These faces by Grenci are evocations that comes from far away, recalled from an “other” word. They express some kind of excruciating feeling of distance, the desire of wanting to return while knowing that this is impossible. A looking back of painfull tenderness, as if, finally, the ultimate point of arrival at the truth of life had coalesced in these images. In many paintings by Grenci one imbides what George Braque had conclued over the years: “the only thing that remains is what is taken away from us, and it is the best thing we have”.
This chant, my chant is not that a looting of features and articulations, of beauties and abysses, made of paper and a few other tools. Transitory works and, with all their fragility, delivered to an indefinite time. They are looks that belonged to me, in a way, they left me stories, stories and tales of intangible and fleeting passions, made of bitumen and color. Here they are: incons in a fluctuating world, illusions and lightness popolating waters of melancholic soliloquies. A song of distance encloses them, in an attempt to give them a place, a landing, far from ephemeral resonnances.