Biography
The first memory of the art of painting comes from my mother when she used to deep with her hands a small brush of white bristels in a tiny bottle of red varnish. The brush came out covered by a dense liquid as scarlett blood and with extreme precision, covered one by one her finger nails. The brushstrokes were applied in one sense: from the center to the extremes and from left to right. The perfume of the enamel alwayss went to my head, sweetly, and my mother, at two palms from my hipnotized eyes, was to be the most beautiful immage I was ever to see.
