He wakes up; before, or maybe after midday. It's time to raise the dusty sipario on the peripheric avenue.
Interior shot: male studio-bedroom; demode' stiled flat, kind of student house (but he doesn't follow any course. He is a natural born talent).
The uncontrollable disorder of the early years, of the first flats, came slowly under control; surprising... only a pizza order left its pencil signs on the desk.
Flashback: VHS monday on the couch; old school trash italian comedy, sounds of sleepy laughters.
There he stays, lethargic.. Apart from his motherland's hicky movida...
He's no more used.. So long, so far away...
By the way, it's difficult to imagine him in the everyday life, like sweeping the pavement, doing the bed...
A star like him... with his incomprensible aesthetic impact...
How did he start to look like that, nobody knows; he just seems a far relative, a very far one. So impassible, like waterproofed...
Maybe because he was so faraway, so long.. That he even forgot the names of the streets...

Now the bizarre visitors don't pass by so often... Just a few friends are allowed to the backstage. No prive' parties anymore...
Zoom on the faded pictures hanging on the bed, sticked at the wall, close to the desk: hundreds of dancing heads in front of a consolle, some girls with fluo eyes and socks, smiling profile of a spotted bull terrier, blurred face of a guy, with confused hairs and a vague expression; some robotic installations in a dept.
But it's a rule: who climbs up success, remains always a bit isolated...
Everyday he watches the common peolple hurring in the supermarket; his fans wolud pay every price for a stolen imitation of his charm... But he just stays cool and indifferent, so escaping while observing, that sometimes you might want to catch him, and stop him, and force him to look a bit more "normal".. for what this could mean..

Who knows if he's aware, about the judgements that gravitate around his head...
he seems not to care that much.. He seems used to something else. Maybe because he has been far away, so much time, he always looks like distract. Who knows, what kind of eclectic thoughts are occupying his VIP mind, while he turns and returns his masterpieces in the hands...
An artist with his numbers, can just surround to the radicality of his inspiration...
He still hesitates, can't define himself as an "artist"... But it's an irreversible process by now...
The happening of representability leads his whole perception, it' s his only interpretation rule.
The common mortals, with the eyes open wide against his creatures, almost fear the sudden revelation of their mutant character.
Videoframe: his half-lenght is very close to the bathroom's mirror; he's inserting a considerable metal ring in the frenulum under his upper lip. Some blood flows on his tooth.
....Because it's so impressive all this art... It' s a complete revolution...

Maybe because he has been living so far away, so long...
Maybe because he chose to follow with his own hand the changing trail of the imagine of the world,
that left a track in each single wonderful creation of those, that takes the breath away...

To tell about the bursting of the art into the quite human existance, that generates this marvellous hybrid genetics, is maybe a delicate process, as we see, even if it happens in the neighbours of Japigia Allee.


2 the guy that left his post on me forever

(2004)

click on "all sizes" above to get a better look...Not real complicated process...layer for "unmasked sharp", layer for "median" -around 8, then drop the opacity of the layer to suit the skin -for me it's usually around 42%. The with a soft brush set to around 30% I paint, carefully choosing the colors from the skin (dropper "alt" key on a mac) and paint. Finally I desaturate the skin a bit and then use highlights and shadows.
This one is definitely not my best but I did it in 10 minutes just to get one up and on here.
1/250 f/8.0, iso 200 shot with a canon rebel xt and the 100mm F/2.0 with a Sunpak 383 on 1/2 bare to camera right