| started this blog with enthusiasm, of course – but am realising after a short time that it is taking the wrong way this is a place of fiction and I can’t find a worst and devaluated thing than fiction, actually do I really think that the world is this? that life is this? and that my work is this? no – I don’t do I think that some silly pictures from my diary life are enough? I don’t feel am building a ridiculous and irrelevant frame to my days and feel that pictures don’t tell enough – and that also my words don’t tell enough blogosphere is redundantly full of nice pictures of nice homes, images of pretty cups and luxury recipes – of poetic landscapes, wonderful buildings facades and appealing mix of colors is this really enough for you? well, to me is not sufficient at all my visual work lost energy and strenght in time, due to this formal embellishment what is behind the curtain? where is, for instance, real people in all those brilliant pictures? I mean, not people with the right color coat or fashioned trousers, but people that tell stories, that explain the world as it really is, with its conflicts and contraddictions, with its bad side also, and not only the glossy one / this is what I actually miss / one of aspects that made me think about this matter has been that looking at my works people did not catch the human aspect, the importance of words I put between signs and of what is leading behind the surface, the effort of including dinfferent aspects of life / my (artistic) fault, of course – but also a question of irrelevance in watching (how many of you, for instance, translated the words I put in the dresses I make?) / beauty can’t really live in emptyness – and beauty is not necessary happyness
ps/ sorry for eventual mistakes spread around the text – english is not my first language |
