Is it possible to play with color, to follow its appeals, to support its enticement?
Those ones of Enrico Campioli's painting are worlds of childish dreams, dizzinesses of shades, petals freed and distracted in the space, chromatic virtuosities. It is like to look through a kaleidoscope, a delight for the eyes. Everything is light and the light is everything and inside of it splinters of emotions multiply themselves as Catherine-wheels rearranged in a choreography that remembers the exhuberant motion of some frames from “Fantasy” movie by Walt Disney.
Campioli doesn't claim to resolve, to concentrate, but tries to cheer up: art that is a background, not only necessary but indispensable, like a meadow full of flowers, a starlit night, the ephemeral rainbow that reconciles with the sky, pure fantasy, a little boy's cage, made of plots of celestial bodies, maybe neverendless. So it is possible to catch a glimpse of the playful vitality of Mirò while set in order in symmetrical compositions, in an emotional pointilism, where the facets of the chromatic propagation belong to an inner reality. Pure abstraction, explored and reached through an expressionism,which is completely freed from any shape, of which only the memory remains, the emotional wave, the fine dust raised by the dancing life that wraps and overcomes everything. The title clears up and helps to enjoy, turns the fantasy, already impressed by psychedelic effects.
Some operas are magnetic, they create a centripetal tension like The Vortex, or have a tridimensional effect like The wave, or Saffo's room, others are allusive like The blue kiss, or echo of sentimental appeals like Two springs reflecting the moon.
Twirlings, with the footprints of various shades, is however the most exemplary of Campioli's artistic production, an endless dance in the sky; there are no more bodies but a presence, magical persistence. There is something of water like in all the others things depicted by the artist, fleeting, ephemeral but that continue, full of the most intense moment, of the expressive top, exactly when they are fixed on the canvas. And you feel heat, thrill, emotion, joy as if these phantasmagorias were masses of feverish, burning, throbbing with life.
It is not possible to be sated with these operas, one creates the other…and then? And then?
Dematerialize the world, here what is left: splinters, confetti, shooting stars.
Like an elf the artist stole the light, he broke the diamond of the soul and these are all the emotions left. On the run, inside.

by Manuela Bartolotti