Here the value placed on the creative act, and intuition become the only, self-referential, meaning. Bresciani makes hard things easy, experiments with colour tending to a clearly informal and tactile orientation, and experimentation with new clays flows into more open sculptures, the rhythm ascensional compared to previous ones, dilating to fill the space, dreamlike, as if to reaffirm the autonomy of art. In taking the object to the limits of representation, however abstract, detached from any naturalistic reference, the object is raised to the status of icon, asserting its presence in such a way that these sculptures demand attention and become images.
They seem an embodiment of a case of transference, Freud might say, between the organismic and vitalistic impetus of nature and music and poetry enshrining the unending, ancestral, mysterious movement of the Earth weaving between dissolution and reconstruction. Bresciani does not oppose form with formlessness, they are complementary, un-fullness defines matter. In assembling vertical tiles like strips of cloth, space acquires presence and form in the shape of physical objects. Earth, ash, textural mixtures as alchemic matrixes are recurring elements throughout his production, blue and red hues, tonal variants of grey and black, and shades of white used in this series of sculptures embody emotional tensions, like a divertissement for the soul. For Bresciani the memory of images, impressions, shapes and experiences, diluted by time and space, do not point to the past, but to thought, creation, transforming matter, alive and pulsing. He creates visual shortcircuits, tactile counterpoints as signs, traces, evidence of times past, in order to assign new meaning in an eternal present. Earth is contained inside matter, the artist seems to remind us, and it is in childhood that the wonder, the enchantment of the world shape an inchoate jumble of personal images and forms free from the grid of reason.
His Territmi are moulded directly from the magma of memory, from dreamtime, the place, as Freud would say, where indelible images are inscribed, belonging to the personal history of the subject and evoking in the mind of the viewer, from different viewpoints, hybridizations of form and poetry, previously unseen rhythmic suggestions in an exercise in tranfiguration from real to imaginary.
