This is the last of a series painted at the time when refugees from Syria were stranded at the Austrian border, during winter in snowy woods.
I quote a photographer friend who, while photographing the paintings for a catalog, described it thus: “A figure of the future, covered but without clothes, silhouetted against a floor of reflections in a dark and gigantic city.”
The marginal, the excluded, the salt of the earth, as we say in Italy. Poetry of poverty is a timeless, universal cross-border poetry.
An evening stroll in a gloomy city, a sordid environment. The story hidden in the play of shadows and gestures.