Naima Morelli

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Tag "france"

gcsatire

Global Comment has just published my article titled “It’s not just a cartoon: why satire should come of age”. Writing for Global Comment gives me the chance to get a little bit out of my comfort zone, writing about topics not necessarily related to contemporary art and – like in this case – making reflections and drawing connections to the news of the day.

In this piece I’m referring to the parallel upheavals caused by Charlie Hebdo’s cartoon on the earthquake in Italy and The Australian’s cartoon of the Aboriginal dad. While coming from different contexts, both caused a stir. I’m looking at why this happened, and how satire should take into consideration in a modern, more complex world.

Here is the link to the piece

 

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I have just came back from two weeks in Paris. It has been an incredible time. I was there for the Art Paris Art Fair and the exhibition Secret Archipelago at the Palais De Tokyo – yet again on a reporting mission for Art a Part of Cult(ure), the Italian magazine I write for. My boss at Art a Part is the M to my Bond, the Charlie to my Angels, the Xavier to my X-Men, well, you get my drift! In Paris I’ve met with a number of interesting people and had chats with artists I wanted to talk to from a long time, including Eddie Hara and Richard Streitmatter-Tran.

The first week has been a whirlwind of interviews. I already knew what it means to do three interviews in a day – I did it before, and it was crazy! But five interviews in a day? That’s don’t-try-this-at-home insane! Luckily enough, I generally feel energized by working under pressure. Plus, all the artists and gallerists I talked with have been super nice. I can’t wait to share their interviews with you! In this situation it also helped to have the most amazing sidekick a journalist can ever had, a gorgeous Sorrentinian gal called Marta, who also hosted me in Paris. We jumped from metro to metro chatting endlessly about everything from Catilina (ancient republican Rome anyone?) to haircuts, all that while chewing a pan au chocolat (aux amandes, aux pistaches…) and rushing to the next interview.

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live1
I remember one beautiful evening few years ago in Rome. I was walking with my new friend Francesco, a mime just met at Cinema Trevi. Quite strangely for a mime, he was a chatterbox. I thought that was because he couldn’t talk on stage, so that was his way to vent. Since I just came back from an opening at Gagosian gallery, I was wearing red lipstick, a little back dress and red shoes. Francesco and I keep on whirling in the street paved with cobblestones and he said: “You know what the beauty of life is? That you can live wherever you want. You just have to choose a city, and you can move there anytime.” Then he went on telling me about when he was my age – twenty-one at the time – and he moved to Spain by himself. He was working in a bar near the beach, studying as an actor at the same time. He also told me about that time that he saved a girl abused by a group of guys – an anecdote he clearly unsheathed to impress me. Aside from that, the beautiful thing about Francesco was his constant excitement and exaggerated optimism. He could have been banal and cliché in his representation of happiness, fancying sunsets on the beach and the like, but he was still infusing me merriness and even a little inspiration.

Over the years I kept on asking myself: Is that true? Can you really pick a city you like and decide to move there on the whim?

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monet7

Media Previews, along with the free catalogues of the exhibitions, are among the advantages to be part of the “media”.
I have no idea how the NGV has come to know that I’m a journalist, but you know, I got this mail and the object was “Monet’s Garden Media Preview”. I couldn’t say no.

The ingredients were all there.
The National Gallery of Victoria. One of the most famous modern painters of all the times. Pastels colors  Frenchness. I was sure the dynamic NGV would adjust itself to the élégance et finesse required from such event.
So I wore my little back dress with fuchsia stockings and I invited my boyfriend to come with me.
He was not sure he wanted to came. It was too early for him, I mean, nine o’ clock!
“The whole thing would be to classy for me anyways!”, he mumbled curling up in the sheets.
“Come on! Since we are in the City, we can also go do groceries at your favorite Mall after!” I told him.
This convinced him and he finally woke up. He wore his never washed second world war German coat, he grabbed his grannish blue and grey groceries trolley and we were ready to go.

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