Here is my dad. He was only 19. I was only 1. We were too young for each other. This fucker made me suffer, but it was worthy. I love you dad. But what were your goals? You always wanted to be famous and rich. It was difficult for me to find what it means to be an artist with such an example… or maybe it was easier! I just had to do the opposite you did.
But if your goals and you means to reach them were not something to learn from, at least your attitude is still a fucking good example. You created your own career, you always have endless energy and self-confidence to imagine and build projects from nothing. You always did whatever the fuck you wanted, no matter what.
Meanwhile I had this father saying I didn’t have talent, that I was not worth it… but in the meantime I saw you doing always the impossible, reinventing yourself on and on… and I learned from what I saw you do, instead of from what I heard from you.
Inside me there’s always a very powerful voice saying non-stop very loud and clear: you can’t, you’re not good, you have not talent, you won’t make it, quit … but at the same time in my heart there’s an unstoppable force which carries on and on no matter what, and I think the mixture of these two is what gives some interest to my work. After all you were right, it’s true, I have not talent, I have nothing to say … but I say this nothingness so loud, and I express my talentless skills with such a conviction, that they make me Bellisimo. We belong to the stage.
Love you dad