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NOVEMBER 2015
ART AND THE ENVIRONMENT: THEY COME TO US WITHOUT A WORD JOAN JONAS, REPRESENTING THE US PAVILION AT THE VENICE BIENNALE 2015 Isabella Boorman MA in History of Art, The Courtauld Institute of Art, London Wales
THE TARAZONA CATHEDRAL AND ITS UNIQUE PAINTINGS Irene Díaz-Roncero Fraile Art Historian and Official Tourist Guide Soria, España
A MEMORIA D’UOMO MAI ALTRI CAVALLI HANNO VIAGGIATO DI PIU’ Matilde Ferrarin Studentessa di Storia dell’Arte Legnago, Verona, Italia
UNA CIUDAD CON VISTA Gabriela Giménez de la Riva Graduada en Historia del Arte Málaga, España
ISABELLE MCCORMICK. PORTFOLIO Isabelle Claire McCormick artist/painter/poet/bookmaker St. Paul, Minnesota, USA
WHILE BILLOWS ENDLESS ROUND THE BEACHES DIE Nora Segreto PhD Student, Université Paris-Sorbonne Firenze, Italia
LA COLINA BLANCA, LA MONTAÑA NEGRA Y EL MAR AZUL Ramón Melero Guirado Profesional de la Cultura Cazorla, Jaén, España
FANTASÍA ÁRABE DE MARIANO FORTUNY. UN ANÁLISIS COMPOSITIVO E INTERPRETACIÓN PERSONAL José Luis Tejero Ilustrador Íllora, Granada, España
5 QUESTIONS YOU MIGHT HAVE ABOUT ALBERTO BURRI Eline Verstegen MA student, London Antwerp, Belgium
Do you
know what Hyperkulturemia means?
It is also known as Stendhal Syndrome, a psychosomatic condition that causes dizziness, palpitations, confusion and an increased heart rate when feeling overwhelmed with arts and culture. But... Who was Stendhal? He was a French writer, who first described the sensations of hyperkulturemia after a trip to Florence in 1817: "I was in a sort of ecstasy, from the notion of being in Florence, close to the great men I had seen whose tombs. Absorbed in the contemplation of sublime beauty ... I had palpitations of the heart, what in Berlin they call 'nerves.' life was drained from me. I walked with the fear of falling ..."
NOVEMBER 2015
Eline Verstegen MA student, London Antwerp, Belgium
Isabella Boorman MA in History of Art, The Courtauld Institute of Art, London Wales
Irene Díaz-Roncero Fraile Art Historian and Official Tourist Guide Soria, Spain José José Luis Tejero Ilustrador Granada, España.
Ramon Melero Guirado Profesional de la Cultura Cazorla, Espana
Gabriela Giménez de la Riva Graduada en Historia del Arte Málaga, Jaén
Isabelle Claire McCormick artist/painter/poet/bookmaker St. Paul, Minnesota, USA
Nora Segreto PhD Student, Université Paris-Sorbonne Firenze, Italia
Matilde Ferrarin Studentessa di Storia dell’Arte Verona, Italy
ARTAND ENVIRONMENT THEY COME TO US WITHOUT A WORD JOAN JONAS, REPRESENTING THE US PAVILION AT THE VENICE BIENNALE 2015 They Come to Us without a Word is the brainchild of renowned American artist Joan Jonas. Born in New York City in 1936, Jonas has built up an impressive career in the art world spanning over four decades. From performance art, to paintings and video installations, Jonas’s list of artistic output is endless. She is currently the Professor Emerita in ‘Art, Culture and Technology’ for M.I.T, where she has taught at since 1998. This particular exhibition was commissioned by the Director of M.I.T Paul C. Ha, who cocurated the show with Uta Meta Bauer, Director of NTU Centre for Contemporary Art, Singapore.
Currently celebrating its 120th year in style, The Venice Biennale has given Jonas the prestigious honour of representing America, a challenge which she has not only taken on, but managed to conquer. Before even entering the celestial stage Jonas has assembled before our eyes, we are greeted with her work Nine Trees, an assortment of tree trunks taken by the artist herself from nearby Venetian island Isola della Certosa. Jonas has not interrupted nature here; she is merely a witness to its powerful force, recovering these branches in the aftermath a fierce storm. Nature is given its full cycle, as once the exhibition comes to its close, Jonas will personally return the trees to Isola della Certosa. Peeling back curtains, our eyes and minds enter a ghostly grey room. “Each room is hauntedâ€? says the artist, and in fact the lingering lulls of voices, layered throughout this installation are following in the footsteps of years of oral tradition, by reciting ghost stories. These in particular descend from Cape Breton in Nova Scotia, where the artist has spent her summers since the 1970s. Literature is built into the foundation of this exhibition, with extracts from Icelandic writer HalldĂłr Laxness.
This is an exhibition of the senses, not solely for our eyes, but our minds, bodies and spirits too. Whilst walking through the exhibition the viewer is transported out of everyday life and its worries into a true and honest state of humanity, following the rhythm of the continual flow of nature. The voices cry out to each other between the rooms, is this nature’s cry for help within a world of chaos? The music is provided by Jason Moran, the eerie piano notes and dreamy tones displaying a total connection between viewer and artwork. To take it right back to its basics: each room here depicts a natural element. The first two rooms display natural creatures: bees and fish. We are greeted by films of floating seahorses and found objects
including sea creatures and masks the artist herself has sourced from a variety of destinations, including Venice itself. Children within the films move and make work, as if they were the bees themselves, whilst moving in a continual rhythm, placed under nature’s trance. The rooms are filled with paintings of bees and fish, for as high as our eyes can reach, they descend into the ceiling. One has to stop to wonder whether they really stop with the ceiling or if we are witnessing a natural path to infinity. Infinity certainly rings loud and clear within
“GHOSTS ARE VERY MUCH ALIVE THERE, AS IN ALL PARTS OF THE WORLD. WE ARE HAUNTED, THE ROOMS ARE HAUNTED”.
the centre of the exhibition, with its glinting hallway made of mirrors. A grand chandelier made from Murano glass hangs softly from the ceiling. Beauty and wonderment manages to stop viewers in their tracks,
transforming them into inquisitive and captivated young creatures once more. We drift into Jonas’s room of force, focusing on nature’s wind and its power. Children here are depicted in white, appearing earthly and transcendent. Perhaps this stands as a reminder, allowing us to remember that they are our future in all that they represent. The fifth and final room ends in blissful familiarity, we are in the home room. Here we see glimpses of the artist herself, darting in and out of her films, her visage coated in a mask, igniting the viewers’ curiosity. Images of children gently stroking horses, and dogs playing within fresh green fields, leaves the viewer departing the exhibition with an overwhelming feeling of calm and serenity. This exhibition ultimately tells us about ourselves. Our connections to others, relationships and memories, both lost and found.
