My work encompasses painting, sculpture, AI-generated art, and the reworking or restoration of photographs. Before physically creating any piece, I begin by generating digital images. These photographs allow me to visualize the finished product and see it in its intended context. My primary inspirations stem from childhood memories, typographical anomalies, astronomical observations, logical reflections, dreams, and optical illusions. A central aspect of my work is the use of minerals, crystals, and stones to personally create pigments, enabling chromatic solutions that go beyond conventional painting applications. The color characteristics of certain minerals and the optical effects generated by some surfaces have been known for centuries. I am not discovering them today. The substantial difference in my work lies in the decades of experimentation and testing that have allowed me to develop transversal skills for artistic and pictorial purposes. Some of my works display different colors depending on the viewing angle, and one can also witness autonomous color mutations and illusory three-dimensional effects. I also utilize fluorescence and phosphorescence. In particular, phosphorescence is fundamental to my series Invisible Absences, with works that reveal graphic features even in total darkness. Furthermore, I use fragments of glass, mirror, metals, and other reflective surfaces, which, when arranged and combined with pigments, give the works an effect of depth and movement. These techniques sometimes constitute the true expressive element, even more so than the overall graphic subject.
I utilize software and devices. These tools, with their immediacy and vast range of options, allow me to effortlessly transcend the limitations of traditional media in bringing my works to life. I eagerly experiment with innovative technologies, but conceptual autonomy remains fundamental to me. My works are born from personal ideas, developed through research and experimentation. My artistic research is constantly evolving, and I always seek new technologies and materials to enrich my expressive intent. Each project arises from in-depth study and meticulous planning. I photograph, film, and write to record every stage of my work and to preserve documentation of all works in progress.
Orange is present in almost all of my works today. During a typical day at kindergarten in the 1970s, I was alone on the lawn. I held a white butterfly in my hands. I don't think it landed there on purpose. Those butterflies were anything but bold. I closed my fist. When I opened my hand, its wings were stained with a thick, deep orange liquid. The shades of orange I achieve today come from carefully selected natural materials: calcite, ochre, kaolin, sienna, clay, fluorite, opal, dolomite, sandstone, marble, talc, and bentonite. With their diverse compositions and impurities, these elements allow me to explore a wide spectrum of hues.
Ink, gear grease, paper. An olfactory symphony that permeated my being. In my art today, a tangible legacy of that world of my father, which I frequented more than he did: his home printing press. At that age, it was an enchanted kingdom where words took shape not from the mouth, but from a machine. And images materialized with the firm pressure of the rollers. In the modesty of that environment, a single sink remained as a reminder that it had previously been just another room. The table used as a workbench, with tools and materials, a collection of objects that fascinated and intimidated me at the same time: movable type, each with its engraved letter, an emotional alphabet that generated nostalgic inkblots in my memories. He couldn't see well. Every now and then he would get a character, letter, space, line, dot, or dash wrong. And he would give me the sheet with the error.
I have often depicted my dreams. We spend, on average, a third of our lives sleeping. The areas of our brain associated with logic and emotion operate in an alternate mode during sleep, sometimes generating intriguing effects. Inconceivable events, strange creatures, absurd scenarios, and improbable dialogues are almost the norm. We find ourselves in someone's house with no idea how we got there; we want to speak, but the air rushes into our mouths as if we were leaning out the window of a speeding train; a beautiful and rich person falls in love with us in an instant; we are falling from a roof, only to find ourselves, shortly after, on the beach ordering a granita; we try to enter a restaurant, but we are underwater, and every movement is impossible; we win millions in prizes, but no one wants to give them to us; our house has been transformed into an endless labyrinth of gates and insurmountable walls; we cry for the death of someone we have never cared about; we live on the top of Everest, and upon stepping out onto the balcony, we discover that we are in Piazza San Marco in Venice; we flee with a car that is not ours, unable to outrun people who are chasing us on foot. Upon awakening, those dreams leave us with melancholy, bad moods, joy, or disappointment.
From the earliest cave paintings illuminated by daylight or the flicker of a nighttime fire to today’s sophisticated light-based installations, art has always maintained an inextricable relationship with luminosity. This reliance has often constrained our perception of artworks, confining them to illuminated contexts. My insistence on creating pieces that remain visible even in darkness stems from a curiosity to transcend this limitation, exploring the potential to craft works that invite endless interpretive possibilities, even in the total absence of light. On several occasions, I have chosen to work with unique combinations of minerals capable of interacting with their dark surroundings in remarkable ways. Natural pigments, sensitive to climatic shifts and atmospheric conditions, imbue my works with a sense of life as they seem to pulse in the deepest darkness. My creations, designed specifically for the dark, offer only a faint glow and a few elusive details to the observer, yet the overall effect is enchanting and evocative. In full light, however, the same work presents itself as visually and chromatically classical, though its colors intensify and reveal new facets, enriching the viewing experience with unexpected depth and vibrancy.
