So his brush leads us, curiously, in the warm streets of San Gimignano, red of history or night of china ink, near the forests of butterfly leaves, the stormy bluegrasses or infinite green of the young wheat fields. With his chromaticity, he succeeds, much better than it is possible for the historian, to sum up the thickness of time inherent in things, their ucological meaning of compendium. Thus, thanks to the light, first among the “works” of creation – including the artistic one – he expresses the immaterial substance of the duration, the patina of becoming, the essence of the generations that that time have crossed and lived through the same places and looking The same colors.


(Anna Benvenuti)