The short soup

I am happy to come back in this blog. Sometimes I visit here like I didn't build it up. In reality it is existing from about two or more, maybe three years.Incredible how few posts I've been leaving, or how few traces of the things I've been doing here are left. In the last year and a half I've been around Europe. Thanks to life, with Henna. I got back drawing, and of course I made a blog of what do I draw. I called it "chewinfloordrobe", as a guardrobe of a lot of visuals left on the ground, like as I use to treat my clothes. It's practical not? you leave them down and then when you need 'em they're always there. The title of the other blog is "BLOOMS". After a long time I din't want to draw because of the condition of my hand due the last accident I had and a London based agent defined the last works I've been doing like a " blooming flower", well, I think the title is quite describing my little coming back in my world. In your world also.
I've been away so, and I 've been also not tuning here. At least I have my reason :it's much more interesting to go and move than updating a blog. And I moved a lot. So after this introduction welcome again.
The other stuff, about, work, family, books, food and so on ... well, this is not maybe the right place, write me a mail then :) I want to be a good boy, and that is the only relevant thing. The meaning of good in your own view can variate a lot from your sensibility.
Thanks for visiting

Neighbours Wars - First Strike -

Would you want to get part?

This photo project presents different kind of people that lives alone,
preparing theirselves to an urban conflict. It will document the
changing encoded environement of their house in suitable barricades,
using all the objects they commonly used before in their daily life in
defending tools and weapons. Through the very different variety of
works these people did before, different passions and house pets if
they have, his/her personal urban armour will be unique and filled
with all the possible things they modified from pre-existing objects,
passing from the garage to the kitchen and sleeping room, diving suits
and electric kitchen mixer, knife sets around the shoulders as
buccaneers and bob-sledge and pillows as shields, in combinations of
self-made survival equipments.

The photos that You see here have been shooted at the first candidate in Vienna:
Richard, philosopher and journalist for different magazine. Right now is writing a book on testaments left by famous people.

To everybody there outside, I'm waiting for your applications!

Meis Rie Key Yües

After a long period passed from the splitting of the musical ensemble "Calendar" in June 2006 - that with nearly ten songs "plus au moin" ready and another dozen of something I could call "demos", have never ever seen the stairs of a stage... This following the long queue of projects begun and not continued for let's call the causes "bad weather conditions", here I write about a new open musical project on air.
Meis Rie Key Yües, so is the name of it - in the beginning a little bit difficult to pronounce I admit - is the development of an idea that grew up during the different occasions that traced the last year of research: the "ensemble" as pattern to follow in condition of co-working in artistical projects.
Many times I tried to understand the meaning of the word "collectiv" in the artistical scene without finding, far from getting the sense, even the basics where to apply an ideological sense of it in a period where naturally, accepting it or not, the hyper self-valued sense of the own ideas can't have a continuous dialogue even in an environment structurated from longer time by natural conditions as in family, friendship or the occasion to find a narration of the life we are about to live with a precious person.
In Jazz, as in other musical language, there is a word that gives the basics for the dialogue: Ensemble. It's not important to start from a same idea in creating, we are made of too many different inputs, tangled patterns and micromicromicrocheapchips, most of the time in a perpetual motion masked under a big ego ignorant even of where We are going after the first step out from the bed... So, why the Hell masking with hypochrisy what is not reliable to our nature?
No to Collectivs. Collectiv is the wonderfull final masked aim created by the head for not accepting the difference and the fact that we are multiculturally different.
So, this project, Meis Rie Key Yües is an - ensemble - based on the idea that people come to take part with theyr way of being, bringing, proposing, imposing, suggesting, decrypting the structure of the music following theyr green thumb for making grow the layers of the project itself.

