With wet hair sticking to his forehead.
Emanuele has huge, probing eyes, the only things rising from those pinched knees covering his nestled mouth.
Emanuele stares at the world from a bath.
Emanuele Sturlese reads, listens, travels and reassembles.
He doesn’t pass by, he torments contexts with a caress.
Emanuele Sturlese grows up and Becomes Discordant, claustrophobically floating behind his pictures, portraying works of industrial death.
Over the fluo pvc texture of his dj-setting gals. Emanuele carves the inevitably decadent scenario of split-ended urban fringes with adhesive X-shaped gum sheets, luckily distant from disastrous post-industrial restyling. Recovering crumbling factories. Emanuele turns them into the projected skeleton of surreal internal-eyed puppets living in the atemporality portrayed by the electric eye.
Discordant is alive, playing with obsessions, forging his subjects in the blink of a mechanical eye then leaving them without their puppeteer, back to the nail of breathless impersonality.
Discordant gathers his anaerobic toys and portrays them, turns them into Inner Visions.
He takes them out at night then keeps them by his side, in his constant shuttling between Italy and Berlin.
Discordant hides the stink of surreal toxicity, his takes on the barest, most irritating reality.
Discordant looks between the gaps, beyond the blanket of mites, below the dust.
He swims in seas of metal and lead.
He makes up eyes with rust.
Arianna Milesi-Curator
