Reflections
Why realistic view painting nowadays?
In an age where technology allows us to capture reality in fractions of a second with a simple "click," one might wonder what the point is of dedicating ourselves today to layering color on paper to portray a landscape.
To answer this, we can draw an analogy between quartz and mechanical watches. A quartz watch is an impeccable instrument: precise, consistent, and cool. It's the equivalent of a perfect photograph: it captures the data, but not the emotion of the passage of time. A mechanical watch, on the other hand, is a living organism. It's technically less precise, but it has a beating soul made of gears, tension, and manual care. It's precisely these characteristics that make it a valuable object, coveted by those seeking something beyond mere function, like a handmade work of art.
Likewise, my research into realistic landscape painting doesn't seek to compete with the speed or resolution of a digital sensor. If photography instantly records a light beam, "hand-drawn" drawing distills a human experience.
The value of my work lies in the transition from immediate gesture to slow construction. While the photographic shot exhausts its creative effort the instant a button is pressed, each of my pencil strokes is a conscious choice, an act of resistance against the rush of the modern world. It's not just pigment that is deposited on paper, but time itself: the time of observation, of reflection, and of the hand in dialogue with the material.
In this sense, realism today is not an anachronism, but a choice of prestige. It is an invitation to rediscover a "deep vision," where the work does not simply show a place, but preserves its memory and soul through the irreplaceable human touch.
In a world that runs to the rhythm of pixels, I choose the slowness of the pencil.
On my path: an Analytical-Luminist View
I'm often asked what current my work falls into. If I had to summarize it, I'd define my research as analytical-luminist landscape painting.
• Analytical, because in portraying landscapes I apply the rigor, eye, and structural understanding of my scientific training. Whether it's the anatomy of the mountains, the geometry of the countryside, the dynamics of the sea, or the stones of a ruin, each element is translated with precision and respect for physical and geographical reality, without concessions to fantastical invention.
• Luminist, because the precision of my strokes is immersed in the pursuit of atmospheric effects and expanded space. Through the meticulous study of contrasts between light and shadow—whether it's the silence of the mountain peaks, the distant forests, the reflection on the water, or the infinite hues of the sky—I seek to convey the vibration of the air and the depth of the horizon.
This isn't hyperrealism. The slow, layered use of colored pencil on rough paper creates a necessary visual synthesis—the texture of which evokes an almost pointillist vibe for some—transforming drawing into an act of daily resistance against the frenzy of modernity. It's my way of slowing down time to restore nature's original, immense poetry.
Distinctive features of Analytical-Luminist View Painting
While sharing with the movements of the past (Macchiaioli, Divisionists, 19th-century Luminists) a deep love for landscape and the study of atmospheric light, my research clearly differs from them for four contemporary and peculiar elements:
The Earth Scientist's Gaze (Geology vs. Impression) : The nineteenth-century masters sought visual impressions, lyrical idylls, or botanical renderings of landscapes. My scientific training dictates an opposite approach: a profound structural investigation of the landscape. Whether it's the anatomy of a mountain, the geometry of the countryside, or the dynamics of the sea, my drawing translates the physical and morphological logic of the forces that have shaped nature, offering a conscious "X-ray" of geographical reality.
The Ennoblement of the Medium (Pencil on Paper vs. Oil) : Historical movements expressed themselves almost exclusively through oil painting, a textured medium that allows for overlays and corrections. My choice falls on colored pencil on textured paper: a tool historically confined to preparatory drawing or illustration, which here is elevated to a medium for definitive and monumental works. The characteristic vibration of color arises not from optical theories of liquid pigment, but from the physical reaction of the dried lead on the grain of the paper, leaving microscopic empty spaces that allow light to breathe from within the support.
An Anti-Photographic Synthesis (The Sign vs. The Pixel) : The analytical landscape painting of the 19th century engaged in a dialogue with the birth of photography; my research, instead, responds to today's hyperinflation of digital images and artificial intelligence. While the photograph is a valuable tool for gathering data about reality, my work reacts to the immediacy of the medium and the coldness of hyperrealism (which imitates the mechanical limitations of photography). Mine is a visual synthesis: the precision of the sign filters reality through the lens of time and mind-hand coordination, placing the human being and their sensitivity back at the center of the creative process.
The Luminosity of Silence (Existential Dimension vs. Theatricality) : If historical luminism celebrated the romantic majesty or theatrical drama of nature, in my paintings, light—combined with the dilated space and rarity of the human figure—generates a luminism of silence. It becomes an almost metaphysical and existential dimension, an invitation to connect with what is eternal and immutable compared to the transience of everyday time.