The main theme made visible from this exhibition? In today’s world of technology and commerce, we have lost sight of the importance of nature. This exhilarating body of work provides us with a simple reminder of all that is important in life. The artist is sending us a very clear message about the world we live in. Take care of nature just like it has always taken care of us.
Isabella Boorman MA in History of Art, The Courtauld Institute of Art, London Wales isabellaboorman@hotmail.com
TARAZONA
the
CATHEDRAL And its unique paintings
Painted churches and cathedrals are quite common all across Europe. Hence, I might not surprise you by writing about the paintings of a specific cathedral, but in fact, I hope I will. Firstly, I will give you a brief overview of painted cathedrals in Spain. Mural painting is not as common in Spain as it is in other European countries, mainly because the country suffered under wars, dilapidation and bad restoration practices that destroyed or made a huge part of its heritage buildings disappear. However, remaining examples of frescoes in Spanish churches include San Isidoro de León, the churches of Taüll and the Boì valley or San Baudelio de Berlanga [see Hyperkulturemia 1, Ed.]. All these excellent mural paintings belong to relatively small, second-grade churches, but not to major buildings such as cathedrals. Moreover, all of the above mentioned artworks were created in the lower Middle Ages in a Romanesque style. During the higher Middle Ages, when a new arts paradigm was developed with the Gothic style in Europe, we start losing track of frescoes in Spanish churches. Architecture, sculpture and other arts develop in the same way as elsewhere in Europe, but mural paintings start their decay, having to make room for new creations such as stained glass (the new way of filling the open churches’ walls). The old cathedral of Salamanca or the paintings of Santa Clara de Toro, San Pedro de Olite and Pedralbes are some rare examples of the not so common Gothic religious mural paintings in Spain. The Renaissance does not change this paradigm all that much, and other media, such as sculpture, altarpieces, and table painting remain the prevalent decorations of churches. Only later, mainly during the Baroque, will the idea of decorating churches’ walls and ceilings be picked up again, for example in Goya’s painted domes of the El Pilar Basilic in Zaragoza, one of the Spanish mural masterpieces. Given this evolution, paying close attention to one of the only Renaissance painted cathedrals in Spain seems justified to me. In line with the words of the art historian Carmen Gómez Urdáñez, this is the only case in Europe where this kind of iconographic program, based on the platonic philosophy (exemplified through nude monumental images in a similar point of a cathedral), can be found – although similar cases are known to exist in private spaces.
The paintings of the Tarazona cathedral, Santa MarĂa de la Huerta, are displayed on three main locations across the public space of the building (to be clear, private chapels’ paintings are not included in this article). Firstly, paintings can be seen in the vaults of the apse and presbytery; then in the dome and lantern, and finally also on the walls of the apse and presbytery (including the ambulatory in the back, where gothic frescoes mingle with some Renaissance ones). The most interesting and representative paintings of the cathedral were created by the painter Alonso GonzĂĄlez between 1546 and 1549, by using the grisaille-technique. In the octagonal dome of the lantern, each sculpture of the apostles and St. John the Baptist stands in between a couple of grisaille painted allegoric figures, and above those there are two rings with other figures that reinforce the message. This psychomania of classical nude characters intends to show Christians the path to follow, the example of striving to the virtues that will bring them closer to God. We can identify the three kinds of love described in platonic philosophy: the physical love (the lowest one, represented by Safira and Joseph), the human love (represented by Dido and Eneas), and the divine love (the superior one, represented by Apollo and Venus).
The clear aim of this iconographic cycle is to enhance a deep reflection about the virtuous and the non-virtuous forms of love, and how different actions and decisions move Christians forward to, or backwards from, God. In the presbytery and the main apse’s vaults the paintings show a unique iconography of sixteen prophets and sibyls. These classical characters, painted between 1562 and 1564, were the ones that told humanity about the coming of the Lord. For this reason they are displayed above the altar, the place in the church where Jesus comes to life again. The monumental (and some partially nude) figures of the classical repertory, like the sibyls, mixed up with Christian prophets, recall the same syncretic ideas that appear in many Italian artworks, for example in the Sistine Chapel. Strikingly in line with this, the presence of the Italian artist Pietro Morone in Tarazona and other nearer cities such as Calatayud is for instance well documented. Influences and ideas from Italy could be brought over by this artist and could have maybe developed themselves in these amazing paintings. Moreover, the restoration of the cathedral (which has lasted for 30 years, and still is going on) uncovered another series of unknown grisaille paintings around the windows of the main chapel, representing saints and ornamental designs. Finally, it is important to mention that grisailles are not the only paintings in the cathedral. In fact, in the ambulatory is possible to find gothic frescoes representing Anna cooking, medieval fantastic beasts and other ornamental figures, and a huge painting following the style of the main chapel’s grisailles. In December 1593 the Council of
Trent considered this type of figures inappropriate to be shown in public churches, so those paintings were covered in white. That allowed them to stay hidden, and at the same time protected, until the restoration uncovered them. The simple decision to cover the paintings was crucial, because it made the difference between destruction and preservation of this important heritage. Six different restoration teams have worked for the last 30 years to finally open the cathedral to the public in 2011. Just a few months ago, the Tarazona’s cathedral restoration received the Europa Nostra 2015 Award. Thanks to the huge and excellent work they have done to recover a monument that years ago was falling to pieces, the cathedral nowadays shines as one of the proudest in Spain.
Irene DĂaz-Roncero Fraile Art Historian and Official Tourist Guide from Soria, Spain irenedrf@gmail.com
A memoria d’uomo mai altri cavalli hanno viaggiato di piÚ
A memoria d’uomo, mai altri cavalli hanno viaggiato più lungamente nel tempo e nello spazio dei quattro destrieri che ornano da 800 anni la basilica di San Marco a Venezia. I quattro cavalli in bronzo dorato, che da San Marco guardano a est, giunsero da Bisanzio nel lontano 1204 per volere del Doge Enrico Dandolo, dopo che i Crociati, con l’aiuto della Serenissima, avevano conquistato la città. A Costantinopoli i cavalli facevano parte di una quadriga dedicata al Dio Sole ed erano posti sulla torre d’entrata dell’ippodromo, un luogo di fondamentale importanza per tutta la durata dell’Impero Romano d’Oriente. In questo contesto i quattro cavalli, in posizione centrale e visibile da tutti, assumevano il
significato di cavalli del sole, perciò dorati, divenendo l’immagine più chiara ed immediata dell’astro stesso e quindi del potere imperiale che tutto unifica e controlla. La rimozione dei cavalli dalla torre dell’ippodromo, fatta con corde o altro da mano non molto esperta, portò alla perdita o quanto meno all’incrinatura degli zoccoli e di parte delle zampe più saldamente fissate al basamento. Sanudo racconta che uno dei cavalli ebbe uno zoccolo spezzato durante il trasporto a Venezia nella galera di Domenico Morosini (1205-1206) e che questi conservò il pezzo mentre al dogado spettò provvedere a costruirne un altro.
