The ink that doesn't erase art: the world of Bic pens by Valerio Pisano
05 gen 2026 19:50 - Federica Cabras
A Bic pen writes, draws, doesn't erase. And it doesn't forgive, either. But in the hands of Valerio Pisano, an artist from Ogliastra, it becomes an instrument of absolute freedom. A common object that transforms into language. Into art. Into vision.
For almost half a century, Pisano has been drawing with the ink of the famous pen, traversing forms, ideas, and materials without ever accepting a cage, not even the – apparently reassuring – one of recognizability. He, with the Bic pen, builds worlds: drawings that require months, even years, with a technique that doesn't allow errors. Shortcuts.
A patient and inspired work that is born from the most well-known object and transforms it into a work of art.
How long has Valerio Pisano been drawing with the Bic pen? Forever. Or, as he says, "unconsciously forever, consciously since just before 2000".
After experimenting with oil and acrylic painting, he realized that those languages didn't represent him as much as the blue ink: "that's where I felt the freedom to say that the pen is the instrument that best represents me".
A freedom that, however, he doesn't want to turn into a constraint: Pisano claims the right to experiment, to not be a "slave" to a single technique.
It's precisely the concept of recognizability that puts him on alert. "When I hear that an artist must be recognizable, a warning bell goes off," he explains.
For him, it's a cage, a limit that would have prevented the birth of many of his most important works: from the Profumo di ringhiera series, which led him to exhibit in historic spaces in Rome with artists of national and international renown, to the Progetto Orione, a symbolic bridge between the Earth and the Orion constellation through a coffee maker.
And again, Tunnellagio, Media Imprinting, Biddopoli – a customized Monopoly, "tailored" to the recipient – up to the evolution of pens and caps drawn, transformed into true bronze sculptures with the lost wax technique.
From there, his Pop Art Arcaica is born, a short circuit between contemporary and ancestral.
Being from Ogliastra, and more generally Sardinian, is a component of his gaze, but not an identity constraint. He wouldn't know how to quantify its weight, and he doesn't want to be tied to his origins: he prefers to let himself be contaminated by what he encounters in his travels and movements, keeping his gaze open.
The Bic, a daily and "poor" instrument, enters his life very early. The first self-portrait pen dates back to elementary school, 1977-78, although Valerio only discovered it in 2011, during a move: in an old drawing album, a blue and a red pen reappear, forgotten for decades.
Alongside this, a second "first time": the summer of 2009, when, in a moment of boredom and creative void, he starts drawing pens again. Two different origins, united by the same gesture.
Drawing with the Bic also means dealing with the irreversibility of the sign. "The error is not erasable," he says without hesitation. In some cases, it can be covered, but often not: if the line is thin or the filling is wide, the only solution is to start over.
He's had to redo a work three times for a tiny mistake. And he's clear about this: "I hate imperfection".
The times are long, sometimes very long, but patience is not a burden: it's the main ingredient in his creative process. A drawing made up of 525 black caps took him five months of daily work; other works have stretched over years, interspersed with pauses.
As he approaches the end, however, emotion and satisfaction always arrive.
Before 2009, he says, he often got lost in the pure gesture: he drew without a project, like in a spontaneous journey. After that date, the method changes: the idea is clear from the start, and the work proceeds in the direction of that idea, without deviations.
His works tell many things, often starting from the titles: handcuffs with castanets, a switchblade crucifix, a book handle, the smell of a railing. They can elicit a smile, but they always contain a deeper level.
His hope is that the observer grasps the concept he intends to convey, even if sometimes something even more interesting happens: the viewer reads meanings that he himself hadn't foreseen.
It happens even with a simple pile of caps, which is not just a test of patience but a container of symbols.
More than recurring messages, a form returns in his works. Even before the self-portrait pens, while drawing without a precise project, Valerio noticed that certain forms emerged on their own, and he accompanied them until they took on an identity, not always immediately readable.
In an era dominated by digital, the physical relationship with the sheet has lost for him the absolute centrality it had in the 90s. Experiments with other materials and instruments, including digital, have shown him that the concept can pass through different languages.
The sheet won't be replaced, but flanked: "Digital is another instrument useful to my creativity".
The public reacts with enthusiasm. Pisano considers himself lucky: he receives appreciation for his ideas, for his originality, and above all for having created something that didn't exist before. A recognition that doesn't remain just verbal, but translates into concrete signs.
He doesn't like to use success as a compass, though. He prefers to focus on failures and criticisms, because he considers them more useful for improvement.
The strongest emotions come in specific moments: like when he saw the giant bronze sculpture destined for Bosco Selene leave from Lanusei. After months of intense work on Capo Tribù, together with Gianleonardo Viglino, the emotions explode all at once in front of the truck, the crane, the porphyry base. "A true emotional bomb".
Equally powerful was observing the surprise of the Bic managers who arrived from Paris, in front of an immersive installation made of millions of blue caps.
He doesn't even try to imagine the future. His attention is focused on inner changes. The rest, he says, will come by itself.
More than dreaming of a specific work, he feels the need to experiment with new materials: ceramics, resins, wood, metals. "I'm prey to an insatiable curiosity".
And if something should remain, more than a work, he'd like it to be the messages he tries to convey: useful tools for people, capable – even just a little – of helping them improve.
