Mauro Ciullo was not born in New York or London and not even Paris. The son of a manufacturer of magnets and an expert in origami, inherits from one preparation to attract trouble, from the other a vivid imagination and a tendency to crumple each sheet that happens between his hands (whether it was waste paper or a substantial check).
He didn’t studied in the best schools and neither in the most prestigious universities. He spent the teenage in the deserted library of a school in the suburbs. At age 12, he fled from a group of thugs who owes money and they want to give him a whipping, and found refuge in the back row of an essay cinema, where he remained haunted by an incredible black and white movie. He falls in love with the film, its music and the art of storytelling. He also falls in love with Ingrid Bergman, but the long-distance relationship – the two have not actually ever met and, above all, its two-dimensionality – in fact we were still pretty far away from that awful 3D cinema – made their love-story difficult. Love wrecked inevitably but left both many fond memories.
In addition to music he studied also cinema, literature, photography, and more, often without concluding anything, because it is deeply convinced that not having completed something is the ideal condition to start another. Between classes he had an endless series of works, shoeshine attendant, the coach of a women’s team of ice hockey, proofreader for a small publishing house. Meanwhile, he continued his studies with tenacity, managing to avoid carefully to achieve any degree or diploma.
Living in Milan for 33 years but he is only passing through and therefore lives only in rented apartments.
He never played golf.