Piero Racchi, painter and poet, namely:
The scream of nature.
So he calls and writes him the critic Carlo Prosperi:
"The real travelers - Baudelaire said - those are just starting to leave, nor senz'avere goal or reason. And venture, daring, into the unknown, even at the cost of sinking, trusting in their inspiration of visionaries. As the knights wandering the Middle Ages that s'inoltravano in the forest, at random: both knew that sooner or later something would happen. Piero Racchi so also, an artist in his own way unique and multifaceted, that passes effortlessly from poetry to the novel, from music to art figurative, reaching under plastic-pictorial outcomes of great originality and to secure relief. the forest in which he moves is the world overwhelmed by technology and consumerism, where nature, tortured and humiliated, it seems relegated to an ancillary role. the artificial dominates, scattering, however, the land of sewage and garbage. Di ruins and rubble. the man himself is now a prisoner of the "iron cage" that he forged: a cage that sometimes takes the form of a runaway train, which is proceeding at breakneck speed on a night of phosphorescent lights unnatural. perspective is obviously the catastrophe, divined from Racchi with clarity of seer. the forest becomes a sort of maze where, at every turn, meet the monsters products from the sleep of reason. at every step is the squander. scraps, wrecks, waste cluttering the path. lacrimae sunt rerum. Nature cries, like the "junk outcast" on which the double triumph of fashion and technology. Here the snake biting its tail really: fashion devours every day itself, the technology is nourished by their own obsolescence. renews the myth of Cronus swallowing his children. it is the parable - obscene - of modernity ...
