How many times have we had to sign our names, at the bank, at the post office, for the express courier … it’s an automatic act that we more often than not don’t give much importance.
This time no, the pen that I am holding in my hand has black ink and carries weight. I know exactly what I am doing. While I sign my name I quickly think over my life and I know that as soon as I finishing writing, it will doubtless change. For me, that signature means responsibility; it is signing a contract with those who have come before me and making a promise as a gentleman to those who will come after me. This makes me proud, but leaves behind wounds that are difficult to heal and feelings that have been trampled upon. One turns a page, one opens a new chapter, marked by probable difficulties that do not intimidate me. The crisis is intensifying, the twist and turns are training, one is learning from defeat and finding out who one’s true, few friends are.
In order to obtain what I have in my head I started struggling when I was nineteen-years-old and I certainly won’t stop at 34.
I am always seeking to complete the identity of my vines and the business and perhaps even my own … searching, understanding, changing, with an unnerving alternation between unhappiness and satisfaction.
I am not accustomed to publishing things that deeply concern me personally, being a bit guarded about such things, but today [27 June 2012] is too important and I couldn’t help but make you a part of it.