I was fortunate to be born to incredibly intelligent and creative parents; my mother and father graduated from the same university at the top of their class,she in literature and art,he in biology, because of the war they married right away… my father taught navigation and researched cells, my mother painted and played the piano…they created six children. Their backrounds and cultures mingled and enriched our lives and, although, eventually they broke apart in misunderstanding, this rupture fed into their children’s creativeness as only certain heartbreak can do.
I immersed myself in expressionism…describing my pain in lines and colors…tears were not enough…refusing the standard, I set forth in unknown worlds, and sometimes stepped into mud pubbles.

But I learned… I learned so much in a different way, and I moved around restlessly… soaking things up, and putting them down… a nomad… it’s not an economically wise way to approach life but I never claim to be wise.
One of those things I learned I could to do is to draw people… (and paint them because I love color…) I love people… they are both a mystery and an open book and we are one… at the best moments… I am now in the hills above the Arno valley, I live simply, my heart sings when I step outside, and I feel one with the natural world I paint.

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