Giunti a Venezia i cavalli restarono per ben 50 anni depositati in Arsenale. Poi finalmente furono destinati ad ornare la facciata della Basilica di San Marco quale richiamo alla simbologia di continuità col potere imperiale di Bisanzio e immagine della Quadriglia Domini, allegoria della diffusione della Parola Divina attraverso l’opera dei quattro Evangelisti. Milioni di visitatori subirono il fascino della dorata quadriglia, tra questi il Petrarca arrivato a Venezia nel 1364, ospite d’onore ai festeggiamenti per la presa di Candia. Il poeta rimase estasiato dal “vigore” di quella rappresentazione scultorea. Nel dicembre del 1797, per la prima volta dopo oltre cinque secoli, i quattro cavalli abbandonarono la facciata di San Marco per volere di Napoleone che li fece trasferire a Parigi. La quadriga, destinata a decorare il coronamento dell'arco trionfale del Carrousel, subisce varie aggiunte. Con la caduta di Napoleone, Antonio Canova viene incaricato del recupero e del trasporto in Italia delle opere trafugate. Il 13 dicembre 1815, alla presenza di Francesco I d'Austria, nuovo sovrano di Venezia, i cavalli vengono restituiti alla facciata di San Marco. La preziosa quadriga in bronzo dorato, l'unica pervenuta dall'antichità, ha però subito notevoli danni, quindi prima della ricollocazione viene portata in Arsenale per essere restaurata.
Altri interventi saranno necessari negli anni successivi, ed ancora la quadriga per due volte verrà calata dall'arcone marciano per trovare riparo in un rifugio sicuro nel corso delle due ultime guerre mondiali. Con la prima guerra mondiale, come altre statue, anche i cavalli furono portati al sicuro a Roma. Finito il conflitto ritornarono a Venezia e, dopo una sosta in Palazzo Ducale per alcuni restauri, nel 1919 ritornarono sulla loro loggia. Qui rimasero fino al 1942, quando, con lo scoppio della seconda guerra mondiale, furono portati a Paraglia in provincia di Padova. Le operazioni per calare i cavalli bronzei sono documentate con attenzione e ritraggono tutte le varie fasi delle complesse operazioni: dall’imbracatura delle sculture sotto gli occhi attenti di ufficiali al momento della loro discesa dove appaiono quasi irreali, sospesi a mezz’aria sopra le monumentali porte della basilica di San Marco; dal loro fissaggio entro telai di legni e corde fino alla loro sosta entro il cortile di Palazzo Venezia a Roma. Le foto che li ritraggono ce li mostrano come addomesticati, sotto gli occhi di vigili funzionari delle Belle Arti, in una sorta di forzata prigionia di guerra. Così come desolata appariva la facciata della basilica veneziana, orfana delle sue quattro sentinelle in bronzo o come il salone del Palazzo Ducale mutilato dei maestosi teleri eseguiti dai più noti pittori veneti del Cinquecento.
Definitivamente, nell'agosto 1945, i quattro cavalli ritornarono sul loggiato della Basilica di San Marco. Intorno agli anni sessanta i cavalli vengono sottoposti dall'Istituto Centrale del Restauro a una serie di indagini tecniche che ne constatano le precarie condizioni. Furono organizzate durante le attività di restauro numerose e curatissime mostre: i cavalli di San Marco, infatti, sono stati ospitati dai più famosi musei del mondo (la British Academy di Londra, il Metropolitan Museum di New York, il Palazzo Reale di Milano) e hanno fatto sì che la mostra dal titolo “I cavalli di San Marco” risultasse la più frequentata al mondo, con un totale di oltre 2 milioni di visitatori. Poiché il tempo e gli agenti atmosferici hanno causato molti danni al bronzo e alla struttura stessa delle statue, i quattro cavalli originali sono ora collocati, in un ambiente sicuro e protetto, all'interno della Basilica, nel Museo Marciano, e sono state fatte delle copie che li hanno sostituiti.
Sono fiorite numerose leggende intorno a questo favoloso bottino di guerra, si dice che durante le notti cupe, quando il cielo è plumbeo e la Laguna e battuta dai venti forti, questi magnifici esemplari scendano dalla loro nicchia e iniziano a scalpitare, nitrire e correre per la Piazza in cerca dei loro occhi, favolosi rubini che sono scomparsi durante la trasferta francese, oppure in cerca di vendetta contro coloro che li stapparono con la forza al suolo patrio, bagnato di sangue innocente.
Matilde Ferrarin Studentessa in Storia dell’Arte Verona, Italia matilde.ferrarin@gmail.com
Una ciudad
con vista Si en la arquitectura doméstica de la China antigua se apreciaba la casa en tanto que disponía de un mirador adecuado al jardín –e incluso, a tal efecto, se levantaban muros en el jardín y se abrían ventanas para la contemplación del paisaje -, en la vida doméstica holandesa parece darse el proceso inverso por el que, al pasear las ciudades del país, da la sensación de que las ventanas y los salones comedores estén tan integrados en la oferta contemplativa de la ciudad como sus canales y bicicletas.
