Enrico De Paris


According to M. Gerstenkorn's calculations, developed by H. Alfven, Earth's continents are nothing less than moon fragments fallen on our planet. Originally, the moon itself was a planet gravitating around the sun up until the moment in which Earth's closeness derailed its orbit. Captured by Earth's gravitation, the moon pulled nearer and nearer clenching its orbit around us. At a certain moment the mutual attraction began to deforrn the surface of the two celestial bodies, raising very high waves from which fragments broke off, whirling in the space between the Earth and the moon. Mostly fragments of lunar matter that ended up falling on the Earth. Consequentially, due to tidal influence, the moon was then forced away until reaching its present orbit.
A part of the lunar mass, perhaps half, remained on the Earth, forming the continents. Looking at the most recent paintings of Enrico T. De Paris, the first tale of one of Calvino's books comes to my mind , "Ti con zero". The one which starts with the mentioned passage and that deals with the time when the Earth's crust was an unceasing extension of nylon, chrome-steal, ducotone (...), asphalt, amiantus, cement" , in short, nothing natural. Then the moon, which is instead a green planet of waters and lands came nearer. And there, we, terrestrial people, I mean, find tons of chlorophyll, dew, and nitrogen substances upon ourselves. And for hundreds of thousands of centuries we have been trying to get free of it all in order to rebuild the primitive, huge extension of plastic, sheet metal and cement. In some of Enrico T.'s paintings the Earth seems painted just like that, a moment before nature plummits upon it from the moon: deformed by the irresistible attaction, skyscrapers blast-off like rockets, magnetic waves so strong, becoming visible. The colours are acid, shiny, as a synthetic planet ought to be. There is no trace of human presence, but perhaps everybody is at home looking out of their windows at what the hell is going on. In his fantastic cosmology, Calvino alternates, according to a successfirl definition of Vittorini, "fairy-tale charged realism" and "realism-charged fairy-tales" , building tales of pure rythm, where reality is stylized and deformed in few lines. The possible datum is developed to the most impossible of impossibilities.
Also Enrico's cities fianction according to this mechanism. The movement of imagination starts from the world, but seeing it with different eyes: it is still real and already something else. Images translate an experience, but they mean more and on a different level. E.T. De Paris often uses the word "SYMBOL". And so we can call them like that, these imagined images, symbols; and voilà, these symbols start living, developing their own logic. They bring with them a net-work of events; they impose their tone, their language which "aims at favouring - as Enrico writes me - not so much the reception of a definite meaning, but rather a glow of possible meanings, all equally imprecise and equally valid, according to the degree of perspicacity, hypersensitivity and sentimental disposition of men". Certainly, a great deal of the origin of these images is made by colour, I mean colour as the matter of painting, soft, thick, shiny and fascinating, to dip one's paintbrush and make it go without ever stopping and trying everything, all the techniques, modes and expressions. Why not? Everything within the same painting, to give it the same sound of the world, an impression of accumulation, a stream of different sensations, constant and very quick. The initial idea knows how to get distracted from the matter and get involved in the joy of painting. It slips out of your's hands, and to follow it you have to paint and paint. As Nicola De Maria says - and I am not mentioning him by chance, but because I believe that their works have something in common - " it is impossible to stop, you have to paint night and day, leaving the passionate paint-brushes go on ahead, alone, and follow this hungerless and tire-less inspiration...".
Enrico often talks about positiveness, about love for life in constant movement. Words that leave out the history violence, ugliness and sorrow. He thinks that the art work must carry illuminating signals, and take from the world the unlimited hints for smiling at life, that painting should be, first off all, a moving gesture. I do not believe in naivety as the founding quality of the artist's myth. I think , instead, that it declares the responsability of communicating a value of positive energy. The responsability of an art that expresses its own projet about the world talking about beauty and harmony. I mean a new beauty and a new harmony that live in chaos and noise. On the contrary, I can not stop thinking with anguish about the present. However, I feel the beauty of chaos, its possibilities, the different, changeable,. contradictory combinations it contains. A fashionable word that we could use is "coexistence", to talk about how many different things live together today and the boundaries among them seem indefinite, temporary. De Paris' s painting also talks about this not only when he puts together signs, styles and different techniques within the same painting, or when he plays with comic-strips or with illustration, or even when he makes an incursion, as he says, "In the spectacular slang of the present". His paintings tell the beauty of chaos especially with the system of moving relations that builds where privileged or central points of view do not exist, where there is neither before, nor after, but a continuous present, as a ring (loop) that wealds ideas, projets and experiences together. Even the conceptual scale of his work continuously slides: on one hand, he talks about truth and beauty; on the other, the humour and the irony of his little houses re-conduct the sublime universe of colour back to a more daily world, reachable by the senses, recognizable. In the same way, also the operative scale, in which Enrico T. works, varies in the relationship between his small canvases, the polyptyches and the polyptyches that become walls, rooms, houses, inhabitable painting, worldworks*, to steal an expression I like. World-works then, and again the house is like the world, the place to stay, to live; it is a tangible and physically complete universe, a shelter, a maternal womb, an extension made unlimited by fantasy. It is to travel without moving, because, De Maria says again, "Art really gives you the world tour".

Cristiana Perrella

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