The word of an artist, like Simon was, lives within his sculptures because they are born from a spontaneous poetic vibration, from a dawn-like impulse that the artist felt since childhood. Together with his botanist grandfather, among grass and flowers he would gaze in awe at the first little plants with few leaves that were trying to open up and create a passage towards the light: driven by that original impulse that nature possesses, and which Simon unleashes through his iron sculptures.

When Simon Benetton used his blowtorch to bring the grey matter of iron into life, his creative fervor was composed of words that resonated in harmony with the fiery essence of the expressive medium.
In fact, his sculptures are identified by verses that are poetic metaphors, as they encapsulate the ideal aspirations of the secret pulsation of lines and forms that expand in space.

Verses written like visual weaves of a linear journey that often recalls the open or closed form of the sculptures: visible signs of the invisible spirit that treats matter as if it were the poetic diaphragm of the inexhaustible flow of inventive consciousness.

The word, like a rosy flame in Simon’s poetry, is the same hand moving through space to unveil, aided by the blowtorch, the mysterious amphitheaters of time and space, the secret harmonies of an ancient life among woods and plants turned green thanks to golden lights and brushed by the music of the Tramontana (north wind).

Simon’s thought sought the metaphorical diversion of the divine spirit and erected iron cathedrals as structural and linear essences that conquer space in every direction.