Alice writes icons: she writes them, she does not paint them, for an icon is theology made visible. Alessio photographs war: the image as evidence, as wound.
Two image-makers who never meet, yet their images speak to one another. Then both go searching for something beyond the image. She founds Casa Aylan, a family of unaccompanied minor refugees, and the golden silence of her sacred faces fills with voices. He drives to the edge of the world, into Ukraine, perhaps by now Russia, where in a church gutted by shelling the bullet-riddled gaze of a Christ reaches him: for the first time, the photographer is photographed. Both will return to making images, no longer alone, and with one more question: what does it mean to make images today, when the sacred and the spectacle, testimony and the market dissolve into one and the same gesture? Not iconoclasm, not iconophilia: iconoclash.