Though appreciating the habit of domesticating art to the point of being able to bear it in our hands before hanging it on our homes, the true nature of art invades and pervades the walls, from the ceiling to the floor.
Painting hasn’t only played the part of architecture’s skin as the lining of the buildings, but it also certified their function and necessity: let’s take the Sistine Site Specific as an example. Sadly the unfortunate habit to whiten rooms has acquainted artists to withdraw to the frame, the last shelter against furniture, ornaments, knick-knacks, lamps and assorted dŽcor aggression.
Edoardo Piermattei, a “marchigiano” artist by birth and fate that with the easiness of who learns art through promenades, had the delight to haunt for years the beating art’s heart from central Italy that still today keeps alive each and every artist.
Not only churches, workrooms and palaces, but the narrow medieval streets with colored plaster and a gentle tonality of brick walls, build Piermattei’s artistic sapience which chooses not to carve out more space inside the brushwood media, but to re-establish the hierarchical order: Art in the first place.
And he does it by hand, using powder and pigments bonded with glue and cement, in the certainty that art is mankind’s building, who after caves began to create its own confined and secure garden, its own Paradise. The eastern “Paradeisos” meaning takes us to a garden, protected by towers, where nature’s domestication is possible, that same nature that tries with its never ending effort, along with its sublime and terrible power, to crush man creations. Houses, palaces, and towers are always a replica and a reminder of each Paradise where inside the walls man performs his duties and from the windows glimpses the horizon with joy and apprehension. Walls, floor, ceiling, columns, arches, and friezes are the silent witnesses of events that remain like furrows of man’s passage which is always epic. Building arches that hold themselves for his first solo exhibition, Edoardo Piermattei is trying to build his own Porziuncola, a small parcel of land on which art tries to build itself as a clearing, as a break, as the restoration of the world.
