An old article on my work, published on issue nymber 2 of NovantatreRosso, Associazione I Bastioni‘s newsletter, written by Sabrina Pirei.
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Grouth (subtitled).
This is a friend’s request, the etching with underneath its poetic subtitle…
Crescita
Tu, giovane virgulto, cresci, corri, vola. Tu, minuscolo spicchio di me, girino che diverrai Principe, salpa sulla tua nave, e scopri nuovi mondi. La vita che ti è stata data, ora va coltivata, concimata ed annaffiata di propositi, sogni e speranze. Fai i tuoi errori, fanne tanti, sbattici contro, per poi superarli. Impara da loro come da un bravo maestro. Pota il ramo marcio, coltiva quel sano, sacro desiderio che è in te. Diventa una quercia, spendo di essere stato Ghianda.
Growth
You, young sprout, grow, run, fly. You tiny splinter of me, yet to become a Prince, set out on your own boat, and discover new worlds.
The life you have received, must be Cultivated, Manured and Watered with Resolutions, Dreams and Hopes. Make your mistakes, lots of them, salm against them, and then overcome them. Learn from them as from the best of Masters. Prune the rotten branch, and cultivate that Healthy, Sacred wish that is in you. Grow to become an Oak, knowing you started as an Acorn.
Butterflies in the Stomach
This softground Series began during a series of Workshops with Eugenio Cecioni.
This is Japan, my first soft ground, dedicated to the Fukushima disaster.
Then came the small Butterflies…
The Tuscan Butterflies is a a watercoloured softground, created using olive flowers.
while the Butterfly Vortex is both softground and Hardground etching, watercoloured..
the Three Butterflies is made with the use of Ginkgo Biloba leaves.
I don’t always watercolour this one..
I customized this one with a calligraphy caption I wrote:
The Butterflies are aware of that feeling deep inside of you, that warns you you’re upset.
They don’t exist, but they still help you.
my exhibition @PopCafé
#minimumpop
I’m having an exhibition with a few tiny etchings, and some large ones, till the 9th of June.
Each etching is paired with a poem of mine.
Pop Café is in the wonderful Piazza Santo Spirito in the heart of Florence, and is open from 8am to 2am!
See you there!
We grow, we age.
We grow, we age.
Sometimes day by day, sometimes years at a time, as quickly as a wink.
We age, we grow, sometimes.
Less and less.
Less memory.
Less and less agile.
Less playtime.
Sensing absent senses.
Cotton wool in his ears, soul and heart.
A life of needs, not dreams.
Dreams are now read.
With glasses.
Desires, regrets of moments, of overwhelming passions, of spectacular sunsets.
Back to taking care of loved ones, like a generation ago.
The lives of others parade in front of you.
Puppies cannot get up on their tired limbs; sleepless nights waiting for a premonitory moan .
Help others, it might happen to you, if luck assists you.
Assist others, and maybe you will be assisted, god and humans permitting.
Splinters of mortality creep inside me. Last night I lost another playful piece of myself.
There is no life without play.
Purgatory is a place where you lose every game, but hell is where you do not play.
Let’s hope death will find me alive.
“Cresciamo, invecchiamo.”
A volte giorno per giorno, a volte di anni interi, tutto in un batter d’occhio.
Invecchiamo, cresciamo,
a volte.
Sempre meno.
Sempre meno memoria.
Sempre meno agilità.
Sempre meno gioco.
Sentore di sensi assenti.
Ovatta nelle orecchie, nell’anima, nel cuore.
Vita di bisogni, non più di sogni.
I sogni ormai si leggono.
Con gli occhiali.
Desideri,
rimpianti di momenti,
di passioni travolgenti,
di tramonti stupefacenti.
Di nuovo a prendersi cura dei cari, come una generazione fa.
La vita altrui la vedi sfilare davanti a te.
I cuccioli non si alzano più sulle stanche membra; notti insonni in attesa di un mugolio premonitore.
Aiuti gli altri, poi toccherà a te, se la fortuna ti assiste.
Assisti, e forse verrai assistito
a dio e agli umani piacendo.
Schegge di mortalità si insinuano in me.
Stanotte ho perso un altro pezzo giocoso di me.
Non c’è vita senza gioco.
Il purgatorio è un luogo dove perdi ad ogni partita, ma l’inferno è dove non si gioca.
Speriamo che morte mi colga vivo.
Abstract self-portrait
So this is me, from small brain to big foot…
Buona Pace!
Florentine Happy (peace) Easter cards.
