As a child while far from any possibilities to visit an art gallery or an art school and much less possessing a box of crayons or a sheet of decent paper to sketch on all this commodities were only available to me in my dreams. I was nine years old when my brother Tony nine years older than I was returning from the big city where he had gone from his mandatory army examination he brought me a six colour box of crayons. Tony knew how much that gift meant to me. I did not have much of a chance to see real art in the way of paintings, the houses that I had access to did not have any such things they only had the little figurines of saints and angels most of them tacked on their white walls the only real painting, fresco and stacheues that I could enjoy were in our church where I passed most of my time looking up at the ceiling some twelve meters above at the paintings above of F. Fiore. Those paintings were my dreams they were my point of reference to paint the human female figure in all its natural beauty and its infinite expressive forms.

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