Gianfranco Angioni

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He began early painting and writing, poetry and then novels and short stories.

He attended the painting course for Artisans at the Brera Academy in Milan for 4 years.

Since 2014 he has dedicated himself  full time  to painting and writing.

He has exhibited in exhibitions in London, Paris, Zurich and in Milan, Savona, Genoa, Bologna, Piacenza, Modena, Venice. In addition to various centers in Liguria, Veneto and Piedmont.

He writes and paints for himself.

According to him .... "artistic products must be shown and enjoyed by readers and spectators. The works can attract or repel the user, but the aim is to create emotion anyway and, if this happens, the persistence of this emotion in the memory can stimulate others, increase knowledge. '


" The arts are painting, sculpture, architecture, music, theater, literature, cinema, dance ... I dwell particularly on painting and sculpture even if, with the necessary adjustments, my reasoning they can be applied to any art.


I would like to state that a work created thanks to particular skills and specific knowledge is artistic and that it manifests an aesthetic value, that is, it produces beauty.


If emotion originates, the acquisition of the set of intellectual knowledge that constitutes the culture of the user of the works of art is increased. "



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THE DREAM OF BOSCH - Gianfranco Angioni

Magnificent reading and interpretation of the work "The Garden of Earthly Delights" (BOSCH)

"... I find myself among houses that are close, close together, made like this by men, made close to protect them from evil, from devils if they come looking for them at night, doors and windows are locked to protect themselves, they are close as people and animals do when they sleep, to protect themselves from the dangers because in the darkness of the demons they prowl in large numbers to grab defenseless prey, I am here walking through narrow alleys, I follow the slope it is all in steep descent this village and the more I go down the darker it is, I go down and I feel miasma and the more I go down the more I feel them, rotting with rotten eggs of sulfur, with carrion and mold of the damp without sun, nothing dries up there and the more I go down the darker it is, the black is more black, it is the only reality that contains everything and absorbs colors, I feel everything viscous, even thoughts, everything overlaps like memories, I no longer distinguish them, it is only bestial instinct that moves me, no thoughts or reason, I have lost the light up there, violence overflows from my being, m i lose God, the light is far away up there everything is dark, the street is even narrower and I cannot go back, I am afraid and I do not know why, I feel unexpected dangers, unknown demons roam in the air, the houses are near , but they protect little, they are close and that's enough, but these houses end and I find open spaces, now nocturnal, now cerulean, but it's not dawn, in a clearing, distant mountains frame the unlikely sunsets that can be glimpsed in the looming sky, now often now gloomy, there are flailing beings on flying boats with Latin sails, men above, alive or souls who knows, even large voracious fish, boats fly in the sky and the fish have fins and also wings, dragon wings and sharp knife-edged teeth they come out from big big mouths and hold the man half inside, a reverberation originates dense shadows, it seems to come from the ground or from above or from behind this strange light that does not illuminate but is there, you have to look for it and if you find it you also see clouds of bodies, they are the strangest ever seen, yes i opens the scene, now an almost transparent sphere expresses itself, a sick placenta, almost, the earth is halfway, almost, like a priest's hat, almost, the sky has incessant clouds, the vision is uncertain, rapid lights chase each other in the dark and rapids cease, darts of light leap out of the windows and an iron blade pierces two ears, in the egg shell stands a voracious bird with two hairy legs, tears the poor man to pieces, a leg comes out of his mouth, Adam and Eve are posing for the souvenir photo, still holding hands, under the storm in the now green sky, flashes of fire chasing the flying ships, on the ground the squat-necked giraffe drinks at the spring, the water is red with blood, a ruby red trickle runs from under the feet of men dancing tied, chains imprison them and they look at the sky without hope, an arrogant ancient bailiff has an elephant nose growing from his grinning snout, a kindergarten teacher drinks Negroni when hordes of children sing in cantile choir stunner, the organ erupts thorny thistle flowers, the ship is a mute swan that flies high, the sail unfolds into the night where there is no moon, but a thousand moons make the phases while the stars of the Milky Way explode in sequence , there is a high tower on the hill, the backlight draws it, birds fly around it, at the top there is no hourglass, there is not yet death wrapped in its cloak with its scythe ready, only antennae up there around the tower dance men with their heads attached to their asses, the woman who speaks to them looks at them, the woman is near and the dish hands out, - Greetings and good evening - the crows sing feasting on the asphalt, greeting the crushed rabbit - Long live the bride and groom today is a party - but it is never a party, meanwhile the gaze wanders on those who are lecherous awaiting someone, magnetizes the world to sex and attracts, has a fox with an oxtail, speaks to the man with a crutch on his knee, women in row dressed in short red skirt that appears from under black cloaks, high heels and the pillory imprisons those who already could not escape, dogs run without a master and stop to smell corners of trees, the houses start again and I find there those who have fled to the sun, go down the road, there is a high house is inclined with open windows, a strong wind closes them, but they reopen with a loud noise that still deafens, the house hangs, the road hangs and goes down and whoever has betrayed there you can find him, and also who follows the rat with the red saddle cloth that carries the gift , here are birds with the head of a faun, crippled sagittarians without an arm and the bow does not spring, the road goes down ever narrower, you do not smell of food passing between the houses, only stale stench of shame takes you in the throat, in the breath hub feelings mix and anxiety grows, I have no one to be close to, I am alone and you alone and I fear, the anguish of the unknown takes me, in the night of fear the moon is gone and the sun does not come back, that red sky, at the top of the incomplete tower I see a man climbing the ladder naked, he has blue legs and back and other men bent and green with bile accompany him, other men with blue asses, they stand at the top, the red sky in the background explodes and disappears in the pitch dark, birds pass by holding men in their beaks pierced by a dart, then they drag them in the dust towards a swamp, there are men and women with anger they bite each other beat each other, some emerge from the fetid gray water others are down there, I feel so many that even being down there they hurt themselves and the swamp boils in a lake of blood, that blood boils and everything cooks, others down there walk with their backs out and look to the future and have their heads twisted back, play dice two greedy toothless old men, play their own luck that tastes like gall, coarse screams accompany the throwing of the rigged cubes when fires and bursts of great castle towers flare up far away, death passes riding a gaunt horse that has protruding bones, has consumed all its flesh, you do not makes it grow, death takes you away, there are dogs around there looking for something, they smell looking for food, it takes away all death, even hope, in the dark sky ships made of fish and birds fly, the rostrum takes away the flesh, only those below are happy, the old hag sings a love song, from her jaws the sound bursts into bubbles, erupts blasphemous sounds and death lullabies, filthy smiles winking with crooked toothless mouth, cunning seeks comfort in young people dead arms for her, envy wrinkles her hair and big wrinkled breasts, she is evil and hates the world that shows her the worst and does not go underground, ah ... it is life itself, with false gifts, it flatters everyone, but he wants evil for everyone, animal waste is waiting for him, he does not welcome the earth when the sword of a demon cuts off her grinning head and sends her to proudly show everyone her severed head and sings hideous words of ancient esoteric languages, follows the witch the rhythm of obsessive atonality co n obscene dances on her sore, skinny legs, dirty feet crush the dust to the ground her calloused feet with black rapacious nails, she holds her dress over her bony and dirty knees, sings old sings that the time will come for you ... "

© 2021 Gianfranco Angioni