Fosco Sileoni

Fosco was born in Tolentino (Italy), on June 25 of 1974. From early childhood he is initiated to artistic studies by his father, with whom he visited numerous exhibits and museums. He would never forget the exhibit at Palazzo Pitti, especially “The Bride of the Wind” of Kokoshka and abstract works by Kandinsky; the memory of that emotion would follow him forever. Relation with his family is complicated and his rebellious nature (that perhaps developed too prematurely), led him to family conflicts and occasional escapes from home.

The only figure that embodies a certain auctoritas is that of his maternal grandfather, Aiace Casadidio, perhaps for the goodness hidden behind the austerity: outings to the sea listening to songs in Fiat 126: Battiato, Branduardi and Faber still resonate in his mind. The school has always been and forever will be a prison from which he desired to escape and escapism will take shape in football, becoming itself a poem for the young rebel. But this passion will not last long due to health reasons, at the age of 8 he discovered to suffer from a heart murmur and a principle of rheumatism in blood and had to give up football. As a teenager he abandoned his studies to pursue a possible career, but because of his fiery temper he is constantly forced to change jobs. The disagreements with family continue uninterrupted, as well as escapes from home. He embarks on a lasting and tormented love story that will last for almost a decade, whose end will leave a sign and will be the impetus for his artistic creation. But as it happens in music, that in order to dominate an instrument you must first learn the basics; he begins to devour books in fevered pursuit of knowledge; It will be useful, to the purpose, the vast collection of his father: essays, poetry, fiction are the axis mundi of his painting.

Fosco Sileoni brushstrokes are characterised by abstract influences, incisive and frenetic gestures; the gesture, which assumes artistic value itself, sees the fullfilment in a barbaric execution, almost unconscious, which takes shape in a figurative Hyperexpressionism where all of the artistic construction elements take seat, even in their absence, in a swirl of words, collages, enamels, acrylics, oils, pastels and scratches. Disturbing and savage antropomorhic figures are revealed to our eyes by a chaos of colors, with faces “twisted and distorted” that cry out before the horror of the world. Yet even in the most obscure work there is a glimmer of light.