Paolo Battistutta: Instinct, Form, and Human Torment
Text by gallerists Cristian Contini and Fulvio Granocchia
The works of Paolo Battistutta unfold as a visceral confrontation with painting—a tense struggle between gesture and figure, between matter and thought. On large-scale canvases, the artist molds distorted, deformed human figures, suspended in a space that seems unable to contain them, as if they were attempting to break free, explode, and transcend the physical and conceptual boundaries of the image.
Echoes of Francis Bacon resonate in the raw and honest tension with which Battistutta portrays the human condition. Yet, he forges a distinct visual language where instinct becomes paint and paint becomes psyche. Much like Emilio Vedova, it is the informal, impulsive gesture that guides the construction of the image: traces of color, spatula strokes, and irregular marks become not only form but also content—emotion before figure.
His figures emerge from blots, circles, simple lines, and basic geometries that repeat and accumulate in a process of total deconstruction and reconstruction. There is nothing orderly or finalized; everything is in a state of becoming. And it is precisely within this formal instability that the power of his painting takes shape. The human body is never defined but rather suggested, broken apart, and reassembled in a constant tension between presence and dissolution.
Within this poetics of fragment and movement, one is reminded of Umberto Boccioni’s pursuit of dynamism. While the Futurist master worked with broken lines and overlapping planes, Battistutta opts for soft contours and bold use of colour, generating a kinetic force within the figure, an energy that seems to vibrate and extend beyond the pictorial space—as though the figure could no longer remain still.
What strikes the viewer most is the psychological depth of these human presences. These faces and bodies do not seek beauty or ideal form; they are raw, essential mirrors of our inner world, portraits of unease, vulnerability, flesh, and thought. In every deformation lies a lucid introspection; in every mark, an attempt to restore the truth of being, the inner turmoil, the bare essence of the human condition.
Paolo Battistutta reminds us that art is not consolation, but revelation. His works do not offer answers—they open questions: Who are we, truly, behind our outward form? And how much of ourselves are we willing to recognize once that form begins to dissolve?
