For several years Mirco has been living in an ancient rented flat in the city centre of Jesi of which he takes great care. The ceilings are frescoed with odd figures, which he adds to by displaying works of art (mostly by others) and creatively-designed objects, lining up books on the floor with a studied negligence, building a routine of many little rites directed to make the fatigue of living more acceptable. Mirco considers himself a flexible, benevolent person, and puts strategies in use to keep at bay the anxiety he feels or he thinks he feels, indulging in endless cigarettes and glasses of wine voluptuously savoured. Mirco thinks he does not have new ideas and has nothing to tell, but when asked questions, he replies gladly, extensively, with a slightly alexandrine but fully heart-felt language. He pretends to be a snob but he is shy rather than arrogant, hiding his fair and good-natured eyes under the short brim of a small hat he wears in all seasons. He loves sleeping in but he often has to get up at hours before dawn to go and work as a janitor in the archaeological museum of a village in the Marche region, a job he dislikes but which has allowed him to get by and devote himself to painting his biggest passion since childhood.  

Of teeth, he would prefer not to speak. Having painted them for fifteen years he feels that should be enough. To him it is the work of art that should communicate, the viewers should take their time and pay attention to the work they are looking at. But Mirco also realizes that viewers, influenced by the visual result of their experiences and reflections, sometimes feel the need to understand his works better through verbal communication.