Collection Necrostar
art critic to the Collection of Stephen Necrostar Night by Andrea Antoniazzi
"I'm not the silent spectator of strange moments and even the ecstasy of an ending that does not arrive. I'm a wide open under immense guardian of my secrets, I am the dead man invites drinking, with me from the other world, a bitter cup of life along that end that no one knows. My painting is a strange clatter of events, long holes that never exhaust the curiosity of those who with his rough hand me the painting. Necrostar are a gallery of monstrous echoes that of the cave of death still speak. All my heroes are famous, yet no one is silent, yet they are all already buried under the ground in the world. And I, I'm just a huge picture, I'm talking to my wall hanging, waiting for the order of who's watching me. "
Necrostar If it could talk, would you say the words I just wrote. In reality, has already been said, to all those who have had the opportunity being for the first time in the history of painting, for a real, I would almost call it methodical devotion mortuary. The collection is the cemetery dinottiana pictorial image, the reconstruction mock photo of a beauty that is no longer simple decadence but true physiological state of existence which has ceased to be such. There is almost a biological image, a medical science that flows through the canvas. Marylin Monroe finally slips from bursting beauty of the buildings at one end by Andy Warhol that perhaps makes it more human, closer to us, his face is soothed by the absence of each breath, the smell of quell'aldidà where success is decided by God alone and not the stupid human applause. In the land that nobody knows where the soul of everyone, abandoned the intrusiveness of a body intended to collapse, huddles close to the Creator to snatch a bit of energy, Truth. And this is not a simple lesson of faith, but a trust devoted to the humanly ricoscenza the presence of another in our lives, whoever he is. In the paintings dinottiane, this Other is the provocation, the observation of a cruel path no longer human but simply that atomic to molecular nothing that kills every body to give rise to a new life. What if we are not bags of skin hanging from something within us cries but does not You can never touch? Subtle soul, which, if any, if still alive, can only be moved in front of a coffin that becomes the only raft back to God?
dinottiana Death is a race of heroes, suspended between the last big hello to the world, that their eyes off, and anxiety, underground, mysterious want to be reborn. In this gallery of silent respect, played on the passage to another world, waving figures sealed, stuck to the canvas with the exact same severity of a collector of insects.
at night is not the obvious love and it shows. In its operation, meets the ghost of the other in his capacity as spirit of wandering, lost soul ... some wearing the clothes of the warrior and defeat the end of their nightmare, for others still, it travels in the canvas with a sweet pair of wings resting on the shoulders es'avvicina these dying bodies shaking dirty hand of a corpse.
These bodies, hung like sacks of textured burriana memory, are the antechamber of death, not death itself ... represent the omen, the hint of a sad end that is about to fall on man, take him to the ground dreams where the artist, in addition to anything, sees the charm of a mystery.
So bite between Pasolini and the great American star, happened in the grip of the deceased, fell into the vortex of the Great mortal art dinottiana not only lends itself to a long reflection on our end, but before all that happened on his conscience, as the man in the crowd of Poe, they share the exact same shade .
Necrostar If it could talk, would you say the words I just wrote. In reality, has already been said, to all those who have had the opportunity being for the first time in the history of painting, for a real, I would almost call it methodical devotion mortuary. The collection is the cemetery dinottiana pictorial image, the reconstruction mock photo of a beauty that is no longer simple decadence but true physiological state of existence which has ceased to be such. There is almost a biological image, a medical science that flows through the canvas. Marylin Monroe finally slips from bursting beauty of the buildings at one end by Andy Warhol that perhaps makes it more human, closer to us, his face is soothed by the absence of each breath, the smell of quell'aldidà where success is decided by God alone and not the stupid human applause. In the land that nobody knows where the soul of everyone, abandoned the intrusiveness of a body intended to collapse, huddles close to the Creator to snatch a bit of energy, Truth. And this is not a simple lesson of faith, but a trust devoted to the humanly ricoscenza the presence of another in our lives, whoever he is. In the paintings dinottiane, this Other is the provocation, the observation of a cruel path no longer human but simply that atomic to molecular nothing that kills every body to give rise to a new life. What if we are not bags of skin hanging from something within us cries but does not You can never touch? Subtle soul, which, if any, if still alive, can only be moved in front of a coffin that becomes the only raft back to God?
dinottiana Death is a race of heroes, suspended between the last big hello to the world, that their eyes off, and anxiety, underground, mysterious want to be reborn. In this gallery of silent respect, played on the passage to another world, waving figures sealed, stuck to the canvas with the exact same severity of a collector of insects. at night is not the obvious love and it shows. In its operation, meets the ghost of the other in his capacity as spirit of wandering, lost soul ... some wearing the clothes of the warrior and defeat the end of their nightmare, for others still, it travels in the canvas with a sweet pair of wings resting on the shoulders es'avvicina these dying bodies shaking dirty hand of a corpse.
These bodies, hung like sacks of textured burriana memory, are the antechamber of death, not death itself ... represent the omen, the hint of a sad end that is about to fall on man, take him to the ground dreams where the artist, in addition to anything, sees the charm of a mystery.
So bite between Pasolini and the great American star, happened in the grip of the deceased, fell into the vortex of the Great mortal art dinottiana not only lends itself to a long reflection on our end, but before all that happened on his conscience, as the man in the crowd of Poe, they share the exact same shade .
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