I first met the wood as a child, in the Gardena Valley. I would stand in a daze in the carvers’ workshops: their minute gestures, the shapeless taking  shape, the rhythmic sounds, the scent, the colour, the delight of witnessing the becoming.
Those small wooden statues did indelibly engrave on my memory, as well as their surrounding nature did. 
Time, wretched and human vicissitudes, and death too, did move me away from the fairy tales for good. I preserved that world in my heart and in my mind, I kept the curiosity and the wonder of the child intact, together with the love for the treasures of the earth. One day, I was forced to mediate them with the acquaintance of the rarefied, often stupid world of men. Today, in an attempt to avoid the idiocy of maturity and get back to myself, to my human life, I make use of the wood.
[ Versione italiana ]