FLUOSTYLEseto critico di

Pale and lunar, Andy has a persona you wouldn’t be surprised to find in Francis Scott Fitzgerald or Kerouac’s pages. Not a fine connoisseur, I have nothing to say about him as a musician, which is described to me as cultivated and talented. On the other side - in a somehow queer way - I confess my appreciation towards him as a painter which I had he pleasure to know by chance not later then a few months ago in Marco Lodola’s studio. His burning, overwhelming feeling for painting has ever since appeared as crystal clear to me. Though he talked to me about his passion for artists actually far from his own work, it was already clear to me how this elf-like being - little Bowie, little Lichtenstein, little Pisa-last-phase Haring - actually had a statement to make with his very own figurative kaleidoscope, in the third millennium’s “new” painting big book. Conscious of the irrepressible urgency squatting in Andy’s heart and spirit, I warmly support the need to curiously wait for the harvest of his persistent effort. While I wish for a comeback of the Andrea Fumagalli who’s enough for everyone including himself, I invite the admirers of his works to forget, for a second, the identity of the author, in order to escape the grasp of that backward-eye attitude that has so far limited our view to a small, side-line part of his unexampled genius.