Lo extraño es el modo en que se nos ofrecen estos interiores desde las ventanas blancas de guillotina; comparten a veces un componente inquietante, el mismo que percibimos en las pinturas de Vermeer; todo está en calma y en su lugar, y, lo más notable, todo tiene su lugar. A veces dudamos si no se trata de un escenario preparado a conciencia para el voyeur. Aquí el segundo aviso. ¿Qué construye este voyerismo que rebasa lo aparente –es decir, su propia esencia; que quizá no es ni voyeur –y se descubre más bien como una actitud innata de las casas holandesas? Podríamos estar seguros que estas habitaciones, aun selladas para siempre y sin volver a sentir ninguna mirada externa, mantendrían inalterable su presencia orgullosa y exhibicionista. Nos sorprende en su esencia el alto sentido estético patente en el conjunto de la ventana y el interior vistos desde la calle. ¿Cómo se puede explicar esta relación del exterior con el interior? Procediendo como se suele, las primeras hipótesis las podemos encontrar en algunos datos históricos y técnicos. Witold Rybczynski –que ha dedicado un lugar preponderante a Holanda en su historia de la idea de casa –, alude a una estancia medieval de las casas neerlandesas que se situaba en la parte frontal de los edificios y que era la zona pública del domicilio. Más adelante, sin
embargo, los negocios se apartan del hogar familiar y la totalidad de la casa se convierte en lugar de esparcimiento privado. De cualquier modo, la existencia circunstancial de esta estancia en el Medievo, no podría acercarse siquiera a las razones más profundas de la relación de la calle y la casa. No obstante, se plantea en la construcción de casas holandesas un problema técnico que puede resultar causal para la configuración del modelo doméstico. La estrechez de los edificios holandeses, que crecían alargados en altura, y la escasez de suelo, hacían que el peso de las cubiertas abuhardilladas recayera en los muros laterales. A la fachada principal, consecuentemente, se le podían pedir básicamente dos cosas: que fuese lo más ligera posible –para no agravar el peso que soportaban los insuficientes cimientos –y que diesen la mayor luz posible a los interiores. Efectivamente, la demanda de grandes vanos favorece la apertura al exterior,pero sigue sin decirnos nada de la voluntad estética tan palpable en sus interiores. Quizá sea más conveniente buscar
explicaciones generales, desde las bases espirituales que rigen el país en el momento en que se configura la vivienda. Todo empieza con la forja de un concepto que nace casi parejo a la nación: la domesticidad. Esta fe profana de la materia adelanta las tesis de la modernidad y pone el primer pilar para que sea en Holanda donde aparezca uno de los grupos vanguardistas que primero se proponen sistematizar el diseño y la arquitectura: De Stijl. Su teórico Van Doesburg, entre las diecisiete máximas de la arquitectura y el diseño que dicta, incluye lo inapelable de la función como única causa para cualquier construcción. Se puede entender como consecuencia otra de las proclamas: en el nuevo diseño no hay elementos vacíos ni pasivos pues todo está determinado por la función… Quizá, con estas ideas de la vanguardia holandesa presentes, podamos replantearnos qué es lo que nos inquietaba de la quietud y el orden de Vermeer o de cualquier estancia holandesa: la plenitud de significado y conciencia en cada forma que toma parte.
La domesticidad, como algo prototípicamente holandés, hace de la casa, y de lo privado, la unidad básica de la vida de la ciudad. Podríamos aventurarnos a decir que es su máxima creencia. Pero en un plano más amplio, el holandés es congénitamente urbanita, habitante de ciudades nato. Por ello, el jardín delantero que adorna su casa no sólo sirve para el embellecimiento de su propiedad y el disfrute de su familia, sino que también contribuye al escenario de la calle. Asimismo, cada casa holandesa mantuvo su parte de acera limpia de desperdicios. Es decir, esto nos revela que la ciudad holandesa, como proyecto urbanístico, era una construcción formada a partir de las unidades domésticas privadas. La casa y el entorno íntimo era el génesis de todo. Entonces, a tenor de esta idea del urbanismo neerlandés, podemos preguntarnos otra cosa: si una ventana que se abre al exterior sirve para contemplar un jardín o la lluvia en la calle, ventanas, como las holandesas, que se abren más bien hacia lo que muestra la estancia en su interior, debe presuponer, por tanto, la existencia de un lugar correspondiente en importancia desde el que mirar. Podemos contestarnos rehaciendo el camino hacia la vanguardia pues vemos cómo, de nuevo, los diseñadores de De Stijl también pusieron su acento en esta relación entre el plano interno y externo pues soñaron con una vivienda –como la que llegó a construir Van Doesburg en Utrecht para los Schröder –en la que los muros fuesen suprimidos y ambos planos confundidos en una misma planta abierta.
Si “una habitación con vistas” podría hacer las veces de subtítulo para una reflexión sobre la arquitectura china tradicional en relación a sus jardines, “una ciudad con vistas” podría condensar el trayecto que una ciudad holandesa nos impone a la mirada desde sus calles hacia sus interiores.
Gabriela Giménez de la Riva Graduada en Historia del Arte Malaga, España ggimenezdelariva@gmail.com
ISABELLE MCCORMICK -PORTFOLIO-
My mother ran her own catering business out of our kitchen while I was growing up. The home and the clean plate were sort of canvas to her, the domestic space central to her routine as a wife, mother and chef. I remember watching her slice through a cucumber one afternoon and her sighing, overwhelmed by the loveliness held in the symmetrical swirl of seeds. She was not just cooking or keeping a home, but rather curating, finding beauty in the home ingredients.  
My paintings are adamantly handmade, homemade. They hearken back to this environment and time, to my mother’s studio through a child’s eyes. I treat my workspace like my mother’s kitchen; white canvas plates need prepping, and little tastes of texture start cooking. My creative work stitches together different painted patterns and textures into summaries of home and neighborhood spaces, tinged with American nostalgia and suburban idealism. The different surface sensations confronted in my paintings rely on the tactility of my childhood memories to simplify spatial shifts into assemblages of pattern. The
1960s Los Angeles Cool School has influenced how I delineate these different surface textures. Ed Ruscha, Billy Al Bengston, Ken Price, Larry Bell, and Craig Kauffman, were among the leaders of the Cool School. Borrowing from the visual vocabulary of their commercial surroundings and everyday sport, they collectively created the “LA look” or “finish fetish”—a term coined by the late critic John Coplans. I situate my paintings as a contemporary alternative to the L.A. Cool School’s surface obsession. My work embraces a female lens and subject in environments built from pattern and simulated texture,
much like that of Mikalene Thomas. With compositional roots in 19th century North American folk art and portrait painting, my works present a femme finish fetish of flat, domestic settings embedded with a multitude of American pop culture references. My images are closely cropped to call attention to a specific figure-object or figure-outfit relationships. These fragmented figures don subtle signs of style and era. Nostalgic patterns and vintage silhouettes always emerge, but carry a number of temporal associations. Manicured nails with a matching red apron could read as the visual icons of 1950s housewifery.
