I decided to join my forces with those of my dear friends who have artistic roots that differ to mine, as I now realise that, at the end of the day, art is only seemingly separable. If, indeed, we look at it that way, nearly all of us, myself more than anyone, are incomplete artists who almost only know how to advance ourselves in, and study, only one particular aspect of what art would require (in actual fact, art has never asked us for anything and only provides to those who ask…). After all, thinking about it, the same thing more or less happens with all of our things: for example, do we not use our body and mind less than what we should and what we could? And is our knowledge of each and every doctrine and of the world not objectively limited?
If I think of a doctor, I realise that he or she will have expert knowledge of only one branch of medicine (or, at least, greater knowledge in one branch compared to others). And not by chance, he or she will probably specialise in that particular field of medicine. Will they not, however, always be a doctor, able to engage with other branches of medicine if and when the need arises? I believe that a true artist, therefore, follows a similar criterion. An artist is an artist because he or she has the fundamental characteristics required for being just that. Sensitivity, intelligence, creativity, curiosity, natural or acquired technical abilities and talent. This artist will, however, soon decide, for one reason or another, to dedicate his or her attention to one particular aspect of this ingenious human activity, aimed at enhancing the wisdom of mankind by means of beauty or of beauty obtained from wisdom, defining themselves as a writer, a painter, a sculptor or a musician.
I came to these conclusions after I realised that all forms of art belong to me in more or less equal parts or that, at least, I belong to them in equal parts. It was more than 20 years ago – and that has a strange air to it coming from a fourty year old – that I found myself starting to deal with the principles that led man to search for that precise word, with poetry and with prose, while I now realise that I perceive all other visual expressions that the world provides us with in an equal manner and which I have learnt to distinguish ever more profoundly. I feel music pulsating on my chest like a disarranged beat and I confess to purposely keeping my distance from musical instruments as it would only take a spark to lure me to towards that keyboard (or to whatever form it takes) while, to put it bluntly, subtracting not just sporadic time from my writing. Time which, in all honesty, is already so very limited, even for dedicating to this one and only form of art which cunningly worked its way into my flesh, leaving its salvific and mortal mark there even before the air of the forest started to influence the shadows that crowded my dreams.
I am therefore fully aware of the time limit that hinders that idea of trying to reach that feat of learning even more, as I would so desire, for then being able to express myself by paying tribute and glory to art, while not abusing it as so many people seem to have decided to do, all so often, in this new millennium. This all makes me realise that I should forget about what I do not possess, at least for now, and that I should stop it from carrying me away, if not for mere curiosity, to not shuffle the cards in such a way that will then prevent me from being able to describe in the highest and most effective way the things that matter to me most, as and when they transpire. I do admit though that the temptation is great and if my life had not been that of a wanderer, forced to work three times more than many other people who I could define as being more fortunate than myself, at least in terms of material goods, then maybe I would immediately be able to express myself by expanding on my fresh impulses. I believe that I would be able to express myself even more than I do with letters by using brushes and chisels (like when I was little in that carpentry of ours, that keeps coming back to me); I feel the subtle frenzy that comes over me when I see colours, a canvass or scattered shavings which, in my countless overlaying opal shades, gives voice to the immensity of a vivid interior mirror.
I shiver when I see someone dancing or singing, or designing an object – because, contrary to what many people say, design is art – just as I feel a
shudder when I see a photographer or a director who sees everything under a different light compared to how others believe they see things.
All I have to do is close my eyes for realising that, deep inside, I would have inspiring images that I would like to convey onto the stage, if only I knew how to operate a television camera, how to create effects, how to light the stub of a candle with just a clapperboard, or how to move a swing without pushing it.
I confess to feeling an immense emptiness when confronted by art that I did not learn and I cannot promise to one day wear a different cloak to the one I am wearing now. Though even if I will never be able to accomplish it, as reason would lead me to believe, I know that an Artist is one who knows how to wear all of those multi-coloured cloaks with dignity, cloaks which we usually cover ourselves with in order to hide from the sun, which tries to melt us into one single colour, or from the cold which would like to turn us into a statue for its museum in the saltless sea. They would be known as a “Complete Artist” or as an Artist with a capital “A” – at last I would be inclined to think – namely an artist who illustrates the painting by using every single musical note.
I would, for example, prefer playing the torment I feel this evening inside a cathedral or painting it onto a desert wall, rather than just writing it down, even if I have never learnt how to mix colours, or how to apply them, blend them or dilute them. And while my window is near to succumbing to these January hailstones, I would like to give breath to all of those instruments of creation for expressing the love and pain that I feel inside and that may not even be sufficient for conveying it all. Now the emotion of confessing it all to myself is almost making me faint.I would need each form of art to be able to pulsate as I would so desire,
to say it as I would like to say it, to portray it as I feel and as I see it. The poet (who, in this case, is a synecdoche) who is self-sufficient, has probably yet to comprehend what needs to be comprehended. The greatest painters that I have met debated in verse, they played violins, they danced in the streets, just as the greatest musicians hid paintings and sculptures; not to mention the novelist devoted to a virgin stone for carving the heart breaking eyes of love and from the worn-out cards from which it had fled.
Now that I think of it, it used to happen frequently many years ago – when I was already lucky enough to be accepted by authentic Maestri – even if, at the time, I had not realised it, being far from the wisdom of those who indicated the path. Nowadays, however, even I have one or two grey hairs and everything has suddenly become terribly and wonderfully somewhat clear. This, on the one hand, excites me, while on the other it throws me into despair. It troubles me when I realise that my life will not be long enough to learn everything I would like to learn, and I feel breathless being a prisoner of this time limit and of the vastness of this field.
Let me revert to the example of the doctor which I boldly borrowed; I often used to ask myself how a doctor could specialise in one particular field while completely abandoning all other limbs of the same body. Now I know how. It is a painful choice while, perhaps, necessary in order to excel, before joining forces with others. And if this also applies to Art, then it will be this bonding that will bestow us with the Complete Artist that we are looking for!
This idea comforts me a lot; specialisation means excelling in a particular field, allowing us to give the best of ourselves to others, given the limited amount of time, and nothing will then prevent us from joining our forces for giving something to the world, even if we will not be able to completely satisfy those personal impulses that in art, unlike in other fields, still have a reason for existing. It should also be added that, even in one specific artistic field, we still have varying needs; not by chance, in the field of literature, we write poetry, then theatre, essays, aphorisms and so on. Then, in return, I ask myself why do we not specialise ourselves only in one particular sub-category, following therefore the same logic of the limits imposed by the mournful lady with the sickle at hand or by