Gerry had an Australian mentor who taught him how to use his natural talent and gave him confidence. Not that he needed a lot of the latter, apparently, for at 17 he was already painting for a living and working his way up.

Oil and acrylic are his usual media and watercolours the choice he keeps coming back to.

His paintings evolved along with his travels: integrating new colours and images, reshaping the background to accommodate fresh characters, enlarging the format or bringing it down.

Op art, erotica, Indian figuration, nature morte, narrative and geometrical representations: Gerry abruptly changes to the next art form. In this constant pushing somewhere else few elements remain: the ability to synthesize his meaning and to express it directly, his sense of humour and an astonishing amount of ants.

In the background of all these paintings is everything of relevance that has shaped Gerry’s vital decisions. On the canvas though we see only his emotions rationalised, elegant, simple, immediate and even if sometimes distressing, never disruptive. Although this paintings’ cascade vividly reflects Gerry’s life, what we see is the outsider’s observation of something that does not belong to him.

If you ask him, though, he’ll deny everything: even that he’s a painter.

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