Presenting a Portfolio

Portfolio n1 -melted plastic dish, band aid for children, paperboard, different fabrics, glue, message from chinese fortune cookie, stripes of newspaper-

Portfolio n2 -melted plastic dish, band aid for children, architectural elements, paperboard, different fabrics, glue, message from chinese fortune cookie, stripes of newspaper-

Portfolio n3 -melted plastic dish, melted plastic fork, band aid for children, paperboard, different fabrics, glue, message from chinese fortune cookie, stripes of newspaper-

Portfolio n4 -melted plastic dish, band aid for children, paperboard, different fabrics, glue, message from chinese fortune cookie, stripes of newspaper-


To all my aficionados bloggers: Soon I will update the blog to new life. The period I'm having here in Vienna has been and is so full of intimacy with The Person I'm living with and The people I'm sharing my days here, that it have been a little bit problematic to keep a regular posting of artworks for a long good month or maybe more. I've been also travelling in the last two weeks to Luxembourg at the Colophon 2007 appointment - The symposium of the independent magazines - and to Amiens, near by Paris, at the ESAD, helping an artist to build up an installation there and translating in my funny english from french language all his needs for arriving at the opening day in time.
Here I present a little sequence of Portfolio that I built up for Colophon 2007 - I don't have all the images right here but maybe this can give you an idea - inside every one of them, the publisher (after a feeling of bitter weirdness for wat he had in his hands) was finding inside my cd containing a pdf, a detailed cv and a high quality sample of one of my works developed for a japanese industry I worked for three years ago. Establishing a contact is also astonishing and making a sense of two or more people that are meeting for the first time.
Two weeks ago died a very important person that I never met personally and that I could just appreciate in his books. I want to do just this little note in a post without any meaning overall related to this person because it's like this he surely wanted to be reminded in a note, as important as other relatively important things. Thank you Mr Baudrillard.

Soon a waterfall of drawings.

kolmen kullin poika -who translate this will receive a cd for free (please send me your adress)

Un mondo squisito così sincero

In carne ed ossa







Un mondo squisito così sincero







In carne ed ossa





Non sarò mai un uomo.
Non sarò mai partecipe di me e determinato.
Sarò per intermittenze / svegliato di nuovo / /
trovato meno di un uomo ogni volta ricominciato
-da cominciarsi daccapo nuovo o da riprendersi in pezzi diverso-
frazionato sempre spurio nel flusso di coscienza in coscienze.
Non la mia coscienza. Una coscienza che è tutto quello che è tutto
dalla quale potrò sempre attingere senza trovarmi.

-Riconoscermi-

Non sarò mai giusto.
Sarò per aritmie fedele, il sonno del luogo dove si succede.
Lasciatosi accadere accaduto -prima e dopo- ma
mai attento -in quel momento esatto- muto durante .

-Un singolo preciso istante-

Non sarò mai capace.
Non sarò mai preciso nella volontà delle azioni.
Sarò per sempre uno sciocco incapace
di vivere e di vivere bene.


-Presente.-






Un mondo squisito così sincero.






Il piacere negli altri e viverlo
curvandone il respiro toccandoli.
In carne ed ossa non vivo di me.
Su di voi il piacere che vi ritraete dentro come leoni,
smarriti dopo tante battaglie lo sento il piacere
- pure nella morte - di leccarvi così profonde ferite.
In carne ed ossa voi che direttamente non vi fareste mai del male,
avete tecniche così sublimi per trasformare il piacere in distruzione.






Un mondo squisito così sincero.





-Tu non sei mio amico.-
Il sapore aspro che riempie la bocca.
Gli acini di uva non vanno mai masticati, per questo se ne fa vino.





Un mondo squisito così sincero.





Essere dispersi per tutta la distanza che ci separa.
E' questo che ci rende uniti, centellinati sappiamo come desiderarci resistendo,
dando a queste parentesi di sofferenza il significato inopportuno di amore.
Quanto male ci educhiamo, soli, adulti.







Un mondo squisito così sincero.








