When I was a boy, back in the golden sixties (that didn’t seem so golden at that time by the way), I loved paper. Paper was what books were made from, and paper was the best friend of my drawing pencil. Instead of playing football or other silly games, making puzzles, watching tv or helping my father in the garden, I read and I read. Stories about knights, pirates and damsels in distress; crusades, wars and big achievements like cathedrals, piramids and temples. My mind dwelled with the ancient myths that praised heroes and nymphs, and with the glorious lives of famous artists and explorers, philosophers and scientists. When I got tired from reading, I turned to the paper to make my phantasies live in drawings and paintings.

No wonder when my father told me to study someting serious instead of Arts, I decided to study history. At university alas the fascinating knights and damsels made way for ecclesiastical, economic and other silly facts and figures, so during my student years I tur