Me, the art, the regained time

Sometimes in life those moments happen when you see clearly and suddenly what you always had before your eyes, but you didn’t understand, a lightning flashes up that illuminates you.
It is what is happening to me at this time, reading Proust’s “Regained time” and his expressed poetics, the function of art, I have the feeling of having written it myself, they are feelings and thoughts that I have experienced at this stage of life, Proust becomes an amplification box for my depth.
The time found through art for me is to remind me of how happy I was as a child when I was drawing, when I was in the midst of nature, when I felt trees talking to me, when I felt part of one and something bigger than me , even if I didn’t know how to give a name, let alone explain everything.
Now everything in my work conveys, when I draw those same sensations, I also perceive their meaning and location. And when your heart is full of abundance you wish you could shout it out loud and share what is making you happy.
If all this happens, if this state of mind shines from my works, I think I can define myself an artist, or as Proust writes, a translator of reality, an interface, as I would say more modernly, of my being on the my world.

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