LETTERAL-MENTE: When the Letter Becomes Flesh and Memory. An Interview with Mattino Norba

What happens when the written word ceases to be merely a tool for reading and chooses instead to become body, volume, and shadow?

On the occasion of my solo exhibition “LETTERAL-MENTE” at SanGiorgioArte Gallery in Bari, I was a guest at Mattino Norba, in the studios of Telenorba. It was the perfect opportunity to put into words the figurative and three-dimensional language that I try to sculpt, day after day, into my works.

For those who wish to fully understand the philosophy behind my art, I invite you to watch the interview video. In the meantime, here are the three pillars of my artistic vision that emerged during the conversation in the studio.

1. Roots in lead: my visual DNA
My obsession with letters did not arise from an academic revelation, but from childhood memories. My father ran an old printing workshop: I grew up breathing the scent of ink and touching movable lead type and wooden frames.

Today, that artisanal manuality has become my language. In my works, I carry out a semantic disintegration: I free letters from the cage of the word and use them as pure pigment. Typography thus becomes our visual DNA, the artificial skin through which I reconstruct the anatomy and complexity of the human soul.

2. The “ballet” between Order and Chaos
In front of my works, I ask the viewer to perform an almost ritual movement, a “ballet” of the gaze:

From a distance — Order: the eye recognizes classical figures, anatomical silhouettes, and dramatic gazes defined by real chiaroscuro.

Up close — Chaos: the figure dissolves into a vibrant forest of overlapping three-dimensional characters, casting micro-shadows onto the glossy surface of the metal.

This visual short circuit becomes a metaphor for life itself: when we are too close to events, we perceive only chaos; but by taking a step back, we can rediscover order, beauty, and the meaning of the whole picture.

3. A collage of memories
When we lose someone, we often fear forgetting the details of their face. But what do we truly remember about those we have loved? Not a static image, but the words spoken, the gestures, the shared experiences.

This is why my portraits are made of letters: the human figure is not composed of inert pigments, but of the living fragments of its own memory.