Italy, a messy garret in Tuscany, Heggno is an hysterical artist. He has never sold a painting, because usually he destroys them, or loses them, before. His art can be found in abandoned warehouses, sewers, trash cans, and in some flooded cellars.
He was born in 1992, in a shabby garret, in a small town in the centre of Italy. In elementary school he already shows great inclination to action painting, dirtying and doodling on other children's drawings.
In middle school he discovered the dada, and he starts drawing mustaches on every picture of the characters in his English book.
From 14 to 18 he attends an artistic high school, but he spends the lessons smoking in the bathroom, looking for worms in the garden, or secretly reading John Fante's books in the understairs. He completely looses interest in visual arts, and he withdraws just before his graduation exam.
Afterwards begins a period full of wanderings, vain attempts, and ramblings. He works in a factory, in a brewery, in a pet shop, as a garbage man, as a plasterer, farmer, and delivery man. He gets passionate about cockroaches, experimental music, nature and uselessness.
During this time his artistic propension boils inside of him, but whitout ever finding release, like magma inside of a sleeping vulcano. But it's exactly in this year that Heggno absorbes everything, learns, chews, and digests, everything that he enters in contact with. For years he lives on the sidelines of the world, working at the edge of society, living at the mercy of uneasy and irregular social relationships, gaining hundreds of different experiences, exploring the world with his own hands.
Growing what will be his expressive style, distinctly inspired by the rotten, by garbage, and the drift of matter.
During this years he experiments many ways of expression, using tens of different pseudonyms for music, videos, writing, poetry, scripting and graphics.
At 26 he rediscoveres art, in a classical sense. He starts painting and sculpting, always using new materials and technichs. Tracing his evolutive path, painting after painting, work after work.
Hysterical artist, restive, and incredibly prolific, forced by his own instincts to create in every possible way, searching for a catharsis that he hopes to never find.
stuff that makes me deep
The aesthetics of my works don't interest me. That's never the end, it's never the starting point, but only the collateral fruit of the creative process, the bastard child of the construction phase, the physical expression of the concept, now irreparably contaminated by reality.
The narrative, visual or not, often represents the loss, the decline, the descent into madness. A fall into the abyss.
This is what happens to those that lose something because if fear, or desperation. To those who search something bigger, or more real, to become a part of. They end up falling into it, and lose themselves.
But the highest form of obsession isn't getting lost into something, but getting covered by it, transforming it into your own flesh, into your clothing, into your appearance, into your sleep, into your skin, into your eyes, into the air that we breathe. Until all that is left of us, and all others can see of us, is nothing but a deformed shape, intuited Just by a haze, incomprehensible, for some.
Becoming obsession. Ensure that one's own dedication to himself, and to his vision, is so strong that it saturates everything. This is how I live.