I have always had the
inclination to scrutinize attentively everything. I saw, and… while observing, losing myself…
and see other things, beyond. It is something “congenital”. I never had the
intention to do it, images gathered in my eyes and in my mind. I looked forward
the tangible aspect making the matter the starting point and the colour the
means. I like thinking that every stone is a tale, a piece of history, a truly splinter of life, a sort of natural
letter, shaped by thesea, the wind, by
the chisel of the passed time to come just here, that I would be “here” because
she captures me.The relationship between the stone and me is something born
instinctively before I could give it a meaning. I put my eyes, my hands on the
stone, they are ravished by it and so they ravish it to that nature that kindly
engraves it for me… and I to thank her paint for her, completing a piece of
work just partially realized. When I pick up a stone, I don’t always realize what
it suggest me, sometimes a bare whispering… next I put the stone on the lathe
and so the whispering becomes at first a clear and bright voice and next a truly scream… My hand
begins to trace out the drawing in every
detail in a way that painting it, nothing would be lost… no folds, no
prominence, the colour discovers, do not covers, reveal, Soul…
