CAPITALISM IS KILLING IMAGINATION

He who creates does not produce. Who creates is not seen. Everything that is not produced by companies goes unnoticed. What is created and is not a product of capitalism is as if they do not exist. And so in the same way creators are non-existent for society. They're on the sidelines. In their creative corners where they despair and cry. Their creations are not products and they are not existent. Capitalism has made them useless. In the past, creators such as Leonardo, Michelangelo and others were welcomed at court, well-liked and in demand. But today's creatives and artists stay out of every door, unless they produce something "salable". This dead company is based only on earnings and money is killing the imagination.

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).

SCHIELE COULD BE FAMOUS WITHOUT KLIMT?

Can a talent come out and face the world alone or is the presence of someone necessary to act as an intermediary? Schiele was a boy pathologically linked to his sister Gerti, whom he had portrayed naked in various portraits. He is not happy in school because the masters are considered by him to be all rough men. Encouraged by Strauch, the Klosternburg painter Max Kahrer and the Augustinian canon Wolfang Paker, in 1906 Schiele applied for admission to the Vienna Academy. So if it hadn't been for them, we might never have known his works.
Strauch refines the technique of the young Egon noting in the nervous ease of his sign an affinity with Klimt, which Schiele does not yet know. Schiele is not a model student and is only 16 when he pits against his teacher Griepenkernl. It is in the veneration for Klimt that youth rebellion against the teacher and against academic dogmatism must be interpreted. These are the years in which Gustav Klimt is at the height of his career. But while Klimt colors his pictorial works with strange mosaics, for Schiele the painting represents the conflict between life and death. From this moment on his figures begin the phase of deformation. At this stage his design becomes harsh and suffering. The formal tension is entrusted to broken, broken and angular lines. Klimt's dream is shattered for Schiele. In Schiele we find suffering. The characters portrayed by him are no longer human beings but rigid mannequins forced into disjointed and unnatural poses. The bodies thus transformed are the artist's conscious attempt to use limbs, arms, hands and bodies to highlight inner emotions.
The decisive meeting for his entire artistic career took place in 1907 in the Café Museum in Vienna. Klimt's strong personality influences him tremendously. A further element brings the two men closer: the interest in depicting the naked body and both male and female sexuality. Gustav Klimt will also have great esteem for Schiele: he undertakes to help his friend, through the purchase of drawings, providing him with models, introducing him to some wealthy patrons, who assured him a certain financial peace of mind right from his beginnings on the Viennese art scene and ensuring that in 1908 Schiele could hold his first solo exhibition for the Wiener Werkstätte.
After a period spent in prison on an accusation of immoral conduct, as the painter used naked children as models for his works, disappointed by this bad experience, Schiele decides to return to Vienna. Thanks to his friend Klimt, he managed to obtain several commissions in a short time, returning to the fore on the Austrian art scene and participating in many international exhibitions. His works of the period are numerous, mostly self-portraits and portraits. The figures are usually naked, in unusual poses that tend to lead to caricature; the tormented figure recalls both death and eroticism.
So in the end I ask myself: if Egon Schiele hadn't had the help of all these people, and especially Klimt, would he have been able to show everyone his talent?

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.

LONDON WAS HOME

Ah! Do you remember the first time I went to London?
I immediately felt at home. What an incredible feeling.
As soon as I breathed that air I felt my body vibrate. I understood that this was the place of the revolutionary dreamers, the tormented poets and the different, the place for me. I'll never be able to forget my expression, my life there, the people I kewn there...
That city had kidnapped me and perhaps even I understood words in English language I've never understood perfectly.
I walked driven by curiosity, by love! I knew exactly where I was going, the fog didn't confuse me, the cold didn't stop me, I didn't even fear fatigue, for that city I challenged it. My eyes entranced by everything I saw, I had found peace in her. My soul is there, but the city now is not that one I knew when I was an Artist. 

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.

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