Art is like a big stomach: it takes reality, chews it up, and digests it. What comes out is a different piece of reality: more precious because it’s able to add a meaning to it, to explain what is reality.
Max Papeschi’s paintings are like this: I can hardly imagine an image so strong and powerful in displaying the mess that Italy 2009 is. It’s exactly like that: the power which gives the finger, and fuck u all.