A second glance at the dots, the blacks, the blanks, the abstract lines running across the figurative landscape, makes you think of a cartoon for some gigantic tapestry. Then with a third, more careful look you realise in the ‘interweaving’ of a brick- built wall, in the brittleness of a dry branch, in the ‘dampness’ of certain shadows and certain plants that, apart from the sheer pleasure of drawing for drawing’s sake, this is an attempt, almost always a successful one, to give back using a single instrument, the pen, and a single colour, black,the density, and I would say even the light, of the casual and harmonious architecture of Vitorchiano. Heinz J. Watzke knows how to represent this Italy with which, like his many predecessors, he is clearly in love, and to whom he dedicates as in a flute solo, this long ‘solo’ by pen.