Antonio Nasuto - Wet eyes

Antonio Nasuto earns a degree in Architecture from the University of Naples, where he subsequently completes a three-year specialization in Design. This multidisciplinary training decisively influences his visual language, characterized by compositional rigor and attention to the structure of the image.
He is currently a lecturer of Artistic Anatomy at the Academy of Fine Arts in Foggia, pairing his teaching with ongoing pictorial research focused on the human body and the narrative dimension of the figure.
He has exhibited in solo and group shows at national and international levels. Among the major ones: the solo exhibitions at the Palazzetto dell’Arte in Foggia (2002, 2003), the group show dedicated to P. P. Pasolini at the Tribunale della Dogana in Foggia (2007), 150 Souvenirs d’Italie at the Galleria d’Arte Moderna e Contemporanea “Atelier degli Artisti” in Rome (2011), Il filo di Arianna. Labirinto fisico e mentale at Palazzo delle Arti Beltrani in Trani (2011), the solo exhibition at the Palazzo Ducale Paternò Caracciolo in Pietramelara (2013) and L’ospite inatteso in Villetta Barrea (2016).

There are moments when love no longer speaks, yet continues to be felt.
In this work, the two women seem to be right there: at the exact point where what unites them wobbles, but does not wholly yield. There is a new distance, yet filled with presences.
One of them guards a pain that cannot be uttered. She holds it in her hands, protects it and at the same time fears it, as if a part of her suddenly weighs more than the rest. The other remains, despite everything. Her gaze does not accuse nor console: it seeks. It seeks what is being lost, what perhaps can no longer be saved, and what both would have liked to keep close.
In the middle, almost as a translation of their inner state, a warning: Wet Eyes.
It is not a signboard, but a condition. Those watery eyes are proof that love, when it is real, never leaves one unscathed. The heart slides, stumbles, hurts exactly where it believed it was most solid.
And then there is that silent presence, red as a memory that burns: the mannequin.
It is not an object, but a possibility. A third, awkward presence that inhabits the air between them: a memory, a desire, an ideal, a doubt. It has no face, and precisely for that reason it can take on a thousand forms. It is what divides, what confuses, what remains suspended even when everything is silent.
This painting does not tell a scene; it tells an crossing.
The fragile passage in which love between women — like any love that dares to be full — reveals its vulnerability.
It is an instant in which one understands that no bond is immune to cracks, and that precisely those cracks, at times, are the only possible truth.
Because there are stories measured not by what is said, but by what remains in the eyes when words fail.
And here, in the watery eyes of both, one can still read everything.