I became acquainted with Francesco Vaccarone’s painting in 1984 during one of his exhibitions entitled “From Sunset to Dawn”, hosted in the headquarters of the La Spezia Chamber of Commerce. As a young boy I approached a world of artists who knew how to go beyond the visual arts and of which Francesco was one of the protagonists, animating the cultural scene of the city. I dreamed of being able to afford, one day, to buy one of his works. Of course I couldn’t imagine that, years later, I would be at his side in a series of countless exhibitions around the world and that, after meeting him, we would become friends to the point of not letting a day go by without seeing or hearing from each other, just as it has happened in recent years.
Francesco Vaccarone’s art was animated by profound reflections and also by the sense of human tragedy, which only great artists can grasp in everyday events. He was a man with whom it was possible to talk about Mozart as well as Piazzolla, Pasolini or Fellini, Heidegger and Severino. But listening to his stories, full of anecdotes, about the life of Giuseppe Caselli and other local artists, or of the time spent together with Renato Guttuso, seasoned with the irony that he knew how to spread like the spice of life, was a pleasure that was renewed every time, with the complicity of those who, by sharing their own life experience, end up enriching yours too.
Francesco was a man of great generosity, capable of giving welcome gifts, as he called his works in these cases, to couples who had become parents, thus toasting the arrival of a new life. He has made countless works available for charitable actions, thus intervening in support of situations of concrete needs. But what he gave us most was his smile, the ability to listen to the problems of many fellow citizens who went to visit him in the studio, as if it were not an artist’s studio, but the office of a psychologist. This is why I am not surprised to read so many certificates of esteem, friendship and words of comfort for his beautiful family in these hours. Now that I can’t see you, dear Francesco, I would like someone to tell me what the prefix for Paradise is so I can call you and still hear you say: “What are you doing pretty boy? What are you doing? Ring me when you’re under the door and I’m coming down…”
