Animals poke their nose into beauty. Be it hidden in a basket full of fresh beans, in a heap of dark soil, in the rosy bud of a mallow, in the wing of a moth.
Almost unaware, at the beginning of spring, I dived my head into cherry blossoms. I have not been able to forget them.

Pale* consists of five framed pieces of sandpaper, treated with wax, glues, spray and cosmetic products.
They are puffs, seized in a moment of grace. Of liveliness, of passionate stamina.
Red, magenta, carmine, black, crimson, violet, purple, grey, wine-coloured, pink, white, brown tones. Fine golden dust.
Inside, the bewilderment of a wise fullness, realising about the imminent omen of irreparably withering.

* In Italian “pale” can mean “altarpieces”, “blades” and here it also refers to the Pale di San Martino, the Pala group, a mountain range in the Dolomites.