Naima Morelli

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C’era insomma un tempo dove il garage non era più quel luogo dove parcheggiavi la macchina e stipavi il televisore rotto.
C’era un tempo dove tutto era spartano e vivido. Basico. Come dire, un garage, un gallerista e la centralità dell’arte.
Grossomodo è così che l’arte moderna in Italia si è incamminata verso la contemporaneità.
Erano tempi mitici, dove le gallerie venivano allagate o nelle quali passeggiavano cavalli.
L’unico problema a quei tempi, piuttosto marginale per l’arte contemporanea, era dove parcheggiare l’automobile.

Adesso probabilmente la gente prende meno multe per divieto di sosta, ma quell’atmosfera grunge e sincera sembra essere sparita. Diversamente da altre città europee, a Roma e a Milano le alternative alle immacolate stanze dell’arte contemporanea sono veramente poche.
“L’arte contemporanea italiana è diventata sempre più istituzionalizzata. Non c’è traccia delle esperienze d’avanguardia degli anni sessanta e settanta. Sono sorpreso in particolare dagli artisti più giovani. Sono infatti proprio loro i primi a cercare di entrare in un sistema dell’arte già bello e pronto, e nemmeno si sforzano di immaginare soluzioni alternative. La stessa pratica artistica sembra essere diventata una faccenda secondaria”, afferma l’artista Alessandro Cannistrà.

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Since no one cares about the 55th Venice Biennale anymore, I feel like sharing my definitive thoughts about my favourite pavilion, without anyone there to contradict me.
So, chart lovers, my favourite pavilion was the Indonesian one, curated by Rifky Effendy.
In no other pavilion the installations of different artists work so perfectly together. The show almost looked like one single artist and yet it encapsulated such a richness of discourses.

If you were at the Venice Biennale in October, you would have seen me wandering in the Arsenal looking for the Indonesian Pavillion.
I actually overshot the main entrance, so I came in by the back door.
It was dark inside, and there was a soft music that I didn’t notice in the first place. The music though ended up being a background noise influencing the entire experience of the pavilion.
The soundscape was actually by Solo composer Rahayu Supanggah, the guy who reinvented traditional Indonesian music. For the Biennale’s composition he was inspired by the theme of the pavilion, which was “Sankti”.
As the press release stated, Sankti is a sanskrit word that refers to the primordial cosmic energy and the personification of the divine, feminine creative energy, as well as indicating change and liberation.

The first dark-metal work I encountered immediately struck me with his expressive power.
A group of man wearing a Muslim hat were sitting at a table. One man was laying with his head on the table, like someone who had been shot or something. One man was pointing his finger to another gentleman, who looked baffled. If you looked better at these two figures and you would notice that their legs where stretched under the table so to touch each other.
But the figure that really stood out was a matriarch in traditional clothes, upright at the end of the table. She was bringing a hand at his chest like saying: “Who, me?”
A weird lamp was falling from the ceiling, almost touching the table. It was shaped like something between an octopus and a tropical fruit.

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Dunque, per quanto surreale possa sembrare, è veramente successo. Ashley Bickerton, Luigi Ontani e Filippo Sciascia si sono effettivamente incontrati nella stessa stanza.
Chiaramente c’è qualcosa che questi tre eccezionali artisti, così diversi tra di loro per pratica artistica e personalità, hanno in comune. Bali.
Bickerton e Sciascia ne hanno fatto la propria dimora, Ontani vi soggiorna spesso fin dagli anni ’80, da quando ha cominciato a far produrre le proprie maschere agli artigiani locali.
Dico, riuscite a immaginarvi Ontani, aristocraticamente vestito di seta e con la sua elaborata parlata infarcita di giochi di parole, dialogare amabilmente con Ashley Bickerton, camicia da surfista e flip flop, il quale dichiara candidamente di sentirsi in certe situazioni “Come una scorreggia in una cabina telefonica?”.
Fortunatamente c’è Sciascia che funge da elemento di raccordo. Lui, molto gentiluomo noncurante col sopracciglio lirico, ma spiegato come un radar alla ricerca di stimoli tra cultura alta e bassa.
Ashley Bickerton possiede un dipinto di Sciascia che tiene in bella mostra a casa sua, una Giuditta dal seno rifatto e le labbra impertinenti che brandisce la testa di Oloferne: “Mi piace perché è un soggetto della pittura classica, ma è così chiaramente un’immagine presa da qualche porno!”
Ontani, il quale pure inserisce elementi suggestivi nelle sue ceramiche, conosceva Ashley Bickerton fin dagli anni ’80, momento più fulgido per l’artista americano. Sciascia invece Ontani l’ha incontrato proprio a Bali.

Il fatto è che Bickerton, Ontani e Sciascia sono bulè, è il nome con cui i balinese chiamano l’uomo bianco.
In una splendida mostra al Museo Archeologico di Napoli, curata da Maria Savarese, il trio si appropria ironicamente di questa parola, e dissemina balinesità tra le statue antiche della collezione Farnese del museo.

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Coming back from Australia, I decided to see the Venice Biennale before it ends.
Maybe it was not the greatest Biennale ever, but there are some artworks worth talking about. Here you are, my personal list of favourites:

  • Arthur Bispo do Rosario

I didn’t know about this incredible Brazilian artist before. Apparently he spent fifty years confined to the attic of a psychiatric institution because he started telling people about his visions. In the institution he started making art not with the idea of becoming an artist, but for his own eternal salvation. His work was first shown at the Venice Biennale in 1995 and now he is exhibiting again at the Arsenal.
I have always been attracted by work that relates with paganism, religion and folk tradition. His clusters of waste material, paper, wood and rags are just beautiful. His installations look like toys or fetishes.

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Bindi Cole is one of the first artists I interviewed in Melbourne.
I come to know about her work during the presentation talk of “Melbourne Now” exhibition at the NGV.
Her work span through different mediums, from photography to installation, and the themes are often related to her personal history and aboriginal issues.
She constantly challenges stereotypes, revealing overlooked complexities behind communities and identities. In the series “Not Really Aboriginal” she photographed her family and herself with black painting on their face. The title refers to the accusation that some people addressed to her, that of not being “really” Aboriginal, because of her anglosaxon aspect and her light skin.
One of her most challenging work is “Sistagirls”, a photographic series about the transgender community of the Tiwi Islands.
Recently Bindi Cole decided to reflect on her personal history, mainly through video and installations. Even if she went through tough times, her vision underlies a constant optimism and reveals the beauty of the human experience.
I find her recent installation with emu feathers “I Forgive You) (currently exhibited at Queensland Art Gallery) just moving.

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Obviously openings are not for art appreciation. Openings are for networking, for the glamour of being there, for “bella figura” and so on.
Sometimes though, if you talk with a friend about the opening of the night before, she may happen to mention the art.
Sometimes she would even have an opinion about it. Maybe she went there, she wouldn’t meet anyone she knows already, everyone was grumpy and unfriendly, no buffet even! (so rude).
What was left was to pay attention to the art.

Well, that’s not certainly the case of the recent opening at Volume! Foundation in Rome.
Forget about people being there reporting you about the art. In the opening aftermath the only comment you could collect was: “There were so many people.”
I mean, it was Kounellis opening we are talking about, not a light weight.
You certainly know who Kounellis is, but maybe I can repeat it for the guys who failed in the contemporary art test.
You may argue Kounellis’ worship is mainly in Italy, but then I remind you that his work is exhibited all over the world from Minnesota to Paris.
So, to keep it short, Kounellis is a talented Greek guy who decided to subscribe the art academy in Rome when it was still reputable. (There are still tons of people lured to the art academy in Rome from far countries, and I really feel bad for them).
1960 is the date of Kounellis’ first exhibition at Galleria La Tartaruga in Rome, and in the following years he contributed to the emergence of Arte Povera.
Kounellis, according to the principles of Arte Povera, started using materials from everyday life, animals, fire, bed, stones, iron in his artwork.
He also did some fun stuff artists use to do in Rome in the sixties, like unleash twelve horses in the gallery L’Attico. Just like that, for the sake of art.

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Rome

We have seen plenty of celebrations of the sea. The only subject that is as hackneyed as the sea is the sky. And love.
But really, to be innovative is not to talk about a new subject for the first time. To be innovative is to be able of talking about a corny subject in a new, or personal or moving way.
If you are a musician, go ask Ivano Fossati about it. If you are a painter, ask Piero Guccione. If you are a photographer, do what Monitor Gallery did. Go ask Antonio Rovaldi.

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edwinj

 

The Italian web magazine Art a Part of Cult(ure) just published the interview I had in Melbourne with Edwin Jurriëns, lecturer in Indonesian Studies at Melbourne University. The interview is part of my reportage about contemporary art in Indonesia.

Here you are the link to the interview

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zabetta

“Incalzatrice della storia Freno del tempo Tu Bomba / Giocattolo dell’universo Massima rapinatrice di cieli Non posso odiarti”

Correndo giù per Via dei Mille nel caldo di un aprile napoletano del duemilaundici, cercando di arrivare al Molo Beverello in tempo per prendere l’Aliscafo dell’una e cinque, vale a dire essere a Sorrento per le due meno un quarto circa, ecco in questa corsa (perché si sa che il movimento fa arieggiare il cervello, purchè non vada in iperventilazione) le immagini della mostra di Zabetta si sovrappongono, si alternano in rima baciata, alternata, incrociata e slogata ai versi di “Bomb” di Gregory Corso.

Sulla rampa di legno vigilata dai Vucumprà, a fianco al Maschio Angioino, inevitabilmente parole e immagini sono già tutta una pappetta, sbatacchiate come un frullatore nella mia testa, non resta che sedersi sull’aliscafo e fare un po’ di ordine.
Dunque, Coda Zabetta non penso proprio che abbia scritto una lettera d’amore alla Bomba, quello è stato Corso. Piuttosto quello di Coda Z. si tratta di un lavoro ordinato che ha condotto a un risultato efficace, puntuale e profetico, come ci hanno tenuto tutti quanti a rimarcare con occhi da Cassandra color acque di Mergellina, alludendo chiaramente alla recentissima tragedia nucleare giapponese.

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I recently interviewed the artist Twoone  (Hiroyasu Tsuri) in his studio in Collingwood.
The studio was quite empty because he had brought all the paintings at the Backwoods gallery, for his upcoming solo show “Define Nothing”.
Twoone’s Japanese background is evident in his paintings’ balanced composition. His mystical-looking characters with animal heads, realized in his unique style, are his trademark in the Melbournian thriving street art culture.
The exhibition has been a success. I took some pictures of the Twoone’s artworks in the gallery, and then I followed him in a street nearby where he was painting a wall. 

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haristalk

The inevitable destiny of every artists is to be know from the wide public just for a single artwork or an aspect of their more extensive production.
Duchamp is for everyone “the guy of the urinal”, Damien Hirst is the chap who did the shark, Eric Clapton is Layla’s ex boyfriend and so on..
If I say Haris Purnomo, what comes to your mind?
Babies with tattoos, of course.
Haris has painted babies with tattoos for almost 22 years – becoming one of the most popular Indonesian artists in the meantime.

The last solo show of Haris Purnomo “Beyond the Mirror Stage” at the Mifa gallery in Melbourne, Australia, has just finished.
The day of the finissage – you say “finissage” only in Italy and France, what a ridiculous name for “closing”! – the gallery Mifa decided to host a talk with the artist.
It was an interesting talk of 45 minutes with the SBS radio presenter Sri Dean and with frequent interventions from the public. The discussion was focused on the symbols used by the artist and his way of working.

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In Melbourne one of the first questions people ask you is “where do you come from?”.
It makes sense in a city where hostels are flooding with drunk people swearing in so many different languages.
There are backpackers coming here with a sheer party mentality, europeans seeking for a well-payed job as waiters and wannabe adventures romantically compelled by soil their hair with red dust, possibly riding through the desert on a rusty jeep (that’s me, and I sadly found out that there is not that much desert in Victoria).

The prosaic reality of Melbourne city clashed so hard with my fantasy – eating Kangaroo on a red rock with aboriginals people – that I decided to keep myself busy with what is supposed to be my main job: contemporary art.
Well, the truth was that I was already in Melbourne to complete the last stages of my reportage about Indonesian contemporary art, so I found myself turning on the recorder and listen to the artist Tintin Wulia.
It was the first interview here in Melbourne and one of the last interviews for my reportage about Indonesia Contemporary Art.
Her work and her experience as an artist epitomized the core of my book: there is no such a thing called Indonesian art, there are some practices born in a geographical segment called Indonesia, and there are some artists born in Indonesia that are making art.
The edges are so sharp just on the map – ideas and aesthetic are much more fluid – yet these borders matter incredibly when comes to bureaucracy, biennales pavilions and personal identity.

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