From " Les Chants de Maldoror" - Lautremont

Mais, je mets un condition rigoureuse, à mon hospitalité: il faut qu'il n'ait pas plus de quinze ans.
L' age ne diminue pas l'intensité des sentiments, loin de là, moi, je n'aime pas les femmes!
Ni meme e  les hermaphrodites!
Quene puis-je regarder à travers ces pages seraphiques.
Le visage de celui que melit s'il n'a pas depassé la puberté qu' il s'approche.
Serre -moi contre toi, et ne crains pas de me far mal!
Moi, j'ai toujours éprovvé un caprice infame pour lapale jeunesse des collèges, et les enfants etiolés des manifactures!
Mes paroles ne sont pas les reminescences de un reve et j'aurais trop de souvenirs à débrouiller, si l'obligation m'etoit imposé ce faire passer devant vos yeux les evenements qui pourraient affermir deleur tenbignage la voracité de un doloureuse affirmation.
La justice humaine ne m'à pas encoresurris en flagrant delit, malgré l'incontestable habilité de ses agents. 


"Nobody is serious, when they're seventeen"
Romance - Arthur Rimbaud

Oscar is a teenager: he spends long hours in his bedroom, the only place where life seems possible. His bedroom is his private universe, where he is allowed to be whoever he wants to, where the dull and strict realities of school and family cannot access. 
There, there's room just for dreams, for imagined adventures, for endless armchair journeys.
There's no hurry to grow up, nor to choose: to be or not to be is not a problem anymore, since " being" is always another.
Oscar's bedroom is small and yet, it is infinite: it spreads everywhere and everywhen.
Past and future mix up, shaping a present which only there can be perceived as real - almost as real as imagination can be. 

KIDS - some drawings

Coin de Table

The pictures which constitute the installation are easily recognizable - all of them being paintings form the nineteenth century. 
They all seem to be portraits of boys, either lost in thought or provocatively looking at the viewer. 
Only one picture has been manipulated - the most ambiguous one and that which gives the name to the work. By role playing the missing character in the painting and by taking the same seat which, in a similar painting by the same author, is occupied by Arthur Rimbaud, I talk about Oscar's influences.
Since Oscar as a " character " doesn't exist in any specific time or place ( doesn't have to negotiate with "this" present time, past and future being just other possible presents), he can exist anywhere and at any time, according to the temporary and changeable characteristics that define him.
This work looks at the way we can obsessively desire to be somewhere else and, perhaps, also everywhere else.

Lebab fo yrarbil eht

“ The Library of Babel” by Louis Borges describes an imaginary world where an endless library constitutes the whole universe. This Library contains all the possible books ever written – including those that haven’t been written yet – and it represents the only known place for its inhabitants, the Librarians.
These people will spend their lives looking for the legendary Vindications, books that tell about the life ( and death) of each Librarian.
The act of painstakingly copying this story an indeterminate number of times, with its ritualistic undertones, becomes an obsessive as well as impossible quest for totality, a crave for those Vindications that perhaps don’t even exist, an unquenchable thirst for omniscience.
Borges’ story is but the starting point of a practice that, being nothing but numb reproduction of each of the text, loses its meaning. With this almost ascetic action I aim to create a psychological distance between the real world and me.
The end is exactly where the beginning is, and the time too is transformed in a perpetual return to the same words. But, in the real world, time does flow and what remains is nothing more than what was already present, which is the story itself, its authorship still fully intact.

"Now the Signore can fall in love with no worries"

"Tadzio followed his family; in the narrowest passages, he would leave the educator and the austere sisters go before him and, walking lazily on his own, he would turn his head to make sure, with a gaze of those extraordinarily grey eyes thrown from over his shoulder, that his devotee was following him. He could see him and he didn't intend to betray him.

Drunk with this certainty, bewitched by those eyes, besotted by his passion, the enamored man ran after his illicit hope."


I close my eyes: I can see nothing at first, the dark void drags me to its deathly end, I resist. I see two Eyes now, their gaze pointing at me from a shop window. I try look back, but I realize they can’t see me. What they see is behind me, somewhere. I want to turn to see what the Eyes are seeing, but I cannot move. My body anguishes, cold sweat on my palms, dry mouth. I want to speak, but the void has sucked in all the words.
Absorbed: I keep trying to turn, one centimeter closer each time, my eyeballs rolled so much to the left that they’re all white.
Feet grounded in thick mud.
I am almost there, my body wrapped up in a spiral, my sight almost coinciding with that of the Eyes.
My spine snaps, I look back at the Eyes before falling into the mud, they don’t see me.

First Chapter - The Armchair Traveler

Since this is my first post, I'll start introducing myself by showing you some of my recent artwork.
It's mainly performative and photographic work based on the ideal figure of the Dandy, which very well represent a part of my being Oscar.
Writers such as Huysmans, Wilde, Baudelaire and Rimbaud are key figures in my work ( and life).