THERE’S NO MORE TIME

But we, after all, are all works of art. We are art when we tie the long hair that covers our faces in a ponytail or when we listen to that song that makes our wrists tremble and makes our eyes water. We are art when we dance, alone, in an empty room, following a music that runs through our veins and makes us feel free. We are art when with our tears we write poems on our cheeks, on our arms. We are art when we fall asleep over our favorite book or stay awake, late into the night, with a thousand sighs stuck in our throats and open cuts on our skin that burn, lashed by the air, relieved only by the vision of the stars, which burn, in the freezing January sky and we, enraptured by their beauty, just want to shine with them, like them, away from that cold balcony where we stare at them. For us the universe is art. The planets are art. The stars are art. Not us. We who are scribbles, intricate, twisted tangles, made on dirty and damaged sheets. Yet if only we could see each other when we talk about who or what we love. Our eyes shine with a light identical to that which the stars give off. And it is not a reflection, it is not external to us, but internal, it is hidden in our heart. Because we are nothing but simple fragments of fallen stars that have never lost the strength to shine. We are art.

ARTIST

ARTIST HAVE NO NATIONALITY
ARTIST HAVE ONLY ART
ARTIST HAVE NO LIMIT
ARTIST HAVE ONLY ART
ARTIST HAVE NO PREDJUDICE
ARTIST HAVE ONLY ART
ARTIST HAVE NO FLAG
ARTIST HAVE ONLY HEART.

I WAS AMLETA

My name was Amleta, I was an artist. I remember few things from that period now. I was in London, I was always away from home, I was in love with art, I was happy, I liked everything. It was a magical city, it was beautiful to see strange dressed people and clubs full of music and artists and everywhere there was beauty and inspiration. I felt satisfied. I felt like myself. It could never be like this again in all my other life. I was 19 and living with a friend of mine. I drank tea every day, ate tofu, bean sprouts, carrots, honey, pizza. I went to the Hare krishna and danced and I was happy and I felt at peace with myself. It was nice to make plans and have so many dreams. It was really nice. I had fun, I went to parties, I had a lot of friends and a job and a great career. Now all dreams are over. Now life has taken everything away. We enthuse, vitality, inspiration, art. Art is dwindling. I feel drained. I made some wax sculptures but nobody cares. Maybe I'll put them here, but I don't know. I have to take pictures, rediscover the desire  to photograph some of my things.Sometimes I find it strange to tell my life. It's like I've had two different lives. One life before and one now. It seems to me like I was two different people. Now that girl from before, the artist Hamlet, the black lady, the creative soul, have all disappeared. Who have I become?

ART IN THE FUTURE

Is it more important to know how to repair a car or paint a picture? Is it more important to know how to repair a boiler or create a sculpture? Is it more important to repair a fridge than to sew a bag? If you don't know how to fix certain objects then you can't drive, you can't store food, you can't heat the water. Let's imagine for a moment that there is a black out and you can no longer turn on the TV, the fridge will not be able to turn on, the car batteries will not be able to charge. Therefore it will be necessary to do without everything that requires electricity and repairs. So what will humans do? Will they return to observe the paintings they have in the house and dream? No, because they didn't want to spend money to buy the paintings but only spent money on useful things. And art is not considered useful. But in the future all the appliances will be turned off and whoever has books and paintings will be able to dream. Everyone else will perhaps die of boredom.

MY ART IN MARCH 2022

These are my paintings of eime months ago. I was very upset, very lonely, and this is what comes out from me. ( I use recycled cardboards as support).

THE EFFEC OF ART IN THE BRAIN

There are artists who paint what they see, others who paint what they remember or what they imagine. Our brain changes in the face of reality but, at the same time, it is capable of changing it: a "different" brain must therefore have a different relationship with reality.
In art this "process" can lead to the creation of new realities, which will only partly depend on "sensorial information"; our brain, in fact, does not necessarily need the continuous "information flow" coming from our senses. Dreams, memories that "revive" in mental images and also representations "simply" created by our mind testify to this event.
In this sense, art amplifies reality, creates a new "mental channel" capable of opening up to new experiences. The visual stimuli, real or evoked by memory, which excite the nervous system of the artist at the moment of the creation of the work of art, transformed by his hand into colors and shapes, will stimulate the nervous system of the observer. The work of art must be able to arouse in the observer's brain sensations and emotions that were present in the artist's brain. Approaching a work of art, looking at it, perceiving it, understanding it and appreciating it, implies the involvement of many brain structures and the activation of very specific mechanisms, starting from the functioning at the basis of visual perception, to those involved in the so-called "psychology of see ", in the aesthetic and emotional experience. This refers not only to the emotion felt by those who enjoy a painting but also to the creative moment that involves the artist to create his work.
Some researchers, especially psychologists and neurophysiologists, have been fascinated by the possibility of studying the properties and characteristics of the brain that are part of the evaluation of a work of art and the pleasure it can give; persuaded by the idea that the understanding of these cerebral mechanisms, together with the knowledge of the events of the life of an artist and of the culture of his time, can favor a greater "knowledge" and appreciation of the work and of those who created it.
A work of art is born from the combination of what the artist experiences "visually" and how he interprets what is communicated to him from the outside world. Both the acquisition of visual information and its internal processing can be altered by pathological causes.
The effects of serious mental illnesses, often altering the artist's perceptive and emotional abilities, can affect his pictorial expression and testify how the painter's life story becomes an integral part of his work.
All this emerges in the paintings of some great painters in particular moments of their life.