Wide floor length skirts and androgynous necklines border current sartorial trends, but also recall the “hoopskirt conservatism” of Republican Motherhood and the early New England Puritan tradition. Alluding to many different styles, eras, and trends, my compositions contrast the relationship between painting and fashion that artists like Ammi Phillips helped develop in America. An untrained North American portrait painter, Phillips expressed the “clearcut, unambiguous fashion” of the 19th century agrarian communities in which he worked and lived. His paintings unmistakably summarize an early period of American fashion. I seek to preserve an ambiguity in my references to signal the cyclical nature of cultural phenomena; how certain physical and domestic expectations for women remain stubbornly consistent. Wide neck collars, corded telephones, plaid textiles, faux-wood finishing, and linoleum floor tiles can call forth a plurality of reads, trends, and periods that remain in tension throughout my work. My interest in Vogue magazine has long helped me formulate these glimpses of trends. I first started studying and drawing from Vogue when I was around 10 years old. I would visit the downtown Saint Paul library to peruse their magazine collection, which includes every issue of Vogue from 1929 onward. My compositions in part derive from the kind of femininity communicated through Vogue, founded by Arthur Turnure in 1892 to celebrate the “ceremonial side of life." Icons of womanhood and the home, as recorded in popular culture and media, emerge out of the flat patterns and simple silhouettes that jigsaw together in my paintings. I consider my work in relation to artists like Chantal Joffe and Alan Reid, who also reference vintage magazines to evoke female form and style.
The tight crops of my paintings embody the magazine’s eye, the fashion photographer’s lens. I zoom in on the details, signals of era, but too closely to determine the specifics with absolute certainty. Cropped at the waist or below the nose, the women in my paintings could be models, mothers, or little girls who want to grow up.
My interest in Vogue reflects an effort to access my creative instincts as a child. An alternate perspective inherent in my paintings speaks to the kinds of surfaces often confronted through my 1990s childhood. The flat handling of space evokes a screen aesthetic characteristic of the technological crescendo into the new millennium. Many of the computer games I played growing up, like Story Book Weaver or the Nancy Drew mysteries series, present a sort of “paint-bucket fill” mode of visual organization. Shapes of different simulated textiles and surfaces collage together into the virtual space of the game. These paint-bucket fills inform the pattern blocking that defines my process, where two-dimensional designs build a simulated three-dimensional space. Games like The Sims or Zoombinis, that allow the participant to design his or her own group of characters, have also influenced my approach. Both games use a template where certain traits are made variable and others standardized. As summaries of virtual communities, these systems indicate temporal notions of the individual. Borrowing from 1990s computer culture not only gives me access to my childhood state of mind, but also allows me to comment on our eventual immersion in simulated surfaces as a generation surrounded by screens, to offer an update or reboot of older American aesthetics. My paintings are ultimately enigmatic. They have ambiguous identities in their plurality of references, and are figuratively flexible to reflect the distant childhood headspace from which they derive, the world my mother painted around me. Geometric forms support this ambiguity, something abstract and representational simultaneously existing in the synthesis of clear-cut shape and pattern. 19th century portrait painter Ammi Phillips “made little attempt to place [his] sitters in realistic interior settings, relying instead on the strength of the characterizations, the interest provided by textural treatments of large areas of color, and the spatial relationships between the forms.” There is a kind of memorial framework created in the space of my paintings; the bold colors and pattern, geometric shapes, and abstracted forms coalesce into a field of nostalgic Americana that allows me to reimagine the aesthetics of my formative creative years.
Isabelle Claire McCormick artist/painter/poet/bookmaker St. Paul, Minnesota, USA www.isabellemccormick.com
Bibliography Hollander, Stacy C. "Revisiting Ammi Phillips: Fifty Years of American Portraiture." Folk Art, Spring 1994, 42-45. Peterson, Theodore. "New Leaders: The Merchants." In Magazines in the Twentieth Century, 253. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1956.
LA COLINA BLANCA LA MONTAÑA NEGRA Y EL MAR AZUL En España hay un lugar hacia el sur, más cerca de Fez y de Tetuán que de Madrid, donde las colinas parecen artificiales, de cal blanca e irregularmente racionales, donde altas cumbres grises y sombrías rozan el cielo, y donde el mar es de cristal y tierra.
Un territorio que no invita a entrar, del que se pasa de largo por su línea de costa. Ese lugar es la Axarquía, en la provincia de Málaga. Fenicios, romanos y árabes quisieron hacer de estas tierras un apacible lugar de vida, éstos últimos dejaron una impronta muy marcada, fosilizada en una lata de conserva que hoy abrimos. Estamos ante un paisaje repleto de pequeños pueblos blancos que tapizan laderas verdes y marrones, un territorio de difícil domesticación, que asciende desde sus grises playas abruptamente, sin llanura, sin descanso, por escalones paso a paso y por terrazas que se proyectan hacia valles que llegan al Mediterráneo. Un vergel en el que hay agua que corre y murmura por la acequia y donde también hay sombra que sosiega el calinoso sol malagueño, sombra que huele a azahar y a higuera. Históricamente nos habla el viñedo, con sus aromáticos vinos, sus dulces pasas y sus singulares paseros, que geometrizan las colinas a la solana, donde se curte y seca la uva. Este cultivo es historia, es vida, es prosperidad, júbilo y tradición, pero
también es muerte, emigración, crisis, pobreza y desesperación. La enfermedad de la vid fue la enfermedad de su pueblo, en el siglo XIX la filoxera azotó ferozmente los viñedos axárquicos, y la Axarquía quedó exhausta y moribunda. Se lanzaron al cielo todo tipo de plegarias, se construyeron iglesias, altares y ermitas, y la filoxera pasó. Pero nada fue igual, se buscaron alternativas como el olivo, el aguacate o el almendro, que aprovecharon la infraestructura heredera de al-Andalus para crecer en la colina. Más de un siglo después la uva vuelve a ser protagonista aunque el paisaje haya cambiado.
Porque el paisaje de la Axarquía es indomable, es un paisaje cultural resultado de la prolongada e insistente ocupación del hombre, donde una extraordinaria red de caminos llega a cada cortijo dibujando pendientes zigzagueantes e imposibles, creando una constelación de pueblos, un paisaje que se reescribe en cada época, construido palmo a palmo, siglo tras siglo. Consecuencia de esta extendida humanización, el paisaje de la Axarquía ha sufrido y se ha desgastado, la próspera década de los noventa tejió una compleja urdimbre de cobre que cuelga como lianas sobre los pronunciados valles, serpientes de PVC reptan semienterradas paralelas a arroyos, alejándonos del estereotipo de paisaje bello.
