Creation's Mojo

By Salvatore Romano

 

**Title:** *Creation's Mojo*

**Author:** Salvatore Romano, Italian Painter and Writer

*Creation's Mojo* is an extraordinary collection that blends the artistic and narrative talent of Salvatore Romano, a versatile Italian artist known for his captivating paintings and compelling stories. In this compilation, Romano guides us through a vibrant and surreal world, where his painterly skill and literary creativity intertwine in a unique union.

The collection features three unpublished stories, each with its intricate plot and memorable characters. Romano transports readers to unexplored dimensions where imagination merges with reality, creating stories that capture the soul and stimulate the mind.

Alongside the stories, *Creation's Mojo* provides an in-depth look into the author's paintings. Romano's artworks are a visual journey through vibrant colors, suggestive forms, and abstract concepts. Each brushstroke tells a story, and every detail invites exploration of new and fascinating worlds.

Salvatore Romano, with his exceptional ability to paint with words and colors, invites the reader to experience a complete artistic journey. *Creation's Mojo* is a tribute to boundless creativity, an ode to the beauty of art in all its forms.

This remarkable collection is also available in English and Japanese translations, expanding its reach to a global audience and sharing the magic of Romano's creations with readers around the world.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Salvatore Romano
• Release date: Nov 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9788894745573

Book preview

All rights reserved

Salvatore Romano ©

Life of Stars®

September 2023

[e-mail]

unavitadistelle.com

Disclaimer

This collection of stories, enriched with original paintings, is a unique and authentic artistic creation. Please consider the following:

1. **Copyright:** All stories and illustrations in this book are protected by copyright. The author holds exclusive rights to reproduce and distribute the works contained in this work. Any unauthorized attempt to copy or distribute the content of this book will infringe upon the author's copyright.

2. **Original Paintings:** The original paintings included in this book are unique works of art created by the artist specifically for this publication. Reproduction, sale, or distribution of the original paintings without the written consent of the artist is prohibited.

3. **Artistic Integrity:** The original paintings and stories have been carefully selected and combined to create a complete artistic experience. Please appreciate the work of the artist and author in the context in which they are presented.

4. **Author's Opinions:** The opinions expressed in the stories are those of the author and the story's characters and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the artist or the publisher.

5. **Limitation of Liability:** The publisher and author assume no responsibility for any damages or consequences arising from the use of the information contained in this book. The use of the works is at the reader's own risk and discretion.

6. **References to Third Parties:** Any references to individuals, places, or events in the book are purely coincidental and are not intended to harm or disparage any third party.

7. **Prohibition of Alteration:** The works contained in this book must not be modified, adapted, or interpreted differently from their original meaning without the written consent of the author and the artist.

By reading this book, the reader agrees to the terms and conditions of this disclaimer. Please respect copyright, artistic integrity, and the intentions of the author and artist while enjoying this work.

Gruppo A.V.Italia srl Part Iva 03624001206

September 2023

To my son Alessio, with boundless love.

Salvatore Romano

SALVATORE ROMANO

CREATION’S MOJO

Biography of the Author

Salvatore Romano was born in Palermo in 1957. After studying art at the Art Institute of Palermo and pursuing a course in painting at the Academy of Fine Arts, he moved to Florence in 1983, where he continues to live and work. He has held around fifteen solo exhibitions and numerous group exhibitions, with the most significant being in 2007 at the Galleria d'Arte Moderna in Cento, Ferrara, focusing on the New Symbolists. He has been the subject of attention from nationally renowned art critics such as Marcello Venturoli, Dino Pasquali, Francesco Carbone, Nicolò D'Alessandro, and Roberto Roda. Material and information about his artistic activity can be found at the Primo Conti Foundation in Florence; at the Central National Library of Florence; at the Marucelliana Library in Florence; at the Giovanni Carandente Library of the Civic Gallery of Modern Art in Spoleto (PG); at the La Quadriennale Foundation in Rome, and at the National Library of Archaeology and Art History in Palazzo Venezia, Rome.

[e-mail]

www.salvatoreromano.eu

https://www.facebook.com/salvatore.romano.180/about

Publisher's Note

If I were Charon, I would want to ferry a painter.

