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This also helps to explain our doubts with regard to these paintings, since we are unable to distinguish the dream from reality, frightened by the notion that we might be faced with a vision that imitates our own selves, one that reveals our own defects; the risk is that we might discover that the masks are us and not just portraits of melancholy characters who belong to a performance projected in the time/space of our memory. And it is only by agreeing to do it that we can take into consideration the fact that BOLDRIN is satirising our society, poetically denouncing the existential anxiety, the disquiet and apprehension that afflict us daily, forcing our subconscious to take refuge in the form of a "mask" offered to us by the Author (see LA MASCHERA È SERVITA HERE IS YOUR DISGUISE).
At that moment, we enter into osmosis with the Artist, becoming subjects of his psychic research, at the risk of being vivisected and exposing our innermost, uncontrollable EGO; we assume the burden of the fiction (the great WHITE MASK hanging around the neck of the JESTER), and are thus projected into that oneiric world where everything is simulation, or a bitter occult reality, that we have no wish to discover.
"I dress up as a jester and play with a mask," says Sergio Boldrin. And he adds: "I become a mask myself." It is a striking form of identification, that between the artist and the mask. Naturally one needs to know that Boldrin is a mascheraio: he has been making masks for about twenty years. He is a top ranking professional, who has worked in cinema with great directors (Kubrick) and for the theatre has createti masks that bave become famous, for both Shakespeare and Pirandello. He is extremely well known abroad, almost more so than in his own Venice. He has an expansive and communicative character: he is full of vitality. But he feels, more than anyone else, the weight of the mask that he has emblematically worn and which he does not want (or is not able?) to take off. The transformation has become identification.

The Fellinian clown has managed to infiltrate as an "amarcord" (nostalgie memory). On stage the masks continue to act. The stage is now the painting: seething and bitter, grotesque and over brimming with love.