Stefano Riva, a reflex of a contemporary teenage tragedy, born on the lake and bloomed in the city between the lights and lies.
I’ve always lived my existence like in the movies, like Hollywood celluloids taught me to: spellbinding to the beauty of the end and depending on the precarity of the people – I desperately find a potential in people, they have so much grace in all of those private dark places they try to hide every single day; I’m not actually use to hide anything anymore. I am what you see; I am what you feel. I can be nothing but I could be anything, I own no things but I could get the whole cake.
When I was a child, I could not find myself in the concreteness I was living in, so, I decided to find my place, and my pleasure, in art…in any which ways. So people started getting so unnecessary to me, places were only papers for my visuals and I got lost a little too much in the fabulous blue-shaded madness of Stefano Riva.
I met Warhol and I slept with Elvis, I got drunk with Frida and fucked Virginia: all my friends were dead but I was okay with that.
Moving to the city, everything had to change, I had to start facing the ugly truth I beautified for all those years, Elvis was dead and Virginia had a swim with rocks in her pockets. The wolves were hungry and the Gods were impatient to greet me so I had a dance with the beasts and a toast with the beauties but I died, I died every day, again and again, continuously aware, since the day I discovered the light in the darkest room I’ve even been into. The wolves were gone and the Gods were decayed so I was finally free to be what I was meant to be: a beautiful disaster, a magnificent example of a Greek hero who lost it all in order to gain the lesson.
After all the wars and all the fights inside and outside my walls – I absorbed all the people, all the losses, all the places and all the words into my tissues and now I wish that you could see, how good you look inside of me.