I found using linen notebooks and black gel pens a suitable way to express myself. Everything that comes to my mind, I write it down, as a litany, a mantra, a sort of dripping of words that I let go to melt on the pages. But text only interests me for its graphic and aesthetic strength, to me it is not to be read. Giardini segreti took shape during a walk in the surroundings of my parents hometown. Here, countryside farmhouses are carved stone blocks among the trees. May be there is in my DNA something of a remote amanuensis monk, not only for the handwriting, but for the world that I represen
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