The artistic act as a journey back to infancy and to regain its lost beauty through the sweat of hard work. After the first artistic impulse in the magma of a clayey mass one begins a long constructive-destructive research in the studio. To begin work means finding a block of marble suitable for the purpose. Sferico cuts into the stone as if into the belly of the earth to unite matter with space. Calibrated geometry of liquid forms drawn from the marble block using the three orthographic projections and continual measurement and reconnaissance of the draft, with the constant risk of losing everything. The challenge is to arrive at the surface which delineates the border, intended as a zone of equilibrium between the subjective ego and the world which, if reached, will be a place of the imaginary.
Sferico’s work focuses on Man as the central figure of the universe. His artistic and humanistic research delves to the roots in the fertile humus of origin, an inquiry into that certain something contained inside of everything. The city of Opatija in Croatia has with the aid of a sponsor commissioned a large work in white marble in the main square. Sferico is now working on the production of his statues in monumental scale using the latest materials.
In the reading of the acts made of apparently disconnected syntaxes, you made yourself unconscious of a dyslexic grammar that the brain would have known how to sort and manage them freely as raw material. Literary cannibalism was necessary for the new, as a palette of primary colors, consistent with obtaining combinations of open ranges. Complex emotional elaborations were played by synthesizers, in pieces that dug the sand under your feet. You could not help but open the track of the disc, under hypnosis of the bass that oxygenated your muscles, in ancestral rhythms out of control. The diamond storm spotted the stage with fireflies to go out on the dancing extension and get lost in sight at a night owl party. The score was the movements launched into space that left trails in notes that would have drawn your melody. You should have found the lyrics capable of moving the soul from earthly lethargy, in a take-off towards the immense. Developing good thoughts was the work of life. God waited for nothing but a nod of surrender of arms and the vow of confidence. Deaf, you had danced, entering a state of trans, riding the arc of the night without stopping for a moment and you had become air like music, without your knowledge you had sung without even noticing, in a concert that had slipped out of hours. The improvisation had passed as a derivative of a text that had made you despair years before, you had abandoned it as unfinished and had re-emerged making your way into the subconscious, as soon as the drummer had hit the first shots of the instrumental piece, played in upbeat. The voice had leaned against the sparse notes of the Hammond organ to free itself beyond the strings of the distorted electric guitar.
The audience was a living sea moved by psychedelia that raged out of time by amplifiers that hunted elongated sounds. The dance was a centrifuge that threw you out. Having evaporated in the fever of a rhythm that left you no respite, you had consumed all the calories available, but you would not have eaten or slept to transcribe what you remembered words.
Prototype projects, sculpture elaboration currently in the atelier. Photo by Khou