L'incapacità di piangere in carne ed ossa, dementi alla sofferenza.
La capacità di soffrire per cio' che non è -illudersi- pieni di informazioni così poco tangibili.
Voglio essere tradito amato offeso portato via nudo sputato in ginocchio perso davanti a ciò che è.
Svegliatemi! Cristo pietà svegliatemi in carne ed ossa polverizzato in un tritacarne di schiaffi.
L'incapacità di riconoscerci -io - voi - IO e VOI - Noi - Noi - NOI! - che non c'è più salvezza quando il momento è passato e la pausa è così prolungata
e siamo tutti persi e confusi in carne ed ossa, esseri simultanei, in carne ed ossa muti.







Un mondo squisito così sincero.







Non mi devo abbandonare ai legami. Perchè mi hai voluto così bene?
E perchè è tutto finito? Chiudere gli occhi e guardarsi dentro in carne ed ossa il solo presente. Ricordare è pornografia.
Perchè non posso dimenticare, scordare tutto, e continuare ad aprire e chiudere parentesi spostando i mobili ed i muri di casa
finchè le finestre non saranno risolte in buchi di tempo attutiti all'istante? E tu che mi hai fermato.








Un mondo squisito così sincero.



In carne ed ossa.




In carne ed ossa.






In carne ed ossa.






Un mondo squisito così sincero.









In carne ed ossa.








In carne ed ossa.












In carne ed ossa.
















In carne ed ossa.













Non bisogna mai dirlo.
Farò di tutto per credere in un'altra persona; ma poi di essere capace di amare e di poterla amare, per scordare di te. Per questo?
Così come lo dico - Pensare di potere amare un' altra persona-.
Anzi senza -potere- senza -pensare- -Essere capace di amore verso un' altra persona-.
Non bisogna mai pensarlo.

-Come si cade quando si è già in ginocchio?-









Un mondo squisito così sincero.












In carne ed ossa.










L'occasione di rincontrarsi. Non ti vedrei nemmeno.
Non capirei in quel momento. Come le spine dei pesci di fiume.
Ad aspettare te dopo così tanto. La bocca piena. Ogni giorno di nuovo un' altro soltanto. Ogni giorno una spina. Ogni giorno una spina.
In carne ed ossa la bocca piena ogni giorno ti ho incontrata.
Fare che scendesse. Essere preso per mano da una spina di pesce
e farsi spiegare che è tutto finito che è stato -tutto così meraviglioso- .

Un mondo squisito così sincero.

Sulla tavola il piatto il pesce che avanza si butta.
Fare che si alzino. Alzatemi. Essere accompagnato alla porta dal pesce il piatto il tavolo.
Pagare in carne ed ossa. Un conto troppo salato.
Ti voglio vedere e non posso. -Ormai chiedo ad altri di rialzarmi, non ne ho più la forza- . Sarebbe un conto troppo salato.
Inutili strilli per cinque mesi. Biglie perse giocando sulla sabbia. Serpentine truccate di sabbia che finiscono perdendosi in mare. Perdendosi tutto il resto.

Ordinaria pornografia mentale. Ricordare è tutto quello che mi resta.

Tutto si è aperto e perso. Centinaia di biglie ondeggiano - le mani la lingua il naso gli occhi- sono andate via sono state mangiate,
come le cose rotte dimenticate come le cose rotte che non ce ne si fa più niente lasciate.
Il contatto con la realtà è finito. In carne ed ossa bianco spento e di nuovo di me di lei non sapevo più chi ero e in carne ed ossa ho pianto.
Non so più cos'è un pesce una biglia il mare il mare il mare ancora resta una parola. Anche ripeterlo moltiplicato resta una parola.
Non so più il piacere il contatto la parola andarle a trovare è faticoso nuotare.

-Galleggiare-



In carne ed ossa galleggiare.


E' l'unica cosa da fare.


Credimi, galleggiare è l'unica cosa che riesca a fare. Ora adesso mentre galleggio galleggiare
















Un mondo squisito così sincero.












In carne ed ossa.