Es precisamente la bravura de estas laberínticas tierras lo que favoreció durante la segunda mitad del diecinueve que la partida de bandoleros liderada por el Bizco de El Borge protagonizase virulentas e innumerables fechorías, urdiendo conciliábulos en ventas, cortijos y caseríos impermeabilizados a la ley. Dicen que el bandolerismo es un fenómeno que se activa principalmente en épocas de crisis, quizás por este motivo la banda axárquica desarrolló su actividad delictiva durante el periodo que se corresponde a la crisis del viñedo, entre 1880 y 1890. “El rey manda en España, en la sierra mando yo”, así dijo Tempranillo el bandolero en la Venta de Alfarnatejo, del mismo modo, la cuadrilla del Bizco hizo de la Axarquía su zona de confort, y con los años, hechos y habladurías interactuaron con tradiciones, lugares y caminos confiriendo a esta comarca ese aire montaraz e indómito. Un embrujo que algunos románticos, como Richard Ford y Theophile Gautier, consiguieron retratar en sus cuadernos de viajes por Andalucía. Como colinas blancas, estos relucientes pueblos crecen abigarrados, parecen panales de abeja de cal y piedra que reflejan la refulgente luz del sol. Pueblos que germinaron como caseríos vinculados a huertos minifundistas durante época musulmana, de donde copiosamente surgen elementos patrimoniales que confieren singularidad al paisaje. Tras la conquista cristiana de 1487, brotaron altos y marrones campanarios mudéjares solados con paños de sebka. Con varias capas de cal, los cementerios axárquicos amontonan sus tumbas de bóveda con disposiciones muy dispares, octogonal es la planta del cementerio de Sayalonga; en Comares, los difuntos descansan dentro de los restos de tapial del castillo,
y también reseñable es el caso de Benagalbón, donde sus tumbas parecen disponerse siguiendo el mismo sistema de bancales que se emplea en agricultura. Vetustos ingenios de azúcar, referente para una agonizante arqueología industrial, abandonados en lo que un día fue la periferia y lo que hoy es un barrio nuevo que debate diariamente si estas estructuras se deberían demoler (Ingenio de San Antonio Abad en Nerja) o integrar en el paisaje urbano (Ingenio de Torre del Mar). La amalgama de elementos a los que hemos hecho referencia en estas líneas, simplemente nos dibujan una comarca viva, un paisaje cultural construido ininterrumpidamente desde la prehistoria hasta nuestros días, con sus luces y sus sombras.
Ramón Melero Guirado Profesional de la Cultura Cazorla, Jaén, España rmeleroguirado@gmail.com
WHILE BILLOWS ENDLESS ROUND THE BEACHES DIE
TASSILO MOZER SEPTEMBER 12TH - NOVEMBER 10TH, ULMER MÜNSTER, ULM
Eight hanging islands are roped on the northern vaults of the Ulmer Münster and five more islands are lying in the vestibule of the main entrance, “while billows endless round the beaches die”. Tassilo Mozer was born in 1963 in Ulm, Germany. He studied at the University of Heidelberg and the Fine Arts Academies of Florence and Bologna. He has received several important awards, has had numerous solo exhibitions and has taken part in many group shows in Germany and Italy. He divided his time between Prato and Ulm and he died in Florence in September 2012. The sculptures and installations by Tassilo Mozer span a period of 25 years. Mozer’s works are simple in form but at the same time they are also of a staggering power. He worked in bronze and plaster in order to realize cubes, columns or circles. These perfect forms make up indeterminate artworks that are free and, by definition, “untitled”. In fact, he has always left his works without a proper title precisely because of their features, their technique and style.
ENVIABLES ISLES Through storms you reach them and from storms are free. Afar descried, the foremost drear in hue, But, nearer, green; and, on the marge, the sea Makes thunder low and mist of rainbowed dew. But, inland, where the sleep that folds the hills A dreamier sleep, the trance of God, instills-On uplands hazed, in wandering airs aswoon, Slow-swaying palms salute love's cypress tree Adown in vale where pebbly runlets croon A song to lull all sorrow and all glee. Sweet-fern and moss in many a glade are here. Where, strewn in flocks, what cheek-flushed myriads lie Dimpling in dream--unconscious slumberers mere, While billows endless round the beaches die.
Herman Melville
The works are, at least apparently, uncomplicated, speaking to everyone, telling a story to anyone. Hence everyone is free to think of their own title and interpretation. The artworks presented at the Ulmer Münster Cathedral, however, are amongst the few works that Mozer gave a precise title. He started to work on them in 1992 from different points of view: he thought of each artwork individually as a single object, an island, or as being part of a series, an archipelago. “While billows endless round the beaches die” is the last line of the poem “The enviable Islands” by Herman Melville. He wrote it in 1888, exactly 37 years after the appearance of his novel “Moby Dick”. The line appeared in numerous documents and works in Mozer’s studio and is also the title of the pieces presented in the Cathedral. Tassilo Mozer knew this poem and found it perfect to represent this series of works: from the circle to the island, from bronze to sand, from brown to white and from the earth to the sea, from the finite to the infinite. The installation at the Ulmer Münster, organized for the the 125th anniversary of the completion of the main tower, consists of two parts: eight hanging islands are roped on the northern vaults of the Ulmer Münster and five more islands are lying in the vestibule of the main entrance. What are these sculptures representing here? If it is true that the waves are destroying the beaches, it is also true that they are creating the beaches. The waves take away from them, but also add to them: the waves give the beaches their form. The sculptures here are islands, so they represent these beaches. From the point of view that the waves tear the beaches apart, one could argue that they should be dying. However,
these islands are not dead, we can see them. They arrogate the space, setting up a dialogue with it and altering its physiognomy (for instance, some of them are floating in the air). In line with this, it has to be noticed that the waves are the artist’s expression. They represent Tassilo Mozer, his emotion and vision. Mozer might not be with us anymore, but these islands created by him and for him, are still here with us. Apparently something unnatural happened, something which is contradictory with what I have just said: somehow Tassilo Mozer is still living. He is here with us, in an artistic touch that can be only his. Moreover, these islands are not only alive, but they arrived here. Waves did not destroy them, but brought them here. Mozer was working in the area around Florence and these islands have been drawn and forged there. From a Tuscan foundry they came to the Ulmer Mßnster; from where he had decided to live and work to the place where he was born. These islands made a material and a spiritual travel, a fusion of a transportation and a laic procession, a travel bringing back home something from Mozer.
