Coasts, emptied from man's weight, begin to breath again. There's a sense of demobilization in everything. The sea goes back being essentially alone, without our need for rest in the way. Another summer's finale is told in the essentials geometries of these pictures
There are, in Italy, dozens comic schools and hundreds of cartoonists. Every region, every city, has its own story. Rome and Milan, but also Florence, Arezzo, Padua. Drawers, painters, inkers: every page the product of a plurality of artists; or rather of one alone. Every page a work of art, or not. Artistic comics, to be catalogued and preserved. Or rather to be read and forgotten on a train. Everything and its contrary flies over Italian cartoonists' tables. We see them here working in small studios, bedrooms, cellars. The worls imagined with their desk lamp as partner. We see them from above, almost transformed in comic themselves, flat on the page.