Happy new year and all that noise. I didn’t write anything because who the hell would read this artist’s nonsense when it’s family time? Also if you have a real job and responsibilities. I also figured that close to a month is a safe amount of time to get over the hang over of the holidays. We’re both refreshed and back on this. I finally returned to Italy where it isn’t an icy hell. You all can say I’m not a real Canadian, but I don’t care. I don’t fuck with -30 degree weather. It was cute for the first 5 minutes. I ran outside to catch snowflakes on my tongue which was followed by me waving to people on the street yelling “eh!” It feels good being back in land of linguine paved roads and hand gestures. That doesn’t mean it hasn’t been fun over there. I got to spend quality time with the people I love most during the most capitalist time of the year.

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I’m getting back into the groove of working again. Returning to the studio is like coming into a crime scene and you have to figure out what’s happened. Part of me wants to yell “It’ a crime murdering the painting game!” and make bird noises but I also want to be serious with you by saying you have to remember where you left off. I walk around looking at my brushes and crusted paint tubes like I’m playing the leading role of CSI. After I finish playing detective and restocking the studio with supplies, I paint. The self portrait is an interesting piece. What the conscious part of my brain is trying to figure out is how I’ll make this something different from my usual work. The unconscious part of my brain already has it planned but refuses to share the details like a selfish prick. It’s like I’m following a preset GPS made by Tyler Durden. As much as I can sit and think about it, it’s best I get in and buckle up for the ride.

Florence has really grown on me. Looking back at my bratty academy posts, I’m in an entirely different place. There’s no more hate and feeling isolated. The city and I both accepted each other. I grow to love it more and more as the days go by. I also wonder if this is happening because I know it’s going to end. My Paris move is coming up and Paris is not Florence and Florence is not Paris. It’s 2 different loves that can’t be appreciated the same way. As a man who can’t hold a relationship, I do like making metaphors about them and I adore the concept of love.  We are mutually separating. I think with what happened in my previous relationship  and where I am now that it’s important I finish this self portrait here. It’s more than a “Armando Cabba Break Up Painting”. This touches very level of myself. It’s the bitter sweet acknowledgement along with acceptance of inner peace. Even that last sentence doesn’t do it justice. My best friend is a writer and even though I appreciate and learn from his writing, I can’t form a solid sentence to describe it. This is why I’m a painter. Just like he can show you his world with a pen, I can show you mine with a brush.