Writing about Maurizio Pellegrin
Writing about Maurizio Pellegrin is like gathering fragments of a conversation shattered in unusual wisdoms of those who know to install the “aesthetic dimension” in their own lives.
At times the aesthetic dimension, entering too much in graphic representation, afflicts the feeling, the gracious naturalness of those who speak the words that he knows and enriches in languorous charges of nostalgic promises, and we are transported in the literary territory of betrayed desires.
The shame of what hides within the folds, seducing our gaze, is not able to veil the solitude and inevitability of the destiny of the void. The desiring principle loses itself in multiple winks and can no longer finds the road home. The bewilderment of desired objects attempts a vain reconstruction of the sense of life, but is a movement without intent. The enormous deposit of memories still projects the right of a protagonist who no longer exists.
To manage the unconscious is a great work and one only becomes great when he loses the measure of the dimension.