Some of my works have as their basic subject, works by Umberto Boccioni. I often resorted to his style in tests in the early 2000s. Boccioni, certainly among the most important figures of Italian Futurism, lived a short but intense artistic life, tragically interrupted. His death, following a fall from a horse, contains an ironic and tragic symbolism: that animal, an emblem of energy and movement, was often celebrated by Boccioni in his artistic and theoretical reflections as the embodiment of vital force and dynamism, key concepts in Futurist poetics. Boccioni traced a personal path that culminated in the redefinition of Futurist sculpture and painting. He was able to push the possibilities of dynamic representation to the extreme, trying to capture not only the energy of the body in motion but also the vibrations of the surrounding space. With his revolutionary vision, he was not simply an artist of his time, but a precursor. His indelible and untouchable mark on the history of modern art remains.
The pigments I create from minerals, at times, I spread onto paper, mimicking the lightness of watercolor. I prefer thick, rough paper that doesn’t warp when wet and holds the color with tenacity. Sometimes, I avoid layering to preserve the purity of each individual pigment; other times, I provoke it, I invite it. I let the color explore the surface, expanding and retracting according to unpredictable rhythms, as if it had a will of its own. I observe the reactions, the slow adjustments, the silent interactions between mineral and fiber. I define the main shapes instinctively, then let the color transform them, seeping into empty spaces, creating depths and transparencies I hadn’t foreseen. Sometimes, the result disappoints me; other times, it surprises me, because the material carries an unpredictability that eludes all control. I don’t necessarily follow graphic conventions. I challenge density, experiment with grainy, almost tactile effects, and at times carve into the still-wet color, as if searching for something hidden beneath the surface. There is always a dialogue, a continuous interplay between intention and chance, between gesture and the resistance of matter, as if each pigment retained the memory of the stone it came from.
When I first dove into the world of my art, I made a lot of mistakes. My journey in the world of painting was filled with failed attempts, botched experiments, and moments of frustration. Not all mistakes were significant steps in my learning process; some turned out to be a complete waste of time. I bought the wrong brushes, used canvases of poor quality, and struggled with mixing colors correctly, resulting in muddy and unpleasant hues. Even though I understood the basic rules of perspective, applying them in a painting was often a disaster, and I didn't know how to fix the problem. I often started projects without a clear idea of what I wanted to achieve, wasting precious time and ultimately abandoning many unfinished works. The lack of a stable routine led me to work in an unstructured way, accumulating materials and tools without a clear system. Today, I continue to learn, and every day is a new opportunity to explore, create, and discover something new. My home has become my studio, my creative haven where I can experiment freely. My art has become an essential part of my life. Through my mistakes, I discovered the value of experimentation, and today, my errors are a fundamental part of my conceptual art, now expressed through graphics.
For many years, I frequented the astronomical observatory of my city, attending hundreds of lectures. After each theoretical presentation, the lights would gradually dim, allowing our eyes to adjust to the darkness, preparing us to observe the night sky through the historic telescope. My interest in the field continued privately, fueled by studies and readings. This passion inevitably intertwined with my graphic language, evolving into artistic expression. It is not simply a matter of representing celestial bodies. When I paint the universe, my goal is to evoke the essence of emptiness and nothingness. In the creation of these works, I allow myself ample creative freedom: shapes, colors, and compositions do not adhere to rigid rules, but emerge from the aesthetic choices of the moment.
Like many of my artistic projects, the Leaf Series explores impermanence and nature’s innate capacity for regeneration and reinvention an expression of energy in perpetual transformation. When creating a series, my aim is often to develop a work that remains dynamic and continuously evolving. This evolution may even involve decay, as long as the piece never becomes static. Minerals and crystals applied to the iron leaves generate an autonomous mutability through natural chemical processes, triggering unpredictable and virtually irreversible transformations over time. In this sense, I am not merely the creator of these works but also their observer and interpreter, witnessing the unfolding of natural processes.
I was born and raised in a place of contrasts, where the gray asphalt and foundry noises stopped just a few steps away to give way to the most silent green. A hundred meters and some cornfields stretched out. I remember the feeling of crossing that border that seemed both real and imaginary. The air immediately became fresher. It was my refuge. On days of absence from school, officially unjustified to the rest of the world, but not emotionally for me, when school proved to be little more than an extension of the prison of home, I took refuge in the silence. I developed a deep empathy for the fields with corn, an indissoluble bond that even today, decades later, I feel every time I see one. A nostalgia for that green at the end of the gray that will continue to guide some of my choices. In those fields I discovered that the highest form of serenity is silence and freedom presents itself exclusively with solitude.
