I asked myself what is art and I continue to do it and I am not sure I have found the answer; indeed, the only certainty I have is that there is no answer. Can paintings be called “art”? The expression of a profound feeling of the soul through a tangible sign is a form of art, is it my form of art? My story is testimony, it is knowledge of the world of the last and of redemption, it is an ecstasy of the universal beauty of nature in which I grew up and a precipice from which it is not possible to ascend. I express all this by painting contrasts, oxen and color, smiles and sadness, but always strength and hope. Is this art? Or is art just the dream representation of nothingness through a captivating storytelling? Art is an expression of talent, of study, of constancy, of commitment, of striving for improvement, of normality or is it self-destruction, madness, incomprehensibility, complication of simplicity, exclusivity and therefore for this matter for the chosen few? Through my work I gave my answer: for me art is the ability to get excited and excite, to tell a life journey that unites millions of people, to ask the observer to go beyond the “I like it, I don’t like ”and to read the motivation in the stroke and in the choice of
subjects, to see their looks, to listen to their movements, to arrive at the essence of an object that nature offers without asking for anything in return, to feel the wind that animates that hair, to experience that pain of a never lived.