Giorgio De Cesario. "Being nowhere."

Reading through the eyes of the heart - certainly not the critic, which I am not and that, often, the heart does not have - I went on tiptoe to meet the works of Giorgio De Cesario and I found all the strength of old who 's Art loves (like me) and meet (as few).
I looked several times in all his work by noting the care (of course interior) that the man posed in nothing more than self, the inner self.
Leaving aside for the moment, the formal description that provides (or index) the how and the why, De Cesario is aware that in order to invent and be different from the artists they love, just love them (without making them masters or saints) and see with his own eyes the stimuli, the force that each author has transferred his love life, studies, work and above all, imagination.
If you love the necks of Modigliani them his own, or women's wounds Klimt us, his eyes watching, we sense and feel the taste, smell, lines, colors. As for Miro, Magritte, Mondrian and many more.
And then, since in this case the artist teaches young students, knows that art must be loved, but made his own, absolutely, not copied.
If we add then that daily life that most of those who have head and heart felt, made of stupidari television and languages of art, music and poetry almost buried, here, that before with what you want to add now, that Then everyone proceeds with its own culture and emotions.
The evidence, looking for my heart, is the vision of the human being that Giorgio De Cesario tells us: figures pale, seemingly equal, with no expression (while the colors are the background / world) to represent the loneliness inside and outside the human being. How to say: Being and Nothingness, but a being who is always 'out' somewhere else, by another self.
As well as writing and perfect indicator Maritati Maria Cristina, who lives beside him and is, (seems the same thing, but, you know that it is not). This need of man mask, unhappy being identified with any'Uomo 'when whatever is not, but that both would like to' someone 'and spend their entire lives to go elsewhere to have anything to be not satisfied nearly never. And that in part would be right for every human being, however, aim to improve: "You were not made to live like brutes," which instead seems the goal for many sciocchezzaio helped by television and the disaster that our country is also present and especially at school where you study the art and music (so to speak) only to the average, the only country in the world, the one showing how civilized.
When it comes to the woman's 'fault' that makes his psyche is even greater.
It reminds me though not the exact lines of Jesus Lopez Pacheco (Spanish poet no longer released in our country) that describes something like a desire to be elsewhere:
"... Two trains stop at the opposite track, each of the windows watching the faces of those who go in the opposite direction, not wanting to go into your ..."
Theme taken up for life by Fernando Pessoa that poetry is a kind of synthesis (from my point of view) by making it clear all the philosophy and psychology of every human being that you look, you see, you try. Without finding it.
So look anorexic 'mental', rounded bodies, squared in absurd positions and locations (Surrealism), or broken into cubes (Picasso, Carra), but all with a totally original and courageous writing, where the faces out clay as shown ( we are) and not as alien as the eye can indicate a hurry.
The island is not, the work that somehow means severance tiny man before the universe, though it seems entirely different (and style it is), only confirms solitude ( in this case there is a 'prime' that is sitting on the moon) and the need, necessity and duty to turn our gaze elsewhere, and from there find each other.
Much easier in past centuries when the relationship with nature was not physically impossible as it is now.

Beppe Costa