Highslide JS
20x35 cm

Highslide JS
30x25 cm

Highslide JS
40x50 cm

 

Land-
scapes
Highslide JS
30x25 cm
Highslide JS
30x55 cm

Highslide JS
28x55 cm

Highslide JS
40x85 cm

Highslide JS
25x35 cm
Highslide JS
85x205 cm
Highslide JS
170x535cm

Highslide JS
60x135 cm

Highslide JS
60x135 cm

Highslide JS
43x93 cm
Highslide JS
43x93 cm

Highslide JS
40x85 cm

Highslide JS
33x70 cm
Highslide JS
27x60 cm
Highslide JS
28x60 cm
Highslide JS
22x50 cm
Highslide JS
27x54 cm
Highslide JS
40x50 cm
   
    Highslide JS
40x65 cm
Highslide JS
30x45 cm
Highslide JS
30x40 cm
Highslide JS
30x40 cm
Highslide JS
33x70 cm
     
Highslide JS
30x40 cm
oil on copper
Highslide JS
30x40 cm
     
Highslide JS
40x50 cm
       
 

Parallell Navigation

(italian version)

Seafarers know that every Island provides only a few good landings - sometimes just one - and what little help comes from pilot books, since they are but encoded representations of other people's past attempts.
In the same way, painters perceive just a few approaches to every portrait - sometimes just one - according to the experience and wooden implements with which he sets sail through the endless Ocean of Painting.
Given that maps and manuals aren't too useful, painters just like mariners, must make repeated and bold attempts. They must pray that the Moon - the Queen of all Islands, suspended in the sky, which is deeper than any abyss - on that day might reveal, in the subject to be portrayed, the  favourable tide of a mood, a gesture or a gaze which can point towards the right course.
Failures are inevitable, success is elusive and haphazardous.
In my countless shipwrecks as a painter, I have constantly tried to salvage some of the flotsam. The background to a graceless figure or the left-over paint on my palette have become precious: their own limitation, determined by Chance and Use, turns them into reassuring tools, which help me find my way as I sail through the Uncharted waters of freedom.
The instinct to paint an Island on the back of other portraits or paintings has always been irresistible to me.
Despite John Donne's words by which "No man is an Island", with Islands we share well-defined and somewhat ethereal borders, a traumatic birth and constant erosion, random visits and inevitable demise.
Our days are Islands in the Ocean of the Night and our Feelings are the untranslatable language spoken by a people in which there is but one inhabitant.
Perhaps I wanted to bestow upon that one inhabitant - whose expression or skin texture - I couldn't quite capture - a kingdom behind the canvas that he could call his own, that I could look at from afar while I was painting; stepping back to that intimate and formal distance which is necessary to achieve, hopefully, a better defined, more complete and unbiased vision.

The presence, the body whose contour I lost track of, sometimes appear to me when I follow the outline of a shadow over water, in the pale light that glows behind the clouds or in fires burning in the night.
A love for aloofness, which sometimes prompts me to paint Islands on blank canvases, as I fantasize about inhabitants which might not be perceived by human eyes, about miraculous fountains, gigantic ancient ruins, or mysterious magic spells conveyed through a whisper.

Forays into remoteness, exercises in abstraction, and the prize to be paid for the longing to travel.
Weighing anchor, travelling, sailing away through the unfathomable and perilous twin worlds of Water and Painting, reveal similar risks and a kinship of hopes.
You might run aground on unexpected shoals, roaming senselessly amidst sudden fog while conjuring new lands of exotic love, fabulous riches, and eternal youth.
Every night, whether Painting or at Sea, suspended between darkness and the obscure Abyss, we can feel the monsters of the Deep slowly swimming beneath us.
Islands appear like reflections of unknown constellations.
We are not afraid of the occasional storm, but rather of the all too frequent lull, the tediousness of daily routine, the small number of fellow travellers, who are always the same.
Seafarers and painters eat the same food all year round, thriving on dreams.
This is why I painted my Islands, so far, using a formal language which was wilfully limited to few ingredients.
It is almost as I could always see them there, on the horizon, still far enough to decide whether to land or sail away .
I wanted them to be vague monochrome recollections.
Like they float in our memory.