For me, orange is not merely a chromatic value but a network of interrelated elements—woven with memories, events, and pivotal moments. Even my method of application is shaped by this perception, which filters and reframes my life episodes. These moments overlap within my painting, almost as if seeking unification. This approach, which is fundamentally analytical, was something I only recognised years after it began—most likely unconsciously. Today, it has become an almost inevitable, even automatic, process: a form of perceptual synthesis that asserts itself with the urgency of a mathematical intuition striving for expression, regardless of conscious choice. The selection of hues in the orange spectrum, in my case, acts as an aggregator of phenomena and personal events which, despite their distinct temporal and contextual origins, have formed a coherent link in my memory. Orange serves as a carrier, reassembling fragmented elements into a cohesive creative unity. The first tone I use is the raw memory; the second, its perceptual distortion shaped by the passage of time; the third is nostalgia.
The leaves I create are versatile decorative elements. Each one is a work of art in itself, yet they can also complement and enhance sculptures and design objects. I craft them in a way that allows them to undergo natural transformations over time, through the oxidation of iron and the application of pigments that change color autonomously. I cut the leaves using metal shears. Sometimes I create veins and details for a more realistic effect, or bend sections to add dimension and relief. If necessary, I join multiple sections through welding to achieve complex leaf forms. Experimentation with diverse shapes, sizes, and coloring techniques is fundamental to achieving varied and unique results. The fascination these leaves hold lies in their continuous evolution, entrusted entirely to natural processes.
The painting Colors Of War marks marks one of the concluding moments in my artistic journey, representing the final instance in which I employed concepts of social protest through chromatic or symbolic juxtapositions. The work evokes the silent tragedy of war, focusing on the heartbreaking interruption of correspondence between a soldier and his family an event that symbolizes the irreparable fracture of human relationships caused by conflict. The composition centers around letters and fragments of communication that never reached their destination, suggesting a broken dialogue filled with shattered hopes and expectations. Green, the central chromatic element, does not serve a merely decorative purpose; instead, it takes on an expressive and narrative role. It visually evokes the hues of military uniforms and equipment, anchoring the work in the harsh reality of war while simultaneously symbolizing oppression and wear. The decision to abandon this artistic language in my subsequent works reflects both a conceptual and creative evolution. I sensed the expressive exhaustion of themes tied to compassion and social protest, realizing the necessity of exploring new creative territories. This turning point does not represent a rejection of the values expressed in Colori Bellici, but rather their transcendence through artistic and conceptual growth. With this piece, I aimed to offer a final manifesto of sorrow and compassion for the invisible victims of war, entrusting colors and symbols with the task of narrating what cannot be conveyed through words alone.
Aside from undisputed works or those from ancient eras, a characteristic of contemporary art that I have often considered is its dependence on light. Whether it is a painting, a sculpture, or an installation, the artwork exists only as long as it is illuminated. Light, whether natural or artificial, becomes an indispensable condition for its very existence. This dependence on light, although undeniable, is also a reflection of the evolution of art and technology. The advent of electricity has transformed light into an expressive medium in its own right, allowing artists to explore new dimensions. I have tried to transform even total darkness into a background element for my art, through the use of photosensitive or phosphorescent materials, and more. Countless are the graphic stratagems I have devised to infuse works intended for viewing in the dark with a strong and surprising chromatic intensity, as far as possible.
MY TAKE ON THE ARTISTS
Observable art has developed through a continuous process over millennia. During prehistory, humans depicted what they saw or imagined they could see, focusing primarily on human figures, animals, and symbols. There was no clear distinction between aesthetic expression and practical function: these were attempts to capture reality or an unreality perceived as real, including visions that were not clearly identifiable. Over the millennia, graphic representations were refined on both symbolic and narrative levels, gradually transforming into tools for aesthetics, worship, power, technical application, communication, decoration, harmony, the pursuit of ideals, psychological exploration, idealization, and conceptual expression in a broader sense. The evolution of art has inevitably been the product of the minds of its creators. Art underwent transformations in its appearance, mediums, figures, and forms, as a direct consequence of changes affecting the artists themselves. From improvised draftsmen and artisans, artists evolved into true creators capable of defining and redefining the boundaries or the trajectories of what we now observe in a cave engraving or a masterpiece. From the presumably anonymous individuals of bygone millennia, we have reached a point where distinct and recognized personalities produce works that are often original or adapted to styles dictated by the demands of patrons. Other artists, however, distanced themselves from the schools and standards of their time, exploring autonomous paths that did not always elicit positive or composed reactions. Today, the artist assumes an extremely multifaceted role, at times exercising creative licenses that may seem excessive. Technological evolution and the digital age are revolutionizing contemporary art, providing tools that open the doors to complexity, which is increasingly reduced and accessible to virtually anyone. With a simple virtual invitation, such as "click here," one can emerge as a creator. "Clickherism" represents the latest evolution in art and is the first movement in history that, potentially, does not even require a human being to create a work. Nonetheless, every artistic event must be contextualized within the specific cultural and temporal dynamics in which it was created. In this regard, the timeless principle of historical contextualization remains more relevant than ever.
