Painting is always, in one way or another, the place of a ritual. Regardless of the result the painters achieve or of their approach to the medium.

Painting, today, represents for me the place and time of the journey. A journey that leads me towards desire as a vital stimulus, but also a journey that keeps me connected with the land that welcomes my step, with the place where I live as well as the places where I have lived.

Painting a landscape, or more correctly, the fragment of a landscape, allows me to “get hold” of a place, a history, a culture, which only marginally belongs to me for the time in which I have lived there or am living there. For many years, the mountains (the Dolomites, Titian's Cadore) have been a buen retiro, a place that has become the home to return to, without ever really living there. I would return there from Padua, from Pistoia, from Imperia, from Milan, from Turin, from the cities where I lived.

When I arrived in the Aosta Valley, I felt an unconscious need to merge present and past, a real place and an ideal place, the crazy, fiery peaks of Vajolet with the extraordinarily imposing peaks of the Mont Blanc massif, with the almost unreal iconicity of the Matterhorn, or the paternal ones of the Emilius and the Becca di Nona which overlook Aosta and are my first view on the world every morning, while smoking my first cigarette.