I have a serene attitude towards my artistic activity: it has always infused into me a sensation of vitality, also when I have chosen to touch on dramatic or existential subjects. Perhaps this happens because art is not a "job", so it means freedom to me. Or, in all probability, because, following a personal vision of life matured over the years, I was able, at once, to circumscribe the role of art inside an existential analysis: art, for spectator, but also for the artist, has the "only" function of calling to live with great intensity, or, sometimes, it can simply, more directly, contribute to gladden moments lived together other people, while we are looking at it, or, after, when we brought it inside us. Nevertheless, every time I think of so elevated and inspiring word, art, I can not keep myself from assigning to it a much wider meaning than usually it has: I transfer art on an existential level, so art becomes the "art of living" and I invest it with all intentions and wishes that always keep the idea of a new way of life alive inside me.
So, in these terms, the definition of "artist" embarrasses me and find me unworthy.
More modestly, I should be happy that spectators live some additional moments of gaiety after seeing my works.

When, alone, Im involved in my artistic activity, I can not smile by myself (a smile is a true smile only when it is shared).  
But I can, through my artistic activity, try "to teach" other people (and to learn I myself) to be dispensers of smiles, so that we can smile together.   

"To do Art" means to be able to smile, to carry gaiety.

Art for me
2007 By Andrea Paolini