To find you in front of Stefania’s paintings seems like a passage of season, when Nature vibrates attending to its own rebirth or apparent death. The usual path of contemplation in front of a painting: watching, thinking, feeling, with Stefania’s paintings and drawing extend the contemplation to the whole body of the observer and the perception of her exclusive way of representing the world grows as if the image of the painting would be the proposal of a renewed Soul, capable of invading every inch of the body of the watcher.
Always and only through faces and bodies delicately painted, from soul to soul, when one looks at this motionless, but not still, dynamics, when he perceives this astonished and alive stillness, the slow parade of these paintings enters in memory as a multitude of people on their way to look for a lost identity.
You feel like touching them, or at least grazing them, this faces that seem to challenge the mystery of life. You want to go close to the pulsating lips of her women to feel the soft blow of their breath.
There’s nothing imploring on their look, full of dignity, of a face thousand times represented on Stefania’s paintings, maybe her own face, but the denounce of the right to ask and know, in every way, and through every expressive tool, what hides behind the enigma of existence.
The narrative style of a first expressive stage of this rare painter is about to reach its highest level, the ability to “narrate” a face and not only to represent it, almost reaching an impossible result: a painting that appears different every time we look at it and at the same time the certain feeling, even after many meetings, to see it for the first time.
So, when your look leaves one of her paintings, grows a natural desire of a new meeting, like it happens with the mystery of art and also, as immortal literature says, with a great sentiment of love.