When you watch at paintings you always learns something of who created that. A life, a journey through time and the space that it's personal but became at the same time the place for the other: a journey to follow, an invitation to advancing in a new world that until that moment was not part of ourself. But even the concern to fall into the image that is in front of us, or to became his slave or adept; or even more the fear of remain disappointed, from what it could say but it did not, or that we're not, indeed, able to understeand, because his lenguage was undecodificable to our ears... so the compleatly dark, the silence of our mind crossed by affrante bowels, distroin it even more. It's not easy to watch at a paint. You need to speak his lenguage, but above all we must be able to stand in silence, listen and so understeand, understand through the silence itself the basics of a semantic uknown. The art of Giuseppe Palumbo is this silence, is this lenguage.Matter, color, signs that trap the observer in their dark and strong movements. Signs exiles, wandering in the boundless prairies of being, where the symphony sells space to the rapsody of a thousand lights, leading to the colourful and fragmented existence of man in search of modernity. When you're in front of the Giuseppe Palumbo's paints you are taken by the continued movement by the exploding masses, by "nervous" signs that seek balance in order to stop and talk. Art is even this: discomfort, hunger, confusion, turmoil, loss ... and more.The art is "abstract" although not "abstracts" from the context in which born, is formed and lives. So these works demand our attention, our interest, our desire to understand: them want to talk.. We are those signs of various colors (ethnic groups, cultures, religions ...), we are perpetually in motion and in danger of not meeting eachother. Fighter in a circus as clowns in a fair we are thirsty meeting of communication. But always remain unable to unite, to flourish in bright colors. Giuseppe Palumbo wants to be for his "brothers and sisters" a sort of contemporary aedo: his singing is the dream that is fulfilled between the sinuous lines that eat the space where he has raised, leaving them free in their movements, in their directions... some for us some for others. Or the movement of the circular: perfection that annihilates the perfectionism and invokes something that goes beyond perfection. The impregnable, the impalpable, the perfection. The circle closes, it seems to tell us Giuseppe Palumbo. We only wonder: where we are: inside or outside?

Prof. Mario Cappelletti