Reality, we know, is something abstract.
I am been fascinating by the plethora of realities for a very long time, to the extent of making it matter of my visual and theoretical research.
Nonetheless Reality is what one might think it’s real, which is not for somebody’s else.
I feel I might be trapped in my own Reality.
My life has been driven by my interests, curiosities and skills, which took me to work on the threshold of many specific fields, in order to let them meet and interact.
It has been difficult for me to “stick on something, that’s it”, as it looked to sacrifice another side of myself looking for expression. I love writing, as much I love drawing and making…
I am been trying to give each a good space for expression. It is not easy but it makes me happy.
English is not my first language,
although I feel fascinated by the “English-thinking”.
It is hard to fully grasp it, in its grammatical rules, but I love it for the metaphorical meaning it is capable of making.
Despite of my language handicap, I am been keeping on writing….
From today I don’t know if it’s worth it, am I another Don Quixote fighting against windmills?