The artist must be the first critic of his own work and this first and honest judgement should lead his/her entire artistic career. Sadly, the rest of the world may not agree with the artist’ s opinion, and that matters because from public approval depends the artist’s financial independence, and the making of more art.
Enter the art prizes. As once again my work has not being chosen among the finalists I am truly disappointed, as I was counting on some good fortune. Then I compared my work with the selected ones [how low have I fallen] and have had to accept that… how can I say this nicely… I’m obviously knocking at the wrong door! So I told myself to ‘shut up, cheer up and keep doing what you do’, because I love what I do, and only what I love is worth doing, despite any rejection, despite any dismissal.
Well, here it is, my submission to this year’s Sulman Prize.
Thy Kingdom Come [Love, Wisdom, Prayer] oil on board 245×120 cm.
Man found some Angels’ wings and thought of wearing them, but never was made for flying, and only kept pretending he could take off, like a child in a fantasy game.
God asked the Angels not to help this time and when Man insisted of wearing those wings, it soon became obvious that the weight the Angels had held so far was humanly unbearable.
Man insisted in being strong enough and God patiently waited for him to keep trying and grow through the pains of failure and success.
Angel’s wings are heavy as they carry all the tears of fear and joy, all the births and deaths, and all the stories this world has ever seen. Those wings were indeed too heavy for Man to fly even though he tried and tried again.
Under the continuous strain Man found hard to even stand. God then allowed the Angels to help if ever a humble prayer would be heard from his heart. And happily they did.
Man got up on his feet again, but distracted by pride he thought he did it on his own. The angels then had to let go of the wings whose weight brought him on his knees again.
Now Man is still there, folded under the sorrow that God once allowed the Angels to carry for him.
L’Uomo trovò delle ali d’angelo e pensò di indossarle, ma siccome non era fatto per volare, si mise a fingere il decollo, come un ragazzino in un gioco di fantasia.
Dio chiese agli Angeli di non aiutare questa volta e siccome l’Uomo insisteva nell’indossare quelle ali, divenne presto evidente che il peso gli Angeli avevano finora retto fosse umanamente insopportabile.
L’Uomo insistette di essere forte abbastanza e Dio attese pazientemente che questi continuasse a provare e crescere attraverso il dolore dei fallimenti e dei successi.
Le ali d’Angeli sono pesanti poiché reggono tutte le lacrime di paura e di gioia, tutte le nascite e le morti, e tutte le storie questo mondo abbia mai visto. Quelle ali erano infatti troppo pesanti perché l’Uomo riuscisse a volare, non importa quante volte ci provasse.
Indebolito dal continuo sforzo, l’Uomo trovò difficile anche lo stare in piedi. Dio allora permise agli Angeli di aiutarlo se mai un’umile preghiera fosse udita dal suo cuore. E così questi fecero.
L’Uomo si alzò di nuovo in piedi ma distratto dall’orgoglio pensò lo avesse fatto da sé. Gli Angeli quindi dovettero lasciar andare le ali il cui peso lo spinsero di nuovo in ginocchio.
Ora l’Uomo è ancora lì, piegato sotto il dolore che Dio una volta permetteva agli Angeli di portar per lui.
In an old drawer I found some writing that I intended for children even before my beautiful ones were born. Thanks to digital possibilities, finally they have been edited and published in an e-book. I also enjoyed illustrating them with quick and expressive sketches.
With the intention to entertain our children and educate them to respect our pets, these are short stories to help families and classrooms discuss the behaviour of our domestic animals and their welfare.
The Dog With No Name, and other short tails is now available for purchase on Amazon and iBooks. Only available in digital form, for now, this collection of short stories is ready for your Kindles, iPads and tablets.
Please be aware that the title above also includes the short story “The Blue and Muffin Dress”.
A sketch is the quickest response to a feeling. The truest expression of the artist. By adding work on it, it will stiffen, loose veracity and become fictitious. In most cases it will loose half of its initial life.
In a new series of works I’m trying to stop at the sketch.
“I work a lot but don’t seem to finish. That is, I hope what I am doing means something because I don’t know what I am doing. It’s strange and terrible but I feel calm. Today I worked non-stop for six hours on a sculpture and I don’t know what the result is… Planes upon planes, sections of muscles, of a face and then? And the total effect? Does what I create live? …” Umberto Boccioni 1912
“Io lavoro molto ma non concludo, mi sembra. Cioè spero che quello che faccio significhi qualche cosa perché non capisco cosa faccio. È strano ed è terribile ma sono calmo. Oggi ho lavorato sei ore consecutive alla scultura e non capisco il risultato… Piani su piani, sezioni di muscoli, di faccia e poi? E l’effetto totale? Vive ciò che creo?”