the archer who chooses his arrow, I have chosen the pen with India ink, basic
mediums for a one way path like the one of life. In pursuit of rigour, neither
remorse nor regret.
A movement of the arm and the sharp point claws the white space with a kind
of scar, an indelible line - definitive. Lines added to lines - lines of no
return - accumulated on the paper's skin, wrinkles or sedimentary memories of
all thoses moves of painting in which the mind is invested with the combined
action of the eye and of the hand, for which breathing is suspended to reach
the mastery of instinct.
When alchemy operates, the line turns material. Diffused grey and the stitch's
weave must show some tangled body fragments, struggling figures, actions and
moves of interconnected forms, governed only by the order of light and shadow.
Fugitive pictures of a real space, a trap to catch one's gaze, a support for
dreams, a place where even absences can be drawn.