Danny Kemp.

I love almost everything Italian, once being able to speak the language, but as someone more learned as I wrote; ‘IT IS FOR SINGING, NOT FOR SPEAKING.’ Operas are my favorite type of music and I can confidently tell you that I believe Mirella Freni to be the best soprano I have ever heard. Maria Callas was certainly the most dramatic and eye-catching but Freni singing MIMI with Pavarotti in La Boheme is powerful and tingleing.
Caravaggio is, I believe, the best at facial pain, while Leonardo the best at expression. Michelangelo at colossal works, yet his PIETA is so delicate and detailed.
Raphael’s works in the Chigi Chapel are, if not perfect, then I would like to know what is?
Of modern day artists Nicola Simbari and Pino Daeni are in my opinion up there with the best. Of the surrealism school I collect Paine Proffitt, who has a much more famous admirer than I could ever be, but I will respect his privicy and not disclose the name.
Of modern singers Katherine Jenkins, who dearly wants my phone number but I’m not allowed to disclose it, and Andrea Bocelli I rate highly.
On TV, I much prefer The Sopranos to Big Brother, which you would have to pay me to watch!

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About Danny Kemp

I was at work one sunny November day in 2006, stopped at a red traffic light when a van, driven incompetently, smashed into me. I was taken to St Thomas' Hospital and kept in for a while, but it was not only the physical injuries that I suffered from; it was also mental ones. I had lost confidence in myself let alone those around me. The experts said that I had post-traumatic stress disorder, which I thought only the military or emergency personnel suffered from. On good days, I attempted to go to work, sometimes I even made it through Blackwell Tunnel only to hear, or see, something that made me jump out of my skin and that's when the anxiety attacks would start. I told my wife that I was okay and going regularly, but I wasn't. I could not cope with life and thought about ending it. Somehow or other with the help of my wife and medical professionals, I managed to survive and ever so slowly rebuild my self-esteem. It took almost four years to fully recover, but it was during those dark depressive days that I began to write. My very first story, Look Both Ways, Then Look Behind, found a literary agent but not a publisher. He told me that I had a talent, raw, but nevertheless, it was there. His advice was to write another story and that I'm delighted to say, I did. The success of that debut novel, The Desolate Garden, was down to sheer hard work, luck, and of course, meeting a film producer.
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