A PERSONAL TAKE ON ART HISTORY
HILMA AF KLINT
I do not adhere to visions that transcend reality, nor do I find validity in the notion of alternative worlds. Yet, within the landscape of modern art, Hilma af Klint stands as an exceptional phenomenon whose significance cannot be confined to esoteric speculation. Regardless of the mystical intent that permeates her work, what makes it indispensable is its remarkable historical foresight and the extraordinary graphic quality of her compositions. Af Klint embodies one of the most fascinating anomalies in art history an artist who, despite developing an innovative formal language, either chose or found herself compelled to conceal it, withdrawing, for reasons not entirely clear, from the aesthetic discourse of her time. She developed a visual lexicon that, in its radicalism, preceded artists who would later become pillars of abstraction, without, however, attaining the same recognition. The self-imposed seclusion of her work whether a conscious decision or the result of unfavorable external conditions renders her a singular case, positioning her in a liminal space between posthumous acknowledgment and a deliberate evasion of the art world’s mechanisms. The refined geometric rigor and daring chromatic construction of her paintings testify to a visual intelligence that not only deviated from the trajectories of emerging abstraction but already embodied an alternative and sophisticated approach, one that remained independent of both her own spiritual dogmatism and the methodological direction that would come to define later abstraction. Unlike Kandinsky and Mondrian, who sought to distill form into structural essentials, af Klint developed a symbolic and compositional system of layered complexity, where visual language was not reduced to synthesis but unfolded into intricate constructions filled with internal relationships. Her choice to keep her work inaccessible has often been interpreted as an effort to protect it from premature critical framing or, more radically, as an attempt to shield it from inadequate readings, preserving it for a future era that could fully grasp its meaning. However, these remain speculative hypotheses: was her decision truly driven by concerns about how her work would be received, or were the reasons more pragmatic perhaps tied to the difficulty of securing exhibition space or the indifference of the contemporary art world? Whatever her motivations, what remains today is a body of work of extraordinary visual power, not only foreshadowing some of the formal solutions that would define abstract art but also constituting an autonomous and self-sufficient universe, untethered from the historical coordinates of the avant-garde. The delay in her rediscovery may well be a symptom of a disconnect between the art establishment and a vision that, whether through its radicalism or its distance from the market’s dynamics, eluded the critical paradigms of the twentieth century. Far from being merely a forerunner, af Klint emerges today as an essential figure for understanding abstraction’s evolution not in linear terms but in a rhizomatic framework, where past and future intertwine in configurations that challenge traditional structures of historical thought.
LIBRI CHE CONSIGLIO
Among the readings that have contributed to my artistic development never forgetting, of course, that without pre-existing knowledge it is exceedingly rare to embark upon any technical or specialist path there are books partially or entirely neglected by standard academic curricula which, in my view, ought to be consulted instead. FARB WERKE belongs precisely to this category and has proven to be, for me, a valuable archive of anticipations, cues, and methods. It is not written in Italian, and merely translating its terms or phrases verbatim using modern technologies is far from sufficient to grasp its deeper content. To truly understand its references and underlying implications requires far more than a lexical conversion. It is perhaps not a book conceived for a general audience: rather, it is a sector specific volume that documents with meticulous clarity and order an undefined number of years of industrial labels used for chemical dyes. The graphic design, sober and linear throughout its pages, gives the impression less of reading chapters and more of walking through the halls of a museum. From an artistic standpoint, FARB WERKE constitutes a kind of manual albeit, I would say, entirely unintended at the time of its publication—on visual communication that in some ways anticipates elements of the digital. One might even interpret the whole as a lesson in industrial semiotics, in which a clear geography of typographic lines emerges, accompanied by strategic uses of color and an overt figurative rhetoric suited to the social contexts in question. These are by no means novel elements, and yet the content particularly the implicit and unspoken ought not to be underestimated. On a purely personal note, for someone like myself who first encountered ideas in graphic design through typography, and who often uses logic as the foundation for creative work, the book proved to be an important lesson not only in design but in the correlation between image and function.