Don't ask me why I paint.
There are things in life that are done because they must be done.
It almost seems not you who choose them, but they choose you.
To tell the truth, I can't even define my painting.
I almost feel like a set designer.
The constant desire to grasp a beauty of the past that no longer exists and which nevertheless tells stories of other dimensions.
Scenes of life from this and some other planet thousands of light years away from us. Colors, like a language common to all, tell of mysterious things and houses.
Palaces full of sky, cradles left far away, hearts like islands, spaceships that seem to confuse the viewer.
Real landscapes that encroach on the cosmos.
Candles lit in the middle of the oceans like a prayer, in this time where more than ever, speed takes us away from contemplation.
The characters are often an integral part of the scenography, which is the real protagonist.
Orderly chaos, the sense of nonsense.
The biography and the works
They say about me...
Allow me to introduce you to Scipona
A few years later, the dialogue with the painter resumes, when - now an adult - Scipona finds the images that had fascinated her as a child and is finally able to give a name to the person responsible for her emotions. After this new meeting with John Martín, who gives his vocation a definitive imprint, he will take a path that he will never abandon again.
How to express and give shape to something that presses so insistently from within? Which path to choose, when conventional ways of expression are not enough, to give vent to this explosion of creative energy that from an early age asks to be born? When this need arises in such a pressing and inexplicable way, there is no time for reflection: the artist does not have to provide explanations, he does not have to prove anything: he just needs to show the reality of his work.
L The analysis will take place later, when it will be necessary to place and give a name to what is seen, when and if explanations will be asked. Sometimes, seeing does not mean looking and the gaze does not always lead where you look.
Heir to Bosch's symbology which, years later, Dalí will materialize in his personal reconstruction of the world and obsessions of her subconscious, the painter collects the inheritance, without fearing the confrontation with the strength of the classical tradition and the avant-gardes. He recovers an ancient technique and with extreme elegance, he translates this personal universe and his interpretation of painting and life into his language.
His canvases represent scenes from everyday life, from our everyday environment, in which Scipona inserts destabilizing and grotesque elements, which do not comply with our communication codes. In this way, he obtains new aesthetic possibilities that lead to a new vision of emotions. A language parallel to the everyday one, but which extends and expands it.
The strength of its representations does not leave us indifferent, their mystery attracts us, we would like to know more, but we can only find the answer within ourselves. Like poetry , Scipona's painting opens up new glimpses of interpretation, it constantly talks about what we are and what we feel and behind all this, life pulsates. It is necessary to wait and digest, or rather, to hatch the idea, just as it is necessary to hatch the egg that appears frequently in its representations.
It is difficult for me to defend myself from gentle and subtle violence which permeates his images that radiate a powerful and elegant magnetism. "I want my canvases to sing without making noise - he tells me - as in dreams", and, undoubtedly, what we find in his works does not indulge in concessions: it offers itself as it offers a dream that can turn into a nightmare or make us want not to wake up again.
The sky is a prelude to the approaching storm, the fire invades the fields, there is passion in the hugs, the looks at the spectator are arrogant and even when the landscape is calm, a light breeze it shakes the scene and reminds us that it is only a momentary calm. There is no possible respite: deep inside, a stormy sea lurks that will lead us to the places where sirens sing. A place from which we will not return unscathed, but where, finally, we will no longer be afraid
Scipona es una joven y menuda pintora siciliana.
Lo primero que destaca en ella nada mas visualizarla son sus ojos que se salen de las orbitas por ver mas que el comun.
Tiene una nariz-boligrafo que no es tal. Su nariz es un pincel. Su cuerpo es un pincel.
Ella es un pincel destinado a plasmaciones oniricas a traves de un andamiaje renacentista sublimado.
Scipona es Rubens sin celulitis. Los cuadros de Scipona no padecen de retencion de liquidos.
Tiende a la tersura, a cierta macicez, quedando en los tules lo morbido, una morbidez vaporosa y sensual.
Scipona, como Velazquez, pinta el aire, ese aire procedente de los paisajes abruptos y decadentes de Da Vinci, que son los que avista con los prismaticos de su cotidianidad.
Sus personajes, como entresacados de un cuento de hadas, parecen estar jartos de antioxsidantes: pese a tener miradas de dilatada vivencia, poseen lozania de mediofondistas.
Scipona es el surrealismo encauzado de Dali’ ; es el aplastamiento producido por lo onirico en el corsé de la mas impecable tecnica pictorica.