Solder an abyss with air: Italian Artists’ Impossible Task

Marco Vaglieri, Il tempo che serve, 2002, courtesy Luigi Franco, Turin

Stefano Pasquini The artist sees what happens around him or her, and the artwork is once again the lone testimonial of humankind’s brutality and violence. And stupidity, I may add. These intimate drawings are a sign of out time: we’re once again small and powerless in front of governments who are not interested in people’s needs. True artists are sensitive to what happens in the world, and this is not an easy time for those who suffer just watching the news. We’re most definitely not facing happy times. Whilst someone daily shouts “you’re either with me or against me,” artists wallow between the lines, float between reality and paradox, walk through art and life as if there was no tomorrow. Exactly as if there was no tomorrow. And life itself (or at least “institutional life”) is becoming so surreal that it has gotten harder for the artist to be the usual “visionary”, or—to keep it plain—the weirdo of the situation. In Italy (a country where you can still get arrested for your ideas) artists are slowly waking up to an intimate reaction to what’s around. Whether the trend has been influenced by the “politicization” of the last Documenta or not, it’s hard to say. Certainly, it helped. Yet statements are vague, often barely sufficient, but they are there to be caught, and nevertheless, at least, they are there. The strongest show I’ve seen in a long time was at the Luigi Franco Gallery in Turin. Titled “Il tempo che serve” [the time it takes], Marco Vaglieri’s solo exhibition was all centered on war, First World War. In his archeological search for emotional relics, he showed us beautifully realistic (black and white, like WWI itself) watercolors and poetical photos of war remains in a wood nearby where he lives. The best work was the video that titled the show: a simple rusty warhead floating and spinning in a black environment. While you were mesmerized looking at this huge bullet that kept going without hitting anything, a gentle female voice told you the story of a soldier: “Have you ever felt yourself blow up? I have… What a strange sensation! All those little pieces that made my body shoot in different directions, forever. Everything that had been, reduced to flying shreds; every fragment of my being ending up in a single identity… the end of all contradictions. What was I doing there? Why was I dressed like that?” What was most impressive in this long, dramatic soliloquy, was the absence of time. Anything the soldier told us through a woman’s voice could apply to any war, even the one happening as you read. Fabrizio Vegliona’s show at Cueva in Milan was closer to us in time. Comfortably home, he takes photographs of the TV screen. In a wall full of these shots, re-watching the news on a gallery wall becomes disquieting: you have the time to really look at the eyes expressions of politicians, you take note of certain details that in the fast war video footage you could not notice. In short, you get the time to think of what you have in front. Cesare Viel last year published a small book of drawings in relation to poems by Emily Dickinson. He was struck by the actuality of her verses in relation to recent political events. One is particularly close to many of us: But when the Earth began to jar And Houses vanished with a roar And Human Nature hid We comprehended by the Awe As those that Dissolution saw The Poppy in the Cloud He accompanied verses as such with images of September 11th or violence at Genoa’s last year G8 demonstration. I felt particularly close to one drawing of the moment young Carlo Giuliani was shot dead by a police officer, accompanied by a phrase about the photos on every paper: “drawing some of them is like trying to fill a void.” This is when the artist can’t do anything but art; this is when paintings like Guernica happen. The artist sees what happens around him or her, and the artwork is once again the lone testimonial of humankind’s brutality and violence. And stupidity, I may add. These intimate drawings are a sign of out time: we’re once again small and powerless in front of governments who are not interested in people’s needs. When last October in Florence the No Global movement decided to reunite and demonstrate, Italian media scared everybody foreseeing images of violence and destruction. Eva Marisaldi, in a powerful solo show at the Gallery of Modern Art of Turin, couldn’t help but add some little drawings showing how fashion shops barricaded themselves against the terror. As a matter of fact, no violence occurred. These are small signs from a small art world, but nonetheless important. I would like to finish with a quote taken again from Marco Vaglieri’s Il tempo che serve: “There was a moment’s peace, we stared at each other, then all at once we started shooting. Why does an architect suddenly decide to shoot at a post office worker? Why does a typographer blow himself up in a crowd of teachers or factory workers? Where does a biology student get the idea to crush the skull of a tobacconist from?” You tell me.