How many stains cross our road? Many and infinite.
The stains around us are thoughts or paths not yet discovered, they are shadows of things never said, or they are just stains of Indian ink slipped onto a sheet of paper.
The works of Maria Clotilde Schenetti are all of this: they are streets where we sometimes encounter ghosts or scrutinizing eyes that would like to show us their way; I am a cultured tree while the wind caresses it and becomes a narrative voice.
In the work where the color flows slowly towards the sheet, the path is chosen, it does not follow indications, but the attentive eye of the artist knows what it wants from that flow, it is certainly looking for the colors of the earth, and makes them easily understandable by using the light, but difficult to manipulate, ink technique.
The house that we find in one of these sheets seems evanescent, perhaps that building that no longer exists, is only in the artist's memories or perhaps it was never a real house and is a thought collected and locked away.
Once again Maria Clotilde amazes us with the use of techniques and how she uses them, her colors and the poetry of the images.
Tina De Falco