Le débutant

Tonight I will leave here moving with a night train to Vienna.
After Kobenhavn, Rome, Palermo and Paris the time spent in the atelier has been dedicated to study and progress with the main fields of pure research, looking forward the progress made by my hand that needed to stay quiet for a very long time for an accident happened on May of last year.
This accident arrived in the conclusion of a very difficult moment of the life I was living before, and made me leave at the end in thus private and accidental circumstanes also my work as researcher for a fashion label.
I waited a very long time to get back drawing and at the beginning I even thought it was impossible - the thumb of the right hand was completely gone - but thanks to a very long moment passed on a phisyotherapic rehabilitation and study, the second of January I took a pencil and I couldn't believe even to my eyes. I'm drawing. I have to do it not many hours a day still, but my hand seems to me - I'm not my doctor - working as before.
So, I leave you my first unfinished drawing, hoping you like my total "coming-back", please have fun.
Thanks to all the people that is following this page. During the time in Vienna I will finally be most of the time creating with Henna on our common projects so :
- You are our new Testimonials"
- Obsession 21
- ...And some other surprises
If I won't post many things here so, it's just because maybe our common blog (that you can find on the right of my page) will be full of material we are doing together in the atelier there.
I'm sure anyway that if I' ll spend some time explaining what are my research in the last period on Time Organic, Pijama Party, Performances Privèes and all the rest that has been raw published here about, well, it could be surely nice and an opportunity to make understand instead of just communicating privately by mail to the ones that are writing me, what I'm doing.

Soon: Time Organic - Accident of an Accident -

-> -> -> a1 -> b1 -> c1 -> d1 -> e1 -> -> ->


-> a1 ->

-> b1 ->

-> c1 ->

- d1 ->

-> e1 ->

Do without thoughts, write without words

I remember that when I was a little kid one day I runt so much I arrived untill the end of the cornfields. The end of the cornfields for me was the end of the everywhere, like the limits of the world, but more little, suitable for a kid's limits of the world. - It's by this maybe, I'm thinkig now, I considered the school for the first years something that belong to an other universe, and the childrens there, kind of aliens like me coming from other planets- . My father anyway, that day was planting a long line of weeping willows and cedar trees along the perimeter dividing home from the near fields and he wasn't looking at me very much. - It was Sunday I remember - . I remember at the end of the cornfields I begun feeling many little things on my legs walking in troops in tickling bites that became minute by minute more intense. I remember it was Sunday and my father was far far far away because I runt untill the end of the cornfields - I remember - and I begun shaking my arms and my legs and my father from far far far away replyed with an hello - shaking one of his arms too - and I remember that Sunday I discovered what was the sensation of going untill the limits of the known world and beeing under the attack of fire-red-troops-of-swarming-ants-walking-on-my-skin. It was Sunday I remember. And I begun, from the moment it ended, losing this as other memories, and now sometimes they come back. And I like the taste of it now, and the feeling of those ants, and the Sunday and his sundayness and that I runt fast as fast as I could through the cornfields and the ants in thousands walking along in lines as the weeping willow and cedar trees my father was planting far far far away. It was Sunday I remember. Maybe, but it's not important. It's really not important now

Somethin' lookin suspicious

When you are awaken in the middle of the night for some little noises coming from - you don't understand exactly where - and you get up you know, just for beeing "hundred-per-cent-sure" it's not the toilet exploding, or the gas from the kitchen, and you find - The Something - you made during Sunday just for having fun, that you know you left unfinished before going to sleep just with tentacles and a wooden carapace, that slithers with thus tentacles and this carapace in silent movements around the studio picking up books and having a conversation with your broom, well, let's say you don't feel happy like Mr Geppetto the carpenter with his little Pinocchio.
I think I'm going to bed anyway. I left The Something watching tv, I think he knows yet how to use the dvd player. Next time anyway I'll build up a mammouth.

Soon: Pijama Party - Sleep Walker