A fresco is like matter that, with time, returns to its nature, to dolomite. It is stone ground to dust, manipulated, then returned to its origin.

Painting in fresco gives you some moments of particular happiness: the first layer of matter, still fresh, does not seem to get in the way of the softness of the brush the pigments are applied with, and you realize that the lime attracts the colour, it absorbs it voraciously, as if it were its nourishment; sometimes, the brush itself appears guided by that soft matter. All this delivers an immense pleasure; because it happens in a short time you must be ready to seize the moment- as soon as the lime hardens and dries, it refuses the colour and then it becomes impossible to continue.

The beauty of painting in fresco lies in the continuous game between painter and matter, a game that might disappoint at first, because the colours- once absorbed, eaten by lime- seem to have permanently disappeared only to resurface with time. Years later, once exposed to air (even better, to the carbon dioxide present in the air), a formidable rebirth takes place within the fresco.

Fresco is a relation between forces that only time can reunify.