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My name is Alessandro Boni, I was born in Rome twenty-seven years ago by Sicilian-born mother and artist father Pescara. From the age I lived with paintings, canvases and paints, but before age 20 have never thought about paint, almost as if unconsciously painting considered the exclusive domain of my father, to be respected and watch from afar. But also because I always just so all-encompassing the mysterious charm of the word, interested in poetry. And now since I graduated in letters (in fact just a thesis on Italian poetry of the twentieth century) with the mad hope of becoming a teacher.

Then happened a strange fact: painted a canvas for fun at a festival and university, to the satisfaction of only dismay, two hours after a man approached me and offered to buy it for 100 €. This is crazy, I thought. pay for a painting by someone who first took a paint brush in hand!

past six years, during which I continued to devote myself to poetry, completely ignoring the painting, seized with a sort of rapture wild, I started to splatter paintings, driven by the need to find an appropriate channel of expression to convey what the words became more difficult to say. So in a way, I think my paintings are like poetry of implants, even complement the integration of semantic boundaries in which occasionally stumble, and sometimes dying-words.

In fact, many are just born simultaneously with verses and became the natural counterweight, recounting the mood.

also why some media are recycled, and glass door cabinets belonged to whomever that loads outline of their history, have been abandoned on the sides of a garbage can. Of course there are also economic reasons ahead of the charm that carries me on the concept of recycling.

The prime object in writing to me is imposed forcefully by playing with the colors: the time, understood as a partial and incorrigible, almost non-existent, which makes it unique trait, random and self-deprecating, mimesis of the fragmentation of reality, and a hint of a chuckle in his sleeve reminds us how the existence in humans component of a playful and ironic it might preserve continuously from taking itself too seriously. You caught the fly in icing.

This does not mean it seriously but ignore the ban or, conversely, understand it in its complexity and tragic Find out laughing. Always.

The important thing is to do, learn, understand. And testify.