Bender in a Empty Future Forest

🤖 Bender in a Empty Future Forest

"Drink, bend, destroy… reflect?"

Sometime after Apocalypse No. 7 (the one with talking trees and sentient servers), Bender wanders into a forest.
Not empty of trees — but empty of future.
No humans, no booze, not even a toaster to insult. Just silent trunks, rusted drones, and leaves that look like burnt pixels.

So the universe’s sassiest robot starts talking to himself — or maybe to the mutant squirrels:

“Hey, where did all the bars go? And the lasers? What kind of sad reboot is this?”

In this Empty Future Forest, even Bender seems to question the nature of time, the sound of silence, and how the hell you're supposed to open a beer without a bottle opener.

An ironic, dreamy vision of the future:
where even a beer-loving robot can become a poet...
or at least, a metallic echo among digital trees.

This series symbolically and surreally explores the cohabitation of animals with an urban landscape. Here the ecological approach that distinguishes human/nature relationship is central by inviting us to perceive the earth as a living entity, as a large garden in which all the ignored fragments of the landscape offer us opportunities for regeneration. This was inspired by Gilles Clément's concept of "Third Landscape." All works are signed and certified.

🤖 Bender in a Empty Future Forest

"Bevi, piega, distruggi… contempla?"

Un giorno, molto dopo l’Apocalisse n. 7 (quella degli alberi parlanti e dei server senzienti), Bender si ritrova a vagare in una foresta vuota.
Ma non vuota di alberi: vuota di futuro.
Nessun umano, nessuna birra, nemmeno un tostapane da insultare. Solo tronchi silenziosi, droni arrugginiti e foglie che sembrano pixel bruciati.

E allora il robot più sfacciato dell’universo comincia a parlare da solo — o forse con gli scoiattoli mutanti:

“Ehi, dove sono finiti tutti i bar? E i laser? Che razza di reboot triste è questo?”

In questa Foresta del Futuro Vuoto, persino Bender sembra interrogarsi sul senso del tempo, sul rumore del silenzio, e su come diavolo si apre una birra senza apribottiglie.

Una visione ironica e malinconica del domani:
dove anche un robot ubriacone può diventare poeta… o almeno, eco metallico tra gli alberi digitali.

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