Dario Maglionico, was born in Naples in 1986. He graduated in Biomedical Engineering at the Politecnico di Milano.
He discovered his passion for painting uncorking 40 ml of white titanium and then decided that the color on fingers is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. As self-taught nails, covers again and again many paintings in search of his artistic soul.
During 2006, while he was still working on his engineering degree he joined “La Scuola Degli Artefici” of The Academy of Fine Arts of Brera, Milan.
He became an Engineer, but his clean hands and the childhood’s memories take him back once again to plunge in the scent of linseed oil and the nauseating smell of paint thinner.
He hasn’t decided yet to quit and thinks he won’t ever.

The work as a memories’ reprocessing

The work as a realization of the fleeting shapes and floating shadows in the pit of memory.
The ecstatic contemplation of reminiscence and the impulse to grasp the essence of matter give rise to the instinctive application of the colors. The painting as a block to sculpt, gains relief from a resurgence of dynamic images. A lightning, both static and full of drama at the same time, is prey of the two-dimensional tissue.
The faded memory, worn by time, comes together in an unique kaleidoscopic and vivid pattern. This looks as a multiplication of representations, each one capable of grasping the thin nuances of feeling crossing it. So, between colors there are strength, weakness, terror, suffering, violence, death, life, pain and hope, chasing each other.
The images, like musical notes bringers of deep meanings, lies in juxtaposition in an anarchist pentagram, composing the harmony of the complex and its fragmentation, enforcing the feeling of dramatic moments. But the work in its entirety is what gives birth to compassion in the viewer, about the most inner feelings behind each work as the reflection of a man’s soul.
The portrayed event doesn’t work out a real view over the scene, but only the unconscious reworking of the related feeling.
On canvas, the compassion of the scene is lost in blurred outlines releasing the most clashing afflictions of the soul.