Bruno Pontiroli is a dreamer. He lives in a cloud. An airplane crashes into the cloud. He loves images. They constantly inhabit his mind. Objects emerge and from his dreamlike visions he conjures up a shared universe where centaurs cut off the head of half-men half-horse creatures with scissors, mermaids are carried by fish with legs and dromedaries fit their cubic-shaped humps into each other. Even pregnant women’s bellies are cubic-shaped. Everything is living: clouds have vertebrae, snowmen have a spinal cord. They are alive. Not for long. Sometimes they have been cut up by propellers, lying torn open on the floor or crushed against a wall. In a corner of the canvas: the fingers of a hand are tied up in knots, there is a dismembered juggler and a cloud is on fire. Nothing is to be taken seriously in his poems-images where Poetry dominates.
Pontiroli’s works have their own [sur]reality: the improbable becomes meaningful and the unlikely images never cease to amaze us. If you abandon yourself to their light, you’ll be carried away into your own dreams. Nobody sees the same thing. Often children – and adults who are young at heart – enjoy a personal experience before his works. Dream grey, night blue: in the full palette of sleep colours where dreams come to life, everything is possible.