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Many stories start with: when i was a kid. And me, when i was a kid, i was dreaming of cars and paintings. And today i have realized my dreams, i paint cars.
I started with watercolor, cars in the streets, telling a story, a story of travel...
Little by little, i started to remember the wrecked cars i have seen long ago in my uncle's workshop, and with them, their own memories, their stories.
A wrecked car is like travelling in time, a fictitious travel, motionless, one you do with your mind. When you know how to look, to feel and touch, wrecked cars are almost still alive. Through time and space,
they carried our dreams and desires. They are reflections from our own world.
Wrecked cars are also recovered freedom: delivered from usefullness. Delivered from money, they are no more lust objetcs but inspiring sources.
Wrecked cars are symbols of our world of frenesy. Spirit of speed and brutality of crash.
Can we imagine to collect wrecked cars one day? Or see them displayed in museums?
We are wreck of our own dreams.
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