You don't often hear a thirteen-year-old speak with such ease—and genuine passion—about Europe's greatest artworks and museums. A phone call with Matteo is a tour of wonders: Leonardo, Van Gogh, and then, feet finally planted back on earth for his age, Star Wars. His mother Francesca describes him this way: "Like the light of the autism spectrum—high-functioning—he has a personality of intense colors and delicate, subtle shades. Matteo has excellent language skills and good independence. He's cheerful and gentle, his face lit by a big smile he generously shares with friends and strangers alike. He loves good food and is always hungry, he's a scout and a keen walker. And one of his finest qualities is his genuine curiosity."
Matteo is passionate about art. He often stands moved and transfixed before great works, studying them deeply, as if he could speak with them directly. Geography is his favorite subject, which is why he's traveled to so many cities hunting for artworks and museums he's studied in school: to Paris for the Mona Lisa, "a beautiful lady who smiles," or to Florence for Michelangelo's David—"but that one outside is a copy, the real one is in the museum!" And when Matteo finally stood before the real David, that "giant!" of Michelangelo's, he couldn't hold back his tears of joy. His mother recalls: "He was overwhelmed with emotion. His happiness was tangible—a rush of powerful feelings he expressed through broad smiles that turned into tears." In his own Rome, the first work to enchant him was inevitably "the Sistine! All done by Michelangelo!"—especially the section showing Adam and Eve's expulsion from Eden, which left the deepest impression.
Beyond knowing countless artists and masterpieces, Matteo has found in painting an important way to express himself. He communicates his feelings in complete freedom—emotions that might otherwise go unspoken. And the enthusiasm and originality he brings to it surprises everyone. Inexplicably.