I only remember that as a child I loved drawing trucks, three-wheeled delivery vehicles, and cars... among the first words that come to mind is "blue"—the color of the truck parked on the street behind our house that I loved going to see with Mom and Dad.

Then, after drawing hundreds more trucks, animals, dinosaurs, ships, bulldozers, helicopters, and airplanes—and enrolling in the scientific high school in Legnano (where I was born)—I began drawing and painting in oils: people, dynamic anatomy, battle scenes, and still lifes. Suddenly, I found myself crossing the threshold of the Faculty of Architecture, where I drew far too many squares and cubes—at least until I visited a Salvador Dalí exhibition. At that moment, faced with such masterful technique, I realized I had no right to use oil paint; meanwhile, I had graduated with top honors and was beginning the long, arduous apprenticeship of an architect... I remember interior design projects, massing studies, renderings, and poorly paid working drawings, as well as quitting my first job. I was sitting at a table in the basement with a dip pen and a bottle of black ink nearby, so I drew scrapyards, construction site signs, sailing ships hunting for islands in the Milky Way, living rooms merged with kitchens, men suspended on clouds, men kneeling, men who could no longer fly, track designs for the Palio race, nonconformist puppets, construction site management scenes, and swans gazing at themselves in the mirror. I was an architect juggling many jobs, finally standing on my own two feet (I said walking, not running). In 2018, I realized I had only been producing flat drawings... It was time to hunt for some volume—to scour the scrapyard for a piece of metal and tell it that its moment to shine had finally arrived!

THE TECHNIQUE:

Engraving is an ancient technique originally developed to create printing plates for the mass reproduction of images. Yet, for all the beauty of the resulting prints, it was the plates themselves that always captivated me most, thanks to their physical depth and tangible substance. Wanting to make them the focal point—transforming them from mere tools into the final artwork—I chose to engrave directly onto car hoods: objects that are already complete in themselves, ready to be admired whether hanging on a wall or mounted on a vehicle.

In terms of style, I favor simplicity of execution—perhaps because I have always loved the blues and the stories of musicians who, lacking anything else, would play using a wire strung between two nails in a wall. Using a multitude of instruments or special effects to create a piece just isn't for me.

The burin and the donor car hood—which comes to me already painted—take this concept to the extreme: there is no need to wait for paint to dry, buy ink cartridges, or use spray cans. It all lies in your hands; all that is required is keen observation, deep passion, and the effort needed to harness the existing finish, making the burin dance across the microns separating the layers of paint from the underlying metal.