Painting is just another way to keep a diary, said Picasso. It is certainly true for me. The Artist’s room – Signs of Music indeed represents an imaginary place I inhabited for a long time. Several years passed before I placed my pencil on a sheet but that room always remained there unaltered.
The piano was placed against the wall on the right. It wasn’t a shiny, varnished Steinway, but an old scraped piano with a huge structure. A saloon piano, the remains of old New Orleans which seemed to hum even if no one was caressing the keys. The keys! I wanted them to be three-dimensional, soft, and huge. I wanted passers-by to icth to touch them. Besides, I knew there was a big window on the back wall. It had white fixtures and looked on a friendly landscape. The sea? Some hills? It took me years to understand what there was outside and it took me years to decide colours as well. They presented themselves slowly, one after the other. I knew everything from the beginning but how could I express it on a sheet? This is the problem with art.
My room was light-blue. The walls, the piano, the floor… I wanted everything to speak about blue. Even if I knew that there was a big carpet and that the room was bright. I used to see everything in front of me: the piano, a table with sheets and a cup of the on it, and nature outside the window.
During two decades of deep physical suffering, my mind had created some friendly places with absolute precision. I came to the conclusion that the Artist’s Rooms really exist, thus I’ll slowly paint all the rooms I saw until my life itself will become a painting. Each room is dedicated to one of the arts I have explored and which saved me. Each room containes all of them and this is the first I show you. The Music Room.