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… The “gattidudini”, as Giancarlo Saran defines them, are a ‘forma mentis’: I would almost go so far as to call them a system of thought, or even a sort of “essay on the human universe”.

As far as I am concerned, they are a telescope pointed at myself and at each one of us, and at the same time the mirror in which our “cat” — feline in every sense of the word — looks at itself, at the world it crosses and at the world that surrounds it.

Gatto’s works speak universal languages: they put a finger on the wounded body of contemporary humanity and, paradoxically, smile at those wounds, because they reveal their deepest origin and their author — or rather, their authors — namely us. And that is not all: Gatto’s works illuminate the boundless spaces of the heart and the soul, and trace the territories of hope, on the edge of which humanity incredibly halts, hesitates and foolishly debates the best way to bring about its own extinction.

Gatto’s works trick you with their veil of soft signs and refined chromatisms. But behind the veil there is, yet again and always, each one of us: old or young, rich or poor, Muslim or Christian, believer or non-believer, white or black, free or prisoner, armed or unarmed, peaceful or violent, utopian dreamer or victim of a dark everyday life.

Seeking shelter in front of his works is not a good solution. It is better to take a deep breath and step into them. Inside, everyone measures themselves against themselves, measures their relationship with life, digs into their own convictions or their own objections and contradictions, and reflects on their relationships with others, with nature and with the world.

In any case, one must never expect Alessandro to say something predictable, because Alessandro does not seek to console, much less to please. His thought does not look for consensus: it flies free, it fears nothing and no one — indeed, it provokes, corrodes and scatters salt with both hands on open wounds.

A quiet piece of advice. Do not simply look at Alessandro’s works. Take possession of them — virtually, obviously — and then read in them what you are and what you would like to be, what you think and do not dare say. Do not necessarily expect to find confirmations.

You will not leave this exhibition indifferent. What you will see is not a Cat who always loves to purr: it is a Cat who loves steep, slippery rooftops, who loves the day as much as the night, who looks the good and the bad straight in the face. This is a Cat that excludes nothing and selects nothing. A Cat that speaks to the world — and his incredible palmarès of awards, received beyond the borders of our asphyxial peninsula, says a great deal about the quality of his palette and about his bold scores, which it is up to us to rewrite.

Giacinto Cecchetto