"I am my paintings"

People often ask me "what is your painting style". Well just like a handwriting is peculiar to a specific person a painting too carries the blue prints of the author. Moods, tendencies and character are all displayed on the canvas together with certain technical habits. That is why I always say "I am my paintings". All these features put together, form the painting style and it is developed over the years and comes after much practice, just like handwriting.

I hope to paint........

I hope to paint........ In this busy life I always try to find time to paint. When I feel the urge to paint but for some annoying reasons I can't, I think about what I could have tried or experimented with. What hits me the most is the lost opportunity to express a memory or a thought: I feel a sense of loss. It makes me sigh. When I can't paint, one way or another, I find myself in a creative process; almost as if I am trying to replace the act of painting itself. Come to think of it, pretty much everything I do involves some kind of creative act. When I cook, prepare the table, when I walk or fix something around the house, it is all done creatively. Painting is what I prefer the most; painting is the only thing that allows me to spontaneously say what I feel without any efforts. No thinking about how to construct a sentence or how to say it and in what language either; no fear of being criticized. Of course, my paintings can be misinterpreted but when I personally revisit them, I immediately know what I meant to say with it. My ideas, my hopes, myself, I am my paintings. It is a personal record of my life with its folding. I hope to paint........ Can you imagine a world where people paint their thoughts instead of vocalizing? :) I hope to paint........ Would you be able to say "I love you!" with a painting? Perhaps you ought to try and see what happens.

Past, present and future

Time and life are a funny thing: it us like catching and getting off a train that is always running.
Different realities and dimensions interweaving:
when you are young you think about the future and it is said that the future belongs to the young. When you are old you are on the future you were thinking and planning when you were young: you think about the past and the past belongs to those who lived.
Life goes by and inexorably one day each one of us will belong to the past and that is when we are getting off the running train (don't be mistaken, this train never stops and does not wait for anybody)
Future generations might even remember your good or bad acts of when you were living your present.
The present?
Well, this is a beauty: future and past are as good as how you live your present.
It is the present that dictates how your future is going to be, but above all it is the present that determines whether the past is worth remembering!

Have a nice day, ......
hmm.....
I meant "have a nice present"

Seeing is believing ?

When something inspires me, I see it already painted on the canvas; then I know it is time to paint. I walk ........and look around me ..........and I am thinking 

"I could paint that with a contrast here and there"

or

"I think it would be nice to paint those house with a shadow along the windows"

or

"few storkes with my palette knife and this would be finished in no time"

Even before I fall asleep it is easy to paint in my mind. I just sort of see it unfolding before my eyes. Very often I see what I want to paint directly on my canvas but sometimes, I also think that the painting that came to me as a pretty vision was not a good idea afterall. Still it is as if I am wearing a special pair of glasses: I see already made paintings.
Sometimes I just feel so frustrated when a painting has not come out the way I was imagining it would look like. I always ask myself whether Claude Monet ever experienced failure. Did Vincent ever felt a work was a good idea and soon after it all went sour? Somehow I just think that great masters never failed but then I know, that most bad paintings never made it to a wall anywhere. Very much like when someone take a picture of us and when soon after you look at it on the screen you delete it immediately. Unconsciously you think that that picture was not the way you would like the posterity to remember you by.
You decide which part of yourself should be exposed or what to pass on but in the end people see things and then decide to believe what they see.

During the long pauses of the night

This morning at 3am I woke up.
Everybody were fast asleep, all was quite and still.
I could not get back to sleep.
I briefly went into the garden and the air was fresh and clean, the leaves were gently rustling while a feeble moonshine was creating vague shades.
There was a pleasant stillness a bit eery but nice and misterious.
The stars slowly turned their gazes towards me and I felt observed.
They seemed to say "why are you not resting?"
While searching for an answer I sat down on the floor.
All was at peace, just another night like the millions that came before. Soon the morning would have broken and felt these sensations will all dissipate into nothing. All will be absorbed and lost in the mists of time. I made my way back to bed as a new day was about to start and I ardently wished the daylight to find me asleep.
I now was breathing the winds of time.

Smelling the sunshine

It is always overcast or rainy here in the UK and when mentioning to some friends that I could smell the sun on very sunny day, I have been told to be a bit "strange".

The past few days have been quite sunny and when that happens all around me becomes very special: fantastic spring scents which I can actually describe. It is a mixture of delicate flowers and a hint of ozone.

I remember the same smell after powerful thunders storms during hot summers back in Vicenza.

When I can smell the sun my mind goes back in time and I relive those moments; emotions that have been shaped by my past, a special excitement passes through my body and happy I feel the fervor of the past youth.

Today is spring

Late afternoon in blossom

What a day to start a new blog: the first day of spring! A double beginning as a sign of good luck, an auspicious occasion.

Nothing better then fresh spring air. Running bare foot down the hill till I could no more and out of breath smelling the freshness of freedom.

The sun is going down, the sky is overcast and the evening is next...





http://www.flickr.com/photos/andrea_vezzoni/5543854466/in/photostream/lightbox/




Acrylics, inpasto, palette knife on unstretched canvas, 15 x 21