2003 was a transition period. Until September (when I got my first good job) it was a hard and quite depressing (and depressed) time… I was on the brinck of madness and only a new streak of good luck (my job as a art teacher) stopped it… I could, maybe, have been a bank robber or a serial killer, who knows? More probably, I would have killed myself. Who said that “les suicidés ne sont que des assasins timides”(‘those who kill themselves are nothing else but shy assassins”) ? Camus? Cesare Pavese?
Anyway… Here I am, still kicking and neither a victim of suicide nor the author of some killing rage massacre… Just an artist; sometimes mean (as in this drawing from the summer of 2003, where I’ve portrayed some tight arse old hags, visiting the exhibition I was taking part in…they’ve ignored my superb paintings, not only not buying but not even looking; so I had to exorcise the meanness in me and the resentments they’ve produced, drawing their old arses…) Sometimes I was simply weird, drawing a lot more than today bizarre stuff, studying different type of materials and compositions (in this other drawing I’ve used a fountain pen ink and my fingers…)