Abstract Flower 3 (2020) Painting by Yūrei

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Original Semiabstract Watercolor on Arches fine art paper 300 g / m, grain Torchon rough, cold pressed, 100% cotton. Format 21x14.8 cm Watercolor Daniel Smith. Grafite ArtGraf Signed on the back by the author. About this artwork: Classification,[...]
Original Semiabstract Watercolor on Arches fine art paper 300 g / m, grain Torchon rough, cold pressed, 100% cotton.
Format 21x14.8 cm
Watercolor Daniel Smith. Grafite ArtGraf
Signed on the back by the author.

Related themes

FioreFiore Di CampoFiore AstrattoNataleRegalo Di Natale

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Yurei is the name with which I chose to sign my works of Figurative Art. I don't think it was a coincidence, even if everything in my life appeared in the first form of game. p > “For fun” was also[...]

Yurei is the name with which I chose to sign my works of Figurative Art.

I don't think it was a coincidence, even if everything in my life appeared in the first form of game.

p>

“For fun” was also my approach to painting: a long period of convalescence, the desire to have “something in common” with the person next to me, the curiosity to try my hand at a language that gives it always fascinated me but I also feared it; the inability to tell through brushes, and color - I have always been in love with black and white -, and the lines on paper, the things that pressed inside me and that I wanted to say. Even more so then, because they were days during which I was strongly experiencing the after-effects of a hospital stay which revealed its most debilitating profile.

It was for my birthday that I gave myself a small set of watercolours, the cheapest between the brushes, a block of paper.

All that was needed was to begin to rediscover that "child I" that had held my hand in the Theatre, Writing, Photography, and which was now slowly returning to caress.

I began to cheer up.

The colors, the brushes, the paper; they were crutches.

The days were no longer "endless".

I started walking again.

Without any destination, yes. But I walked.

And life at the same time, as if sensing the rustle of the steps, the slow rhythm of the walk, the slowness on the ground, revealed unknown obstacles that stood in front of my tracing a path. Lead me.

I began to see with a gaze that had changed and I touched the essentiality within which I recomposed the pieces of my days, thrown away, in bulk, by an "unexpected" that forced me like strings on my wrists, on my arms, on my feet, inside a sea without seeing a shore: my dearest affections, my being what I love, my art. Where "art", slowly, took on its noblest, most ancient meaning again: the art of the blacksmith, the carpenter, the accountant, the comedian, the painter. Profession.

I didn't have a "workshop" in which to train. The only one was the stage. And my teachers. Without ever telling me anything. But in their silence and in my observation, they transmitted to me the being Theater that I found every day between lopsided brushstrokes and invented colours, alongside curiosity, a never-satiated "full", the desire to make mistakes in an always different way. To the need to say, next.

The "child I".

Someone who tells stories as a profession and has a pointless curiosity.

This is how Yurei was born.

And the journey, each new day, is not over yet.

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