FALLACIE ARTISTICHE
That morning I woke up with something else on my mind. But the feeling of surprise and curiosity definitely outweighed my commitments, which I decided to put off. For the first time, after almost a year of testing, one of my paintings, created with autonomously variable colored minerals, changed during the night, without any chemical or electrical tricks. The stain, a dark earthy orange, transformed into a lighter and brighter orange hue. It wasn't just a different shade, but a true chromatic metamorphosis that gave the painting a new look. The new color was revealed, overshadowing the previous one in a random harmony. There were already objects capable of changing color thanks to chemical reactions, but not with my method. A neighbor, a chemist by profession, had been an art buddy for months, showing me how I could hypothetically achieve such results. Then I took pictures and made notes. I already imagined new works and new experiments.
SHADES OF RETICENCE
The origin of my main series, Artistic Fallacies, dates back to 2008, when I hastily carried out an experiment titled Shades of Reticence (Silent Lies). The work emerged from the use of two wooden elements, which I shaped with an abundance of tempera paint applied not so much to add color, but rather to quickly mold the figures. In the realm of argumentation, fallacies represent deviations from the parameters of rational reasoning, often taking the form of traps born of naivety or deliberate manipulative strategies used in social interactions. However, the graphic or conceptual “errors” within my works are never accidental; they are carefully orchestrated and supported by an internal logic that reveals itself through a meticulous analysis of their underlying implications. Every appearance of an error is, in fact, the result of a deliberate choice and precise planning aimed at inducing a calculated sense of disorientation. To evoke the illusion of a flawed work, I sometimes employ deliberately unexpected visual elements, such as color combinations traditionally perceived as discordant or unsettling. In 2008, I conceived the character Reticence by relocating the nose from the face to the nape of the neck. In my representations, Pinocchio often appears visibly uncomfortable, while Reticence displays an effortless composure, subtly suggesting that omission, unlike explicit deception, is more readily accepted within social conventions. The unusual placement of the nose hidden from a frontal view—allows Reticence to conceal deception, much like the calculated silence or measured speech of a reticent individual obscures their true intentions. By presenting himself frontally, Reticence deliberately conceals the truth, preventing the nose symbol of deceit from being visible in its reticent function. Unlike lies, which often provoke immediate and negative reactions, reticence tends to escape critical scrutiny, even when it is obvious just as hidden elements in a work of art only reveal their meaning through careful observation. The deliberate management of absence and the unsaid, both in artistic expression and social discourse, thus becomes a refined strategy for controlling the truth. If I were to create a sculpture depicting the hypothetical offspring of Pinocchio and Reticence, I might represent them with an absent mouth acknowledging that reticence does not necessarily imply silence. Alternatively, I could sculpt a figure with two noses, highlighting the intrinsic ambiguity of truth and its inevitable manipulation.
ACHROMATOPSIA
At times, I have created works that, to an observer lacking foundational knowledge, might have appeared confusing or devoid of meaning. This initial ambiguity, a classic element in art, has often paradoxically served as a gateway for truly curious viewers to engage more deeply. A significant aspect of my artistic practice has focused on visual pathologies and anomalies, a theme I have explored through graphic elaborations and conceptual experiments. Achromatopsia, a condition defined by the absence of color perception, has presented me with an unexpected artistic challenge and opportunity. Working solely with light, white, black, and shades of gray, I have sought to uncover an essential expressive space where light intensity and tonal variation become primary creative tools. In this context, contrasts have taken on a central role, compensating for the absence of colors imperceptible to someone with achromatic vision. Through the use of materials that emphasize texture, grain, and optical weight, I have sought to create a visual stratification that enhances depth and complexity. The absence of color compels a reevaluation of visual hierarchy, shifting the focus toward balance, rhythmic structure, and the interplay of light and shadow. Paradoxically, this subtraction of color has expanded my perceptual range: what initially seems like a limitation reveals itself as a boundless source of possibilities. Absence becomes presence, emptiness transforms into a generative space, and shadow evolves from a mere margin to a foundational element of composition. Working without color demands heightened awareness of boundaries, transforming them from static barriers into dynamic thresholds. In this framework, depth is no longer defined by chromatic perspective but rather by the tension between light and matter, between emergence and dissolution. The absence of color also challenges conventional perceptual norms, encouraging viewers to reconsider their interpretations of reality. This approach not only honors those who experience the world through achromatic perception but also invites all viewers to rediscover the richness of non-color as an autonomous and powerful creative dimension.
In the early years of my artistic career, I had the good fortune to collaborate with a talented and visionary colleague, who is sadly no longer with us. During a summer break, we jointly developed a rather unusual artistic approach, based on the assembly of objects and children's toys, sourced from chocolate egg surprises and packaging from snacks and food products for children. Our idea was to transform those common objects, generally considered of little value, into genuine works of art. We were both fascinated by our innate ability to evoke childhood memories in our dialogues: the research was perfectly in tune with the recollection of the years when, as kids, we were the ones desiring the surprises. We had begun a crazy and fun collection of the little toys and often went to supermarkets, flea markets, or various acquaintances of ours, trying to find pieces to assemble. Then we would meet every morning, in our shared studio, with the objects we had each collected. And we would combine them together, creating compositions without any precise rules. It was the ensemble of objects that suggested a concept or a composition to us. Sometimes, we ourselves modified the original objects, painting them with colors more suited to the artwork. Our goal was to create artistic works that were at once nostalgic and playful. We were not interested in the final result and, all in all, our approach was ironic, perhaps even provocative. Our sensitivity was essentially directed towards the imagination, evoked by the artistic pieces.