giovedì 15 marzo 2018

Childhood

Siblings

Boy with dog (original sold)

The player

The fans 
Envy
Ballerina

Childhood memories. Oil on paper, 21 x 15 cm, 2017. These paintings are available for sale at the price of 120 US$ each one (shipping included). Contact me in case you are interested in more information about my work, the sales prices of individual works, or the availability for work on graphics.

mercoledì 7 marzo 2018

Our mother


Our mother - oil on canvas, 2001,  70 x 100 cm.

Where does it comes from this remembrance of a bad mother? Where did it was born this idea of ​​an oppressive authority? What had we made, my sister and I? Had we to be punished? Had we to be judged for a bad action? But my mother wasn’t like this. Why these bad thoughts? The fragile glass bulbs are stored safe on the top of tall cabinets, so that the children can not reach them, and break.







venerdì 2 marzo 2018

Xin as a child.


XIN AS A CHILD - An original piece from the series “Memories paper”; oil and pencil on paper; 29.5 x 42 cm, 2014.

My father, when young, was fond of photography. He loved to develop the images on his own. A rudimentary darkroom was set up in a closet, where he experienced the effects of developing baths on the portraits of his children. These photographs, along with other photos of memories of grandparents, pictures of the period of the war, the marriage of my parents or my and my sister childhood, all of the summer holidays, and countless other occasions to remember, they are still part of the baggage of memories of my family, kept in an old cabinet.

Their appeal lies in the irregularities, in the imperfections, in the grains of dust that soiled the film, in the overexposure burning the edges and merging all the objects in an indistinct white light, in the color fading due to the passage of time. I like to think that the paper possesses its own selective memory, which unveils some elements of the image while hides or removes others, staining only parts of the scene, while the rest is left in the second floor, in black and white. Or I like to think that the fading paper misses parts of that memory, and sometimes what remains seems not to be the most important thing.