I’ll tell you about a dream. I’ll tell you about a moment. I’ll tell you about Stacy. The latent work by Gianni Pacinotti published by Coconino Press (@coconinopress) struck me more than expected. Who has never said the wrong sentence at the wrong time? From one moment to the next, you find yourself catapulted into a place that you don’t even know how you got there. Or maybe you know, you know it well, but you don’t want to admit it. All this preamble to say that I myself am about to say “the wrong sentence”.
I have a love-hate relationship with Gipi.
His style, especially in lettering, is sometimes, or rather often, indecipherable. I have an aversion to his wanting to write by hand, but at the same time, I have a passion for his strokes. It is an intimate and intimist sign, where the author puts not only love, but soul into every store he tells.
I despise having to decipher a word, but at the same time, I could never imagine a different Gipi. I find myself like Gianni, the protagonist of Stacy, lying on a bed listening to voices (not) mine, burdened with giving an explanation as to why I said that sentence. And the only answer I can give myself is:
I love and hate Gipi.
