Rita Vitali Rosati. The passion flower is not a walk in the open air

[…] Faces blurred vision or optics in the offense. Wounded bodies from putrefaction. Looking at faces or bodies that leave from the hands offended me this bug a sweet melancholy. Looking good I see in them a sense wink. A warning deep. Thoughts without words, actions and omissions. Still wins over the poetry of images or words. Besides the things. Besides the significance. Seduced by far that is absent and present together as the truth inside the oxymoron.
In the end what really attracts and seduces the artist is absent, when a gust of wind caresses the flower of his inspiration. So who likes flowers must caress, even if they have thorns, because art is also painful. So who likes flowers must love even in the dissolution.
This book tells in a few words well put the painful ordeal of art almost the consideration of a secular way of the cross of poetic elegance, the modern dress of an illuminated manuscript. Similarly images inspire the words and vice versa. Inspired by and infected with metastases beneficial word spread through the air on the body, in organs and thoughts. Photos and words, Allied tell the story of the amazing art that the disease is in itself its dizzying care. It becomes immortal. It greets us from her elsewhere mysterious surprise in itself evidence of the suffering that while, as a gust of wind, spreads in the eyes and heart of his unpronounceable silent goodbye.
Taken from the text of Paul Nardon