Naima Morelli

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Angki Purbandono in one of the artists from Indonesia that take the photography further and stimulate the discussion around it.
He was one of the founder of MES56 and a very appreciate international artist.

Before meeting him I thought his photography was all about aestetic
values. I found out that is not completely true.
Actually, to make people look at something from everyday life in a
different way is already a conceptual act.

Defamiliarisation of common objects, weird associations of items,
giantisation of small findings. Through Angki’s swiftian attitude one can
discover that the Beauty and the Strange are not so far from what we
experience in our daily life.

I’ve seen Angki’s scanner. It’s a normal scanner, not pretentious at all.
I asked Angki when and why he started using a scanner instead of a
camera:

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Most of Agung Kurniawan’s artworks are based on memory. In his famous charcoal work “Very Very Happy Victims” , part of Singapore Art Museum’s collection, he uses a raw irony to depict the situation under Suharto regime, from ’67 to ’98.

He explained me the genesis of this work during my visit to Kedai Kebun Forum:

“I made Very Very Happy Victims in 1995.  I was still a young an angry artist. It was a portrait of  myself and the society at that time because at that time Indonesia economy was one of the best in Asia. At the same time we lived in a kind of fascist regime. Everything was controlled by the government. Indonesia was the copycat of Orwell’s book 1984.
I asked my friends if they feel ok and they reply “Yes, I feel happy, I can eat at McDonalds, school is not expensive, I can have very cheap prize” . So I portrait my generation that felt very happy even though was oppressed by the government. This is the reason why I called it “Very Very happy Victims”. We were happy because we didn’t realize we were victims. If we realize it we can fight, that’s the idea. ”

More about Agung activities on: kedaikebun.com

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 Looking at the sheets of my Indonesian reportage stained with Java tea I really start missing Yogyakarta.

In these days I’m in my hometown Sorrento surrounded by mandarini’s smell, writing the first draft of my book about Contemporary Art in Indonesia.
I’m trying to recollect the memories of these days in Yogya, from the amazing studio of Heri Dono to the taste of the Pisang Goreng, the fried banana with melted javanese sugar and chocolate.

We don’t have original Java tea here in Sorrento; I’ve to content myself with the Lipton version.
Whatever, tea is tea. As Proust teaches: “As long as you have a madeleine, a pancake or a fried banana to be dipped in tea, you could recollect memories”, or something like it.
I feel like adding to Proust’s statement that all the contemporary art starts from a substantial breakfast. Definitively I’m on the good track.
Actually, can I have extra chocolate on my Pisang Goreng?

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heridono

Luogo di coordinate 0:0, probabilmente in un fumetto.

Legata ad una sedia, in mano a scagnozzi mettiamo, chessò, russo-mongoli appassionati d’arte, pronti a scazzottarmi, sono costretta a rivelare cos’è, o meglio cosa ho scoperto, di quest’arte contemporanea indonesiana.

“Ma come faccio a dirvelo maledizione santa! L’arte contemporanea non si presta a definizioni, è fluida, non deve essere ingabbiata, non può…”
Smack!
Il primo cazzotto arriva e quasi mi fa saltare i denti.
Riprova.
“Ci sono tanti artisti diversi, ognuno con la sua poetica, la sintesi, la sintesi cari signori, è depauperazione!”
Non capiscono la parola.
Gli sembra troppo scolastica.
Smack!
Te lo chiedo un’ultima volta…
“Con le buone immagino…” rispondo sputando saliva vermiglia
… cosa cercavi in Indonesia?

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“Sic transit Gloria mundi” is what is written in burn marks on the white wall of Macro’s Enel Room.

That’s an epigraph that could sound powerful, but dramatic and resigned as well. It is not simple for an artist to deal with decadence. I mean, working on a concept so wide like “The word is falling apart”. He has to be careful, not to be demagogic or didactic.

He has to distance himself to the common sense, like your typical neighbour’s morning remarks “The word is changing. When I was young everything was totally different. Better than now, for sure. We have no autumn and spring anymore”.

Mircea Cantor luckly, succeed to be ecumenical not being banal.

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Since Art Residences were established, artists took advantage and started travelling around the word.
It was such a great possibility. Who can refuse accommodation and a guarantee daily meal in faraway countries, ending with a personal exhibition?

In residence time artists gave birth to projects which are often result of an hybridising process.

Weird installations and psychedelic videos issued out to the artists previous work and the host country influences.
Sometimes is just the exhibition place that is unusual for a kind of art, and that is exactly “The Human Factor” exhibition case.

So, you have to imagine a typical late ‘800 starting ‘900 Italian noble mansion, just in the middle of Villa Borghese Gardens, Rome. There’s were the sculptor an composer Piero Canonica lived, but now it’s a museum filled with statues, paintings and beautiful relics.
Basically the interiors and the furniture remained the same, but sometimes curators tries to renew the environment, making contemporary art exhibitions.

Could sound like a weird experiment to Liang Shuo (China), Charles Lim (Singapore) , Koki Tanaka (Japan) and Wan Hong-Kai (Taiwan), the attendees to the Qwartz Rome Residency Program.
The idea was matching oriental contemporary art with an old typical roman ambience.

