No cause and effect link between one’s life and one’s hand is possible, yet the line of life on my palm is split. A sense of rupture coupled with a child-like wonder at the real and virtual surrounding worlds permeate my work: paintings, painting installations,objects, photography.
Meaning is not the reason of being of the work I produce, it is merely its excuse.
I am not interested in Art Theory or Art History in these writings, but rather in marking a theoretical and critical space for the practice and development of my own artistic endeavours. This space is not so much about certainties, but rather about an ungrown territory of enquiry defined by ever changing fences.
Now I am having two impudent pigeons kissing in my balcony, while others, riotous, proceed to systematically and efficiently demolish it.
When I mentioned to him that I had seen this painting, Pietro Lorenzetti, Christ Between Saints Peter and Paul, c.1320, he just recoiled, as if I had said a very dirty word.
In the loneliness of the immensity of the night, sometimes, the schoolgirl comes forward and speak to P, words he haven’t heard for nearly four decades, already. In P’s life, now, the past, present, and future, have become a single, all encompassing, time space, the past, sometimes, acquiring an overbearing presence. As P lives in this continuous space, he just … Read More
You are right, these lines have been written before, I am writing them again because that moment flagmarked by those words, written yesterday, a moment that lasted no more than a few seconds, not even a full minute, has remained clinging inside me, eating the innards of my mind, those seconds starving for a because is the because of repeating … Read More