The Time is always Now

A couple of years ago I re-visited Perugia, a proud, historical hillside town in Umbria, Italy. Some 30 years ago, Perugia had been not only full of beautiful Renaissance buildings and art, but also of Italian street life, laughter, lovers and local trade (not to forget the delicious ‘Baci Perugina’). However, after the first couple of hours walking once more through its small and bigger streets this Spring, I was still searching the town’s special texture I remembered for so many years. 

There was no lack of tourists with selfie sticks, for sure, but where were all the ‘real’ people - Italian tradesmen, artisans, youngsters on Vespas and large, noisy families? By evening, the town died out completely. It felt unreal walking alone through the empty labyrinth of high, ancient stone arches and narrow alleyways, along silent houses and neglected windows. It seemed to be the same in other places around and further away: Urbino, Assisi, Todi, Orvieto, but also Venice and Bergamo, just to name a few. These gems of Italian Renaissance, where European history and culture had been minted for hundreds of years, felt simply abandoned underneath the garish day-tourism. 

Italy is bleeding talent, culture, identity - heavily burdened by taxes, an inefficient state and deep structural issues. Many locals have been leaving their home towns of generations and, often enough, Italy altogether.

In my works, the eerie beauty of empty Renaissance town centres, and the underlying memory of beautiful Italian life ‘in Piazza Grande’ is reflected in 10 or so layers on each canvas: collaged newspapers, novels, colours, but also gold and silver pigments and figures shining through my impressions - tokens of the loss and the beauty within just one generation in this most amazing country.

Some works’ titles are taken from Zucchero's songs, an epitome of Italy and a beautiful soul.