Antonio Ravelli is a british writer and visual artist, based in the Scottish Highlands.

Early Life…

Born in Leeds, West Yorkshire on 16th March 1974. The Eldest of two, he and his brother, grew up in the small rural village of Rawdon. Raised within a family of musicians and artists, their creative foundations were already rooted from a young age, with the both of them, later following the arts professionally. For Antonio however, it was a chance family vacation to the Highlands of Scotland, which would change the course of future events, seeing to his inevitable departure from his family and home village, to the serenity of what would eventually become home, providing the perfect environment for his two greatest passions.

On Writing…

“Ever since I could remember, my imagination’s been the one place of escape and enjoyment for me. Sat alone, crossed legged, on the floor of my shared bedroom, wearing the ribbon off my first, Silver Reed Silverette typewriter. When the Christmas of 85’ came around, my Atari 65XE took it in all kinds of new directions. The thing had no memory to speak of, so it was an endless loop of typing and re-typing stories daily, just for the pleasure of writing. Every re-write, I’d change a little more, or entire sections, perhaps the whole story. My mind was in the driver’s seat… and my body was just tagging along for the ride. Hours would fall away… meals would go cold, and I’d take a scolding for holding up the show, on any family excursions. It was a great time to be young… slamming keys, sketching, painting, camera’s, doodling hundred’s of maniacal creations on an Etch A Sketch, to chiseling landscapes from the wall plaster at bedtime… not one of my wisest of choices. Everything was dictated by what I could afford… which was little at best, to nothing… so I had to get creative and use everything at my disposal, just to offload the carnival inside my head.”

On Artwork…

“Film has always been my preferred vehicle of choice. I had the benefit of growing up through the eighties, where digital wasn’t an option. I’m grateful for that. It taught me patience. You visualize the end, before you’ve even touched the camera. It gives you the space to really feel what you’re observing, as opposed to firing off dozens of shots and sifting through the wreckage of a memory card. I’ve nothing against digital, its a fascinating tool to have in your arsenal… but speaking from my own, personal experience… the ritual of using film, possess a connection that’s unmatched and almost spiritual.”

“I have a lot of fond memories... it makes me giggle. A small bundle of newly unleashed, imaginative energy, hounding my saint of a mother to buy me this otherworldly, half-beaten, ancient photographic contraption of notches, stiff dials, faded numbers, with its hazy glass, out of sync clicks, and flaky, stale smelling leather case. And in her final desperation to quieten me, slapping the coins into my sweaty, frantic palm, for me to run across at full gallop, to the old man at the stall table, before I was pipped to the post, by another youngster as eager as myself. It never actually entered my mind for a second, that I didn’t have the faintest clue how to use this thing, or where to even begin learning. And it certainly didn’t occur to me whether or not it worked. I didn’t care… I was Alice, down the rabbit hole… where anything was possible.”

“We’re visual creatures… image’s don’t creep from behind the curtains of a page, they’re immediate. They smack you in the face with an iron bar…”