A painter elevates the spirit, transmuting matter into images, thought into apotheosis, color into a blend for the soul.

If I were a painter, I would desire the silence of Hell, the warmth, and the power of the image to sketch its fading outlines.

If I were a reader, I would want to imagine merging with the substance of the written word within the canvases of this painter, a potent synthesis of an ambiguous, excessive, and frenzied millennium in which acceleration is the virtue, synthesis the compromise. A painter of chiaroscuro tones, a writer of rarefied shades of imagination, dreams, and hypotheses.

A hypothesis in which silence and uncontaminated matter are masters of an existence that wanders and seeks. What does it seek? Peace, answers to anxieties, tribulations, which plunge us once more into a meaningful confluence of humble questions about our life journey.

A gentle and beneficial visual immersion into a fulfilling future, through powerful female images, a gift of divine creation, a mythological and biblical text, surreal and narcissistic, in which Narcissus, however, is a woman.

The Publisher

THE HOUSE

The events I am about to recount belong to a distant past and have radically altered my life. Now I am a man with white hair, and these episodes occurred when I was in the prime of my youth, precisely around the age of thirty, when I thought I still had everything to gain from life.

I was born in a southern city, and during my teenage years, I moved to Umbria with my parents. My father was a man of average height, robust build, and a stern gaze. He was involved in trade, and from him, I inherited a practical sense of life, with which each of us constructs it based on our abilities, without pursuing unattainable dreams. My mother, besides taking care of the family, had a strong passion for the violin, an instrument she played daily while I listened in reverent silence, letting the notes fill my soul. I have only fond memories of my mother. It was she who encouraged me from a young age to pursue literary studies, sensing my deep passion for books. A small woman in stature but with a strong character, she could assert herself in all matters, even against my father, who would have preferred me to pursue scientific studies rather than extend the list of impoverished writers. He was mistaken. From the very beginning, I managed to establish myself to the extent that my income soon allowed me to lead an independent life.

I moved to Umbria, where I continued my literary studies with good results, maintaining a decent standard of living thanks to the stories that were regularly published by major publishing houses. I wasn't considered a top-tier writer. My genre was aimed at readers of mystery novels, but my books sold, and that was what mattered. I was of average height, slim, with a handsome face and smooth skin, and a pair of deep brown eyes. I have always been resolute, confident in character, and at that time, I did not admit any deviations: law-abiding, loyal to my loved ones, meticulous in everything. For me, the world was a one-way street: I was too strict with myself, doing only what seemed right to me, and everything had only one aspect.

I can't say I was happy because I knew that happiness is a fleeting flame we chase throughout our lives without ever truly reaching it, but I was content. Perhaps I was a writer destined to reach greater heights, always surrounded by beautiful women who often became my companions. What else could I desire? Only I and the things immediately around me existed. Nothing else! I was blind to the world's problems, believing that everyone had what they deserved. Even the homeless, I thought, had not been capable of achieving more in life, and so their grim existence was justified: incapable people deserved nothing.

All the world's evils were inevitable.Perhaps the idea of war as the only cleansing agent of the world, or the end justifying the means, still held some value back then. I don't attribute blame to my parents for what I was; they had raised me, giving me everything a child could ask for. Perhaps I needed to face some hardship or undergo a trauma to awaken from my comfort and complacency. Nevertheless, albeit belatedly, my worldview changed. But you will see this in the story I'm about to tell, where strange events overturned the order of my life!

My days passed peacefully. In the morning, I would write, around one o'clock, I'd have lunch, then retire for a couple of hours to relax with my readings. Around four, I'd resume writing, and in the evening, I'd entertain myself. I wasn't a believer; I proclaimed myself a materialist in all things and shunned the intangible as mere inventions of the mind. Perhaps it was precisely due to my materialism that I had become a successful mystery writer. I enjoyed analyzing everything; to me, nothing was left to chance; everything had a simple explanation, and the truth couldn't be hidden. I still remember the stories my grandfather used to tell me when I was a child, stories of ghosts and strange things, and I would listen in rapt fascination. But as I grew up, I retreated into an armor I believed to be impenetrable, where everything had a rational explanation, and the unknown was