Outside there are other islands laying on the pavement, a sign of the symbolic passage towards the final destination. They are offering an image of movement, the one of the waves that brought them here. Mozer used to love the idea of movement, of tension, of equilibrium. He also used to like open spaces: he was conceiving and producing artworks for outside spaces, for gardens for example. He also wrote a book about art gardens in Umbria, Tuscany and Latium, a wellresearched, detailed and patient work that took quite a long time to be completed. From this perspective writing the books was a work mirroring his personality. I guess he probably also loved the sea. I do not know if he regularly went there, but I am sure he loved the sensation of open, nonfinished space and movement. The first time I met Mozer, I immediately thought he was a unique person. He was timid, very kind, respectful, having a sensible soul and a strong spirituality. All these aspects can be seen in his works. For example in Florence he exhibited columns (made of plaster, wood or acrylic) and bronze cubes. The essential quality of the column’s form, the upward thrust, contains within it a spiritual tension. Similarly, concentrated within the cube there is a spiritual force, ready to develop at any moment. Here however, we have the islands, quite mysterious places, by definition isolated and silent. And this church, as any other church a place of silence and of spirituality, seems to perfectly welcome his artworks. Even more so, maybe there could not have been a better place for these works, to remember Mozer in his town. Many contemporary artists want to surprise or even shock or cause turmoil. Also these works have a surprising effect on us, but because Mozer’s works express something else. In their simplicity, their purity, in their very simple and clear lines they convey peace and calm. They are pushing us to a silent and individual meditation. And that is Tassilo Mozer, and his legacy for all of us and for those that in the future will have the privilege to metaphorically touch or admire his art.
Nora Segreto PhD Student, UniversitĂŠ Paris-Sorbonne Firenze, Italia nora.segreto@gmail.com
Fantasía árabe de Mariano Fortuny. Un análisis compositivo e interpretación personal.
Mariano José María Bernardo Fortuny y Marsal (Reus 1838 Roma, 1874) fue uno de los mayores pintores españoles del S.XIX y precursor de la modernidad. Muerto, por desgracia, prematuramente, no pudo mostrar al mundo todo de lo que podría haber sido capaz. Su estilo cercano al posterior Impresionismo y su gran interés por la luz y el color habrían revolucionado la pintura europea del S.XIX. Su ambición y afán de superación le hizo gozar de varias pensiones para formarse en Roma y posteriormente convertirse en el elegido para ir al Norte de África como cronista gráfico de la guerra entre España y Marruecos, lo cual supuso un punto de inflexión en su pintura. Empezó a centrarse en una temática orientalista, pero aportando algo original: el ambiente, la atmósfera, la luz y la manera de vivir del Norte de África. Ese fue el verdadero tema de su trabajo. Hizo una pintura realista, muy popular entre el público, lo cual le dio fama y dinero, pero en la que supo plasmar humanidad y sentimiento.
Su ambición y afán de superación le hizo gozar de varias pensiones para formarse en Roma y posteriormente convertirse en el elegido para ir al Norte de África como cronista gráfico de la guerra entre España y Marruecos, lo cual supuso un punto de inflexión en su pintura. Empezó a centrarse en una temática orientalista, pero aportando algo original: el ambiente, la atmósfera, la luz y la manera de vivir del Norte de África. Ese fue el verdadero tema de su trabajo. Hizo una pintura realista, muy popular entre el público, lo cual le dio fama y dinero, pero en la que supo plasmar humanidad y sentimiento. En este artículo nos centraremos en intentar interpretar y analizar los elementos compositivos de su obra Fantasía árabe de 1866. Además de aportar, a título personal, una interpretación pictórica de la misma. El trabajo de Fortuny es rico en elementos teatrales, ya que el ambiente que evoca la escena, así como el resto de su prolífica creación de temática orientalista inspiró filmes posteriores como El ladrón de Bagdad de Ludwig Berger, realizada en 1940. Es muy interesante el detalle con el que el artista describe a todos los personajes de la escena, probablemente el escenario del natural y lo acontecido fue visto en otra parte. Por eso podemos apreciar cierta diferencia entre los principales elementos, incluso da la sensación que la danza fuese una especie de ilusión o espejismo respecto del resto de la escena. Quizás por eso se llame Fantasía árabe.
Si atendemos a las escopetas que portan los protagonistas, podríamos comprobar que la prolongación de las diagonales que las forman puede llevarnos a ver cómo se divide la imagen en porciones geométricas. Otro elemento que se intuye es lo que he querido llamar cono compositivo, a modo de recurso teatral y de organización de la luz. Se puede apreciar cómo entra la luz por el orificio superior dejándose caer por la escena hasta el suelo, combinándose con la fuerte luz lateral. Nos puede recordar, incluso, a la iluminación de las obras de teatro con un gran foco superior que crea una luz cenital, confiriendo dramatismo a la escena. La teatralidad se acentúa aún más gracias a la masa de personas que circunda la escena principal y el escenario arquitectónico que la alberga.
Hay otro detalle que no sé a ciencia cierta si es deliberado del autor o es una interpretación muy personal, pero podemos observar el contraste gráfico y de color entre la representación de los fogonazos de las escopetas en comparación con el sosiego de las naranjas del suelo. Ambos elementos, llevados a su síntesis icónica son fácilmente interpretables, ya que uno es explosivo, puntiagudo, violento y el otro calmo y melodioso, contrastan aún más gracias al uso de los colores complementarios: azul y naranja. Todo ello produce cierta vibración.
El movimiento es uno de los elementos más importantes en una obra, está ligado afactores compositivos como el orden y disposición de los motivos dentro del formato y la relación entre ellos, así como la direccionalidad y recorrido visual que provocan las diferentes partes. Se podría apreciar en este caso, cómo el grupo de personas del fondo de la escena forma cierta isocefálea, equilibrando y dotando de movimiento circular que parece girar en dirección opuesta a la que transmite la dirección de la danza. Círculos que encuentran su analogía en el orificio superior, todo parece girar, así la sensación de danza es más fuerte si cabe. A su vez podemos apreciar los ritmos intrínsecos de los propios bailarines. Ondulantes, zigzagueantes, salvajes. Quizás, el verdadero tema de esta obra sea la luz, quien verdaderamente protagoniza la escena. Su virtuoso tratamiento confiere una gran variedad tonal, creando un ambiente y un dramatismo, a mi juicio, muy especial. El color quizás no sea el elemento más importante en este trabajo, sí lo es el tratamiento de la luz y sus matices. Pero aun así, es cierto que podemos apreciar la vibración cromática que provoca el buen uso de los colores complementarios aplicados con pinceladas sueltas y certeras. Se aprecian en ropajes, pieles y el resto de atrezzo, el uso de matices verdes y rojos, azules y ocres.
