“I say to you : one must carry a chaos within one to be able to give birth to a dancing star.”
Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Prologue

“They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.”
Edgar Allan Poe, Tales of Fantasy, “Eleonora”


Since my childhood I have spent countless hours fiddling with pencils and brushes, trying to capture my dreams and visions and to transcribe them onto a sheet of paper. The drawings on the margins of my exercise books eventually stretched to the whole page. With time, I discovered other mediums, new materials and an expanded spectrum of possibilities in sculpture, stained glass and the digital art. They all open to synaesthesia, which transforms the work of art into a live performance.

When I am painting, time is suspended; the hours flow and so do the colours. I breathe, catch my chance, pray – and a world unfolds.

The visionary eye shows the way that leads from heart to hand. It is a journey filled with doubts, of multiple shapes and happy auras. It is an urge, an impulse, a need, a labour, a prayer.

A task patiently, endlessly repeated, I believe in the movement of the hand as a reflection of the soul, leaving its trace in time and space, maybe in other dimensions: memories of lost worlds, an expression of the transcendental.

A naked and sacred gesture, wise and foolish trance, I track down the cosmic alphabet, and there is a mess of slips in this close struggle of contradictory ideas. I rummage, get lost, let it, rest in order to recover, charge once more. I am in a bubble and flee from worldliness in order to reconcile myself with the world, I find my place. With every new white page I experience a rebirth, such is the secret of beginning.

I nourish my art with all that surrounds me and stirs me, with tastes and smells, with sounds and touches; with trees, faces, women, light, music; with striking and hidden beauty; with anguish, love, vertigo; with sacredness, smoke, people, journeys and chocolate.

The impact of colours impresses our globalized retinas, a common language from before Babel seems to emerge, spread by waves, and through canvas – the canvas of the Web depicting a global chaos, and the canvas of the painter, an open window to the world. The task I humbly fix myself is to find a balance in the profusion of images, in order to determine my vantage point.

The surface dances, the skin of my painting pulsates and deep inside I feel my nerves beat, colours are singing and I see the music: I stop.

All this is of course without end. Once the work is finished, I have to come back to my task, a beast that is never tamed.