...to the face I have tonight.
...to all those, willy-nilly, in a direct, explicit, narcissistic, and/or indirect, unconscious, because elected muse, and/or simply for pure hedonistic habit desperately to portray, and that can touch the limits artistic obsession, and/or those of the absolute celebration, since these represent the models to follow and/or emulate, or simply because they are only undisputed prototypes of beauty (not necessarily symbols in the attempt and/or from which derive the teachings... because no one is ever healthy carrier of good teaching), people-characters to honor, thanks, reward, that entering, and sometimes not even notice it (at first glance), to join in a disruptive, and perhaps never to case, in my life, changing it, fortunately always positive, and let themselves be portrayed (and it's easier with those unaware: objectively complain less. But, with love, thank you all very much for portraiture lend to my game, and my picturesque artistic license), and mainly because they allow me to capture, at best, the most various nuances of their most intimate and secret expressions, to fix in time, crystallize in my memory and take them with me throughout my career and artistic life.
I'm a Robin Hood of souls: try to steal their souls to trap them in my portraits, perhaps presumption would be at once the subjugated, jealous, in an almost spasmodic adoring painter Basil Hallward, of "Oscar Wilde" memory, in love with the extraordinarily beautiful Dorian Gray, who portrays him as if there were no creature in the world, thing, object or essence that is worth to be portrayed, and at the same time be the devilish Lord Henry Wotton, who leads indirectly fondled Dorian Gray to do the Mephistopheles pact of eternal youth, thus allowing them free access to the beautiful and grotesque hell Pre-Raphaelite, which will see an aging portrait in oils, instead of the portrait model, which, however, will remain unchanged, beautiful, young over time. But no demoniac puzzled angel, of Dante Gabriel Rossetti, seeing an allegorical any pact Mephistopheles, and bowing curls sighs an "Amen" request accepted the desire to "sale" of his soul. And thus the soul remains faithful to my models, and that's why they "pass away", as rightly wants the course of existence. Luckily, their portraits will remain unchanged over time, reflecting what they were... That my "portraits" have a soul, concrete, their, those of my models that lend themselves to proper service, it's impossible (no pact Mephisto, it's said), will remain, therefore, beautiful and inanimate empty shells portraits of paper. I'm doing my best to make the truth of their existence, their shape, their human nature, but clearly comes out only my blood, unfortunately or luckily, inherent in the painting of my work and love, that in they hide, for them, for my endless, loved and adored models.
...to my portraits.
...to my thoughts, (as I was in yesterday), and also for me.
