Once upon a time there were gods of rock and movies. As good gods, they lived in a far Olympus, disregarding little people and their lives. They occasionally got bored, so they half-closed their eyes and picked a random human for seduction and to reaffirm their power. These fortunate humans felt special and would have given anything to forever experience that intensity. That’s how faith was born. And with faith, that’s how groupies were born.

These gods are now dead and power has become just another product. It is bought, it is exchangeable, it can be sold. In a godless world, anyone can feel special without being so. The only rule of the game is to give it all: being a celebrity is nothing more than a competition. If it is about singing, be louder. If it is about taking your clothes off, embrace nudity. If it is about giving in, surrender without conditions.

We are our own groupies. At this stage no one exists anymore, yet we keep on dancing. We celebrate our lives and our first, second, third, and fourth adolescence. We live through the reflected light of a flash and search for an instant absolute and eternal plenitude in dark places. We need real or virtual people to look at and illuminate us. We give of ourselves entirely: in body and soul. We wear masks, fluorescent colors and plastic flowers. We know how to seduce. With a little extra help, we can be immortal.

Groupies is my fourth series of paintings: it’s a tribute to post-rock, artificial light, narcissism and adolescence.GROUPIES.