Ten years ago I wrote a song, as a suite, entitled “Le vie dei colori” (Colours’ roads). The history of a lonesome journey of a man (and of every man) searching for himself, through truth and beauty. I found those colours’ roads in Raffaele’s works. Roads, tracks, meadows, rivers, courses, railways, canals, tracings, paths, lanes which show and paint the eyes’ path and guide the heart’s trip.

Moving routes and trajectories for our steps stopped to stare those rays of paints, those falls of dyes, those chromatic rains, those vertical rainbows, light and colour in a game of transfers from an ancient palette to a modern canvas, where the very same canvas remains a palette. Like a musician, Raffaele composes his score of notes and pauses, of sounds and silences, of rythms and sequences, of timbres and intervals, of scales of high and low notes. Like on a harp cords or on the many-coloured keys of a xylophone. Dreaming charms clinging on walls like clothes of poetry, like flags of fantasy. Raffaele chose the most difficult way by renouncing to pictures, shapes, themes, meanings and by venturing in the barest emotion. Thus, by getting lost on the colours’ roads, he searches and finds his own road to the colour where he accompanies himself and where we can meet him when we hunt for beauty and truth.