January, February, March, April, almost all of May. Since the post of L’uomo elefante and my first then upcoming exhibition my way of making art has deeply evolved.
I learned that in contemporary art the focus is the message and not the work itself, to which, as a good former graphic designer, I had always given priority. I still have a creeping feeling that aesthetically beautiful works are penalized in this respect, but it is too early to tell; I still have much to learn.
I realized the importance of telling the motivations and intentions I have, regardless of the imponderables, when I become the conduit of an energy that flows through me without me being able to do anything to stop it — and indeed better to let it do so if I want to survive — and I rewrote my artist statement. Which basically says that it is not possible to have a life worth having if you are in a constant state of fear, if you are not willing to risk every single thing you have and are.
At a time in history in which we are bombarded by threats of all kinds, and in which the like has passed away replaced by the unscrupulous what-if, the courage to live is a rare and controversial commodity and can make you feel very alone. Everything I do addresses a different nuance of this fundamental need for me; all of my work is based on showing the enormous relief that comes from being able to ignore the mind and thus tap into our true essence, animal and intuitive, free, invincible and indestructible, eternal.
Now on the works page each work has its own synopsis, the imperfect transcript of the need from which each of them arose; the message I mentioned earlier, moldable to the individual’s personal feelings. What then is not art? That which leaves one indifferent, that which awakens no emotion.
And that’s where I started again.