ART IS UNUSEFUL NOW

I was an artist, in my past, I abandoned everything. I am Italian and Italy is the cradle of art but we modern artists have no value and are not considered. Art is dead, it is not even sold in thrift stores. Nobody wants art and books. It is a company that has lost its sense of beauty. I also created jewels, bags, all sewn only with needle and thread, all ecological to the maximum, but nobody wants objects and things not signed by famous people. I hate this destructive society, I hate living in this place where art is deemed useless. Art is completely useless. (!?) There is a paradox in this statement that crosses different aspects of living. From the point of view of economic logic, art has no value (… and be careful not to confuse the accidental usefulness of the work of art), and it is for this reason that the evaluation of the work of art is almost entrusted to discretion. of the operators of the sector, which in any case has no practical basis except in the research paths that distinguish it. This is the difficulty of the artist when he tries to quantify the value of his own art, confused between the value of his own creative force and the product of this work, finally also unwittingly resorting to recognizing the canons of the art system. For these reasons, the artist’s image is often distorted and associated with bizarre behavior and in any case of economic unreliability. The artist is often torn between the need to express all his expressive / artistic potential and that of obtaining a sufficient livelihood income anyway. The problem is that the two are complementary and it follows that chasing the first solution leads to distancing from the other. However, although art does not correspond to an economic value, it still has an exchange value and the person is often the bearer and component of it. Dressing in fashion is an example of enjoying art. Before stating that art is useless, the person will have to stop and explain why he wears colorful clothes instead of being satisfied with the simple usefulness of clothing. Art does not bring practical improvements. However, it influences the psychophysical state of the person and therefore indirectly becomes the bearer of well-being. This is partly associated with the value of art. The contradiction arises from the fact that art is the expression of the gratuitousness of feelings, while its commodification is a mask placed at a later time that can hide its origin.

WHEN I WAS AN ARTIST

For years, every year, just as punctual as the equinox, a phone call came. That phone call somehow marked the start of summer. That phone call brought creative work to do each time. That phone call sounded like, "Get ready, I'm renovating the place, come up with something." Whenever free to paint what I wanted on those walls, I was given only the LA, perhaps saying to myself: "I had thought of this theme for this year". I have lost count of how many murals I have done over time in that place, where, thinking about it, I somehow grew up. Then the place was given to others in management, the phone calls stopped and the years went by, many, and yet, from time to time, someone still asks me: "Do you remember when you did it like this? It was so beautiful!"
You lean on my shoulder. "Tell me something" you tell me and I begin to tell a story from a long time ago, of a footballer who tore his shirt in a world final to make a hole in which to put the thumb of his dislocated arm in order to continue playing.

You fall asleep again. I begin to glimpse the ceiling thanks to the first rays of the sun.

I leave you there to sleep while I go to make breakfast. Soon Tigrotto will wake up too, so I crumble the Plasmon biscuits for his milk.

It's 6 o'clock.

It will be a beautiful day.

MY FAVOURITE VINCENT

The Blossoming Almond Branch is an oil painting on canvas that Van Gogh painted in Saint-Rémy in 1880 shortly before taking his own life. He painted it on the occasion of the birth of his nephew Vincent Willem, son of his beloved brother Theo. Inside, he chose to represent, as a symbol of nascent life, a freshly blossomed almond tree. Almond blossoms are the first to bloom with the beginning of spring, sometimes even anticipating it by blooming in late winter, and therefore become the symbol of life and the hope it brings with it. Nevertheless, since they tend to fade after a short time they also represent fragility, delicacy. So much, in short, in a single painting, in a simple branch. All this to say that this is one of the Van Gogh paintings that I love most. There is nothing that strikes me more than beauty, pure charm, that what is fragile unconsciously possesses.

WHAT IS USELESS IN YOUR LIFE?

If we took one of these paintings to a gallery today, it would be considered amateur painting. Because other types of paintings are in fashion, often digital, that everyone wants in their living room. Modern art is now considered useless junk. When I go to exhibitions, here for example the Biennale, there are always very few people. Today, more than ever, people judge art as a superfluous thing, which one can do very well without. And I say this as an artist. Talking to so many people, how much they feel that I am an artist, everyone becomes "what a beautiful thing". But if you ask them how many artists' paintings they have bought in their entire life, they say "I'm sorry, nobody". If I ask why they tell me they had more needed things and they used their money for other things. This is really disheartening for an artist but in reality this happens.The painting I put here in this post is a PAUL KLEE's artwork. Would you who look at it think it's worth millions? Yet Christies of London sold a Klee for:

Hammer price: $ 6,767,549 (Christie's, London, United Kingdom, 21/06/2011)

Maybe you found a Klee work in your attic and you think it's the artistic task of some nerdy kid. Because for many people artists waste time, starve and produce useless things. Not all think this thought but most. Even if an artist is quoted a lot of money, he remains one who produced useless things.

"Art is completely useless"

What do you think about it?

This sentence was written by Oscar Wilde, more than a century ago in the preface of his famous short story "The Portrait of Dorian Gray".
In particular Wilde said:

"We can forgive a man for having done something useful if he does not admire it. The only excuse for doing something useless is to admire it intensely. All art is seless."

Beauty for millions of people is a beautiful woman, a beautiful man, an actress, a Greek statue. How much art do you have in your home? How much art would you like?

Why does an artist keep creating? If there is any artist among you and he wants to answer, he can give his idea here. If there is someone who paints as a hobby, you can tell here why they do it and what emotions they feel.