written in the late 19th century, Lev Tolstoj sums up a timeless and universal law: stories, all stories, whether personal or collective, begin with movement, a journey to somewhere or an arrival from somewhere. All in all, a border crossing.

Humus starts its journey by looking at the ground, on which not only our feet but also our homes, cities, factories and roads stand; and where orchards, wheat fields and woods spread their roots. Our whole existence is based on that which may seem just a surface, but which in fact is much more. Because it has a thickness, a depth, a history and a very intense life.