work
Papaveri
| category | Painting |
| subject | Nude, Human figure, Abstract |
| tags | papaveri, poppies, figlia, daughter, padre, dad, nudo, nude |
| base | 80 cm |
| height | 80 cm |
| depth | 4 cm |
| year | 2022 |
Acrylic on canvas
Unique work
To me, creating art means to tell.
It’s like when, before knowing the alphabet, we look at the illustrations: that’s how my painting is: simple, observable even without knowing how to read. It speaks of dreams and betrayed loves, of true joys and dark sorrows, of things happened and things that could happen.
To express emotions, I use bodies as pages of a diary to share.
Poppies
Parenting is a hard job, there are no courses or schools preparing you for that. I faced this task with my daughter trying to teach her respect, modesty, justice, honesty and passion, guiding her with friendship, complicity but also authority.
But at some point I left her hand. I got distracted and a second later, like a balloon escaping to a child's grip, I saw her taking distance from me. I was trying to reach out to her without success. At nights I crossed poppy fields, the oblivion flower, to forget the pain.
Now I reached out to that rope again, with my fingertips, and I can still try to walk her with me, and show her the world. It's not gonna be forever, she is growing up, but I can still take some time. I need to be careful though, the rope is whoolmade.
I regret not being as I wished I would, a good father always.
Unique work
To me, creating art means to tell.
It’s like when, before knowing the alphabet, we look at the illustrations: that’s how my painting is: simple, observable even without knowing how to read. It speaks of dreams and betrayed loves, of true joys and dark sorrows, of things happened and things that could happen.
To express emotions, I use bodies as pages of a diary to share.
Poppies
Parenting is a hard job, there are no courses or schools preparing you for that. I faced this task with my daughter trying to teach her respect, modesty, justice, honesty and passion, guiding her with friendship, complicity but also authority.
But at some point I left her hand. I got distracted and a second later, like a balloon escaping to a child's grip, I saw her taking distance from me. I was trying to reach out to her without success. At nights I crossed poppy fields, the oblivion flower, to forget the pain.
Now I reached out to that rope again, with my fingertips, and I can still try to walk her with me, and show her the world. It's not gonna be forever, she is growing up, but I can still take some time. I need to be careful though, the rope is whoolmade.
I regret not being as I wished I would, a good father always.
