Untitled Painting

If I had to describe my work I realize I am faced with a paradox. I try to say to say something through images, but I don't feel like a painter in the true sense. I miss the painter's madness, his desperate idea of ​​being able to read the world through a particular perspective. This may disturb you, but I think things are that way, and it is also a way to ward off anyone who takes a too conventional approach to art in general. This is also connected to a certain idea that has now become established by the artist, as a creator, manipulator of forms without any ideal drive. For some, this takes on paroxysmal, super-nihilistic forms that in the end are resolved only in a game as an end in itself through which emerges the figure, partly comic, partly sacred, of the contemporary artist. It is an essential part of a postmodern mythology which, having renounced all forms of transcendence, relegates art to interpret the thrusts of the social body in the name sometimes of a real orthodoxy, more or less explicit. The authorized transgression, the elephantine installationism, the performative delirium of some authors fit precisely into this logic. If some time ago, Bonito Oliva called Hermann Nitsch, one of the greatest artists of our time, he does it in the name of a grammar of which he is not even aware but of which he becomes a rigid and ruthless performer. For my part, I accepted the idea of ​​a blind spot in the world that goes beyond any representation and as such is destined to escape any possibility of exchange. For an artist this can be felt as a defeat or as a mission, it depends on what one wants to recognize, whether in what Baudrillard called "the hypermodern device of generalized exchange, or in a worldview that I am not afraid of define religious, that is, the attempt to read the world to the last, even when it becomes absolutely illegible.