They aren't dreams. In my paintings you can catch what has always surrounded me and has not vanished yet. Since I was only a vibration of universe in my mother's soft and rich womb, I have been seeing plenty of beautiful things. In the first afternoon of a very last day of July, when the balm-crickets of hill range "Murgia" are exhausted and still for a while, as soon as I came into the world, silence and space closed upon me. I grew up among agile and loving arms, I used to fall asleep when the sun inundated the West and wake up by the cream of the violent light, drowning in a waved ocean of dry ears of wheat circled by almond and olive trees. Spring came very early, shamelessly to satisfy me with generous bloomings. I could smell the scent of the distant sea as a quiet garden. The Sun dried the temporary solaces brought by cloud bursts, bewitched the hard stones, but never upset me. I caught the novelties carried by the wind on my body. And it has not been necessary to rely on imagination or on unnatural inebriation; I display my experience acquired at my earth.

When for restlessness or wisdom I gazed at other views, I clung to the certainty of a Romanesque cathedral, to white walls, which are the testimony of industrious lives, of lasting loves, of songs driven into the head. Don't stand in front of my paintings. Please do help yourselves inside them throughout the bowel of my eyes, come to your own worlds.