Finalmente presento mi interpretación personal de esta obra. Realizada en acuarela sobre papel. Como creativo, cuando realizo el estudio de un maestro, intento crear una obra para estudiar y comprender mejor la original, aquí me centro en el movimiento. La acuarela es una técnica que tiene la capacidad de evocación sobre la de descripción, aunque también se pueda crear un arte descriptivo, es la capacidad evocadora la que interesa en este caso. Evocar el carácter rítmico de la escena, su movimiento, el carácter de esa danza casi salvaje, veloz, violenta incluso. Además de interpretar el particular ambiente que nos sugiere el claroscuro. Así, intentando abstraer de los elementos figurativos el alma del tema de la obra tenemos una nueva imagen, alejada de lo ornamental pero que, quizás, a modo de ejercicio, sirva para tener una visión ampliada. En cualquier caso se trata de una interpretación personal y siempre se puede hacer un nuevo análisis desde otro punto de vista.
Josﾃｩ Josﾃｩ Luis Tejero Ilustrador ﾃ考lora, Granada, Espaﾃｱa joseluis.tefuen@gmail.com
5
QUESTIONS YOU MIGHT HAVE ABOUT
ALBERTO BURRI
It could be argued that, after spending some time
in the backstage of the ongoing spectacular theatre that is the art world, Alberto Burri has now found himself once again thrust into the limelight. However familiar some might be with his work, others still might feel they know as much about Alberto Burri as about paleomagnetism: probably nothing. Hence, this article will try to fill in any cracks (pun intended) in your mind palace room dedicated to Burri.
1. WHO IS ALBERTO BURRI? Alberto Burri is an Italian artist, born in 1915 in the Umbrian town of Città di Castello. Far from being trained as a professional artist in an arts academy, he got a degree specializing in tropical medicine at the University of Perugia. In 1940, two days after Italy entered in the Second World War, he was sent to Libya, only to be captured with his unit in 1943 in Tunisia. He was interned in a war prisoners’ camp in Texas and it is here that his artistic story started to unfold. With the few, unconventional materials he had access to, he made incredibly unique works, which soon would become symptomatic of the cultural renaissance Italy experienced in the post-war period. In 1946 Burri was released and returned to Rome, where he would have his first solo gallery show the next year. He would appear on the international stage by participating in the influential group exhibition “Younger European Artists” at the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum in 1953. He has won (inter)national prizes and was awarded the Order of Merit of the Italian Republic in 1994, one year before his death. Burri died of a respiratory failure in Nice, where he lived with his wife, the American dancer Minsa Craig.
2) What kind of art did he do? Once you get acquainted with the works of Burri, you can pick them out of almost any overloaded art show. Burri’s works stand out by their formal qualities, since he developed unrivalled techniques to handle the rather peculiar materials of which they are made of. By cutting, tearing, punctuating, stitching, welding and even burning pieces of burlap, wood, iron, plastic and Celotex, sometimes even splattering them with touches of mostly red, black and white paint, he created artworks of an immense richness in texture and colour. As acts of destruction become acts of construction, these process-based works convey their astounding dimensions and tactile qualities. Burri was almost obsessively concerned with the very materiality of his works. His titles are then also mere descriptions of the surface, the material and the idea of the work. For instance his works which consist of gesso and chalk applied onto a bronze plate that then crack under high heat are titled “Cretti”, meaning as much as “cracks” in Italian. Hence, Burri has always stated that his works were just unusual paintings; or as some critics would later term them ‘unpainted paintings’. However, many of his artworks have been interpreted as explorations of the war time experience, by referring to open wounds and scars on skin and by using violent techniques and combat materials (the cheap burlap being used for sacks, tents and sandbags for instance).
3) Why is he having this momentum? You almost had to unplug from every art world news to avoid the presence of Burri. He is definitely having a moment, but one could ask, why now? The most probably answer is that Burri is being exhibited like crazy in famous venues in important art hubs, in accordance with his centenary. Firstly, the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum in New York decided to host his first major retrospective in the United States in over 35 year (until January 6). “Albert Burri: the trauma of painting” brings together nearly 100 pieces spanning the period 1949-1989. Another landmark show is being organized by Mazzoleni in London until November 30, which is only the second solo exhibition of the artist in the United Kingdom and the largest in a private gallery. The very extensive survey of museumquality displays around 30 mostly previously unseen pieces. In the beginning of autumn, there also was “Alberto Burri: Grafica” at Luxembourg & Dayanin New York, which brought his works on paper and cardboard to the fore.FurthermoreBurri’s large-scale piece “Il Grande Cretto” just opened to the public, thirty years after the initial conception. The land art work is meant as a memorial for the 1968 earthquake that destroyed the town of Gibellina in Sicily. It covers parts of the original town in white concrete, with huge cracks representing the former street map (which now function as pathways for visitors). And as if that is not enough, in Burri’s place of birth centennial events are being organized by the Fondazione Burri in the Palazzo Albizzini and the dryings sheds of an old tobacco factory, where Burri brought back and installed many artworks in his later life.
4) How is he doing on the art market? Precisely because of his critical resurgence, the demand for Burri’s work in the commercial circuit is rising in a stellar manner. Burri’s auction record dates back to last year, when “CombustionePlastica” (1960) sold at Christie’s London for a staggering €5.604.726. However, during the recent Italian sales, Burri kept on doing extremely well. At Christie’s “Rosso plastica” sold for £3,442,500 (or as Google converted this, €4.784.974,27) and at Sotheby’s “Bianco plastica” surpassed its estimate again, selling for £2,635,400 (or €3.663.128,88). Interestingly, the total sales at both auction houses were above 50 million Euro. At Christie’s the total sale was the highest for the category of Italian art and constituted a 56% increase in comparison to last year. Hence, it seems not only Burri is having a moment, but also the entire Italian post-war movement(think of the likes of Fontana and Manzoni). How long this will last, will have to be seen however.
5) Why haven’t I heard of him? There might be a couple of reasons. Burri worked as a solitary artist, creating his own visual language and never identifying himself with one single movement, which makes it easy to overlook him. He has also been in the shadows of the art scene for a while until recently. However, there is hardly any chance of ignoring him now. Rightfully so, one might add.
Eline Verstegen, MA History, MA Student, London Metropolitan University/ Whitechapel Gallery, london from Antwerp, Belgium eline.verstegen@skynet.be
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The cover photo was taken by Mattia Casanova Artist Personal Assistant Cagliari, Italy matt.cas19@gmail.com
Coordinated by Ramón Melero Guirado Designed and edited by Matilde Ferrarin Revised by Eline Verstegen