... They have built a world by overlapping several worlds, which remains located in the West, as emphasized by the iridescent and intense light - but the night is next to come, despite the sun's rays still break the darkness. It is the light of Miguel de Cervantes (and Caravaggio's and Greco's and Velazquez's): an eternal sunset, the West precisely.
Until the metal and rubber’s city has also wiped out the remnants of Eden’s Garden, and a bronze Adam (without Eve), big as Polyphemus, certifies that men’s culture has been standardized in its worst model: you're always the one with stone and sling.
And the Past attracts us only because he died and so it can not harm us?
Even the Sicilian Biagio Schembari has acknowledged the lesson by the Sicilian Gattopardo: ... so that everything stays as it is ... nunc et in hora mortis nostrae.
But the anguish of death has made herself Art and Art, indeed, wins over death.
This is the fundamental assumption of the poem (which is doing, giving birth, creating, precisely the opposite of death: fulfill, superhuman magic of syllables enlightened by tears, a similar magic to Christ’s passion- Majakowskij). And it is so in the East and in the West because you die at all latitudes.
However, the obsessive repetition, frame by frame, of this reason seems to unmask the ideological nature: at the height of fear, in order to cling to life, men deceive themselves (they become artists also), but this vital vibration, for it is sweet, it does not cease to be what it is: a deadly deception created by a side heeling and overlapping perspectives, as it is in the leopardian dialogue between Plotinus and Porphyry.
Haven’t you noticed that Schembari’s perspective moves from above? From God’s point of view, then. But he is deus absconditus, and if it is true that he observes, it's also true that he only sees landslides.
The mental short circuit approaches: Art resurrects, that is true, but it resurrects deaths. Biagio is shy, you got it, but he would not like to admit it.
And it is here the touching paradox of Biagio’s painting: to represent the agony of all possible worlds means to stop this process in its representation, preventing it from flowing into nothing; it means, instead, to paint the Decadence, hence avoiding or delaying indefinitely the terminal moment. The tragic plot (désis) has no catastrophic (lúsis) solution. At one time, this was called pietas.
Now, Biagio has told us sufficiently how powerful Faith is; it has enhanced love by elevating it from tedious sex trade (as it is almost universally represented) to a spirit of charity; but when he had to paint the dawn of hope (sweet colour of oriental sapphire), he gave, as Cervantes and Caravaggio, sunset light, saying that in the West reason’s paradoxes only a problematic hope is conceivable.
Now, come back to look into their eyes and mouths, these men of Schembari, while the sun persists to flood with light their cohesive globes in a dreadful silence.
Do they seem happy men and women to you?