I would like to talk about a White Figure, a White Lady waiting for her ling soul on her desk. It’s a desk of dreams, her desk of desperation and hopes. Blue of the darkest sky, white of hope, clear blue and weird blue… blue for the horizon of the seas, blue for our short wasted lives, blue for one hope and, finally, blue the nightly oil.
The soul escapes to her left. Is it really a lady? I see the mask of The Death beyond her invisible eyes. There’s a date for our secure death: 27th October 2010. It was Wednesday, the day our souls were born… the same day those figures were dead, it was the day colors born in a blue and white universe of fantasy. There’s always a special relationship between the Arts. I am writing this, giving form in words to the figures I am watching right now… and I can listen clear the Schubert concert and I can see this lady beyond the colors: Death and the Maiden, the furious brushstrokes and the static movement of the Earth and its citizens, living deadly characters of this fake play that we call reality.
I would like to excuse the author of the painting for my comments. Please, Mr Mauro Maris, excuse me if it’s not a lady or it’s not the Death or even it’s not a dream. It’s just… it made me dream with great creations.