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Al ritorno dalla mostra in Via del Vantaggio, sede della Galleria Mara Coccia, fino a casa mia in Piazza Vittorio (non vi do l’indirizzo preciso perché non voglio i vostri bravi ad aspettarmi sotto casa dopo che avrete letto questa recensione), sono state tre le cose che mi hanno colpito assai di più che la mostra che mi ha spinto fuori dall’uscio.

In ordine: le ragazzine sotto la metro che commentavano l’appena conclusa settimana della cultura “…perché le cose gratuite fanno schifo, tipo Palazzo Barberini…” , poi un chitarrista in Piazza del Popolo che suonava ispirato Tracy Chapman, interrotto bruscamente da un’esplosione di una sigla assordante dal palco montato lì vicino, con tanto di ballerini vestiti da conigli che si lanciano sulla scena provando la coreografia, e tre una bionda malinconica simile a una giovane Marianne Faithfull seduta ai tavolini del Bar Rosati.

Tranches de vie irripetibili che sarebbe quantomeno inutile paragonare ai dipinti di Claudia Peill.

Certo, direte voi, la vita è sempre superiore all’arte, figuriamoci se non è superiore a IKEA.

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“Quello che noto nelle mie opere è che tu le vedi e dici Uh che carine… ma poi le guardi con più attenzione è AAARRGH! Sono micidiali! Per me questa apparenza innocua è come una specie di presa in giro… e anche io in fondo sono così, più aggressiva di quello che sembro a prima vista!” mi dice Anita Calà in un impeto di passione di cui solo le rosse sono capaci.

Quattro del pomeriggio, siamo sedute, io, lei e  mio cappello (un Borsalino vintage grigio molto ghetto-chic, devo dire) al bar Ombre Rosse in Piazza Sant’Egidio, proprio di fronte al Museo di Roma in Trastevere.
Avevo incontrato l’artista qualche settimana fa alla Galleria Nube di Oort dove è esposta la sua videoistallazione “Anita C” nell’ambito di una collettiva, insomma, un buon pretesto per approfondire il suo lavoro.

La storia di Anita Calà come artista visiva sembrerebbe partire da quando, dalla mattina alla sera, decise di mollare il suo lavoro di costumista ad altissimi livelli per cinema, teatro e televisione, per buttarsi nell’unico ambito dove l’unica certezza è l’incertezza: l’arte contemporanea.
In realtà è cominciata molto prima: “Mi ricordo questa scena delle pagine gialle: ero piccolissima, le scarabocchiavo e nella mia mente ogni pagina era una persona con un suo vestito particolare”

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The Museo di Roma in Trastevere represents, in the city of Rome, the only museum opened to photography in the true sense of the word.

Often you can find there interesting exhibitions on American photographers, like the unforgettable one on Stephen Shore.
These kinds of shows lead the roman audience to a certain vision of photography that is less renowned in Rome, and opens new dialogue possibilities between the city and the subject of the exhibition.
This was the case of Leonard Freed, the famous Magnum photographer.

It was Magnum that starts a weird combination between art and documentary photography, and Leonard Freed was one of them who followed the idea that a snapshot can be interesting, pushing the idea of spontaneity.

It seemed that Leonard had a predilection for Italy. From there the title “Io amo l’Italia”, an exaggerated declaration of love not to be suspected.
Indeed, people came called by Freed’s celebrity, finding something maybe below the level of the photographer’s serious work.
You know, it’s from 2006 that Leonard has been dead, so we can’t absolutely blame him for this exhibition.
Maybe he even hates Italy and he was forced to come. Maybe one time, just one time, he said, to make an Italian friend happy “Iow Aemoh leh’eetalia” with an odd American accent, and the newpapers reports this quote and unfortunately the curator of the exhibition read it and he said “Ok, let’s make an exhibition on Freed’s Italian photos”
So we can’t blame Leonard, really.
We could rather blame the curator, who had to place the photographs he wants to show in the context. That would mean as the context of Italy (and that’s ok) either the modern sensibility of the watcher (and that doesn’t work).

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mirceacantor2

The American magazine NY Arts published my review of Mircea Cantor exhibition at MACRO, Rome with the title “Mircea Cantor: The World is Changing”

Here you are the link to the review

Here you are the editorial preview on NY Arts Tumbrl

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Ricordate quando da bambini facevate i funerali agli uccellini morti nel giardino? Gli costruivate una piccola tomba, scavavate un fosso e lo cospargevate di fiori. Poi cantavate una preghierina mentre gli altri bambini vi stavano a guardare.
Come? Non avevate un giardino da piccoli?

Mi dispiace per voi, ma sono certa abbiate senz’altro la prontezza di immaginarvi in ogni dettaglio la commovente scena, e dunque di capire lo spirito di fondo con il quale Robberto (uno dei più validi tra i nuovi artisti sfornati dall’Accademia di Belle Arti), ha deciso di muoversi per questa performance.

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Once a friend of mine said to me: “I don’t really like funny art”

We were arguing on Pino Pascali, the Italian artist working in the seventeen, mostly known for his sculptures. Not exactly Canova’s style. Something like “Walt Disney going mad”, I mean, whale tales sprouting from the floor, brush caterpillars, pregnant canvas, that sort of things.
I not agree with my friend (who wasn’t Clement Greenberg anyway).
For me, art have to be game. A quest sometime. Something that could catch your imagination.
It’s better if art don’t take herself to seriously. I mean, not even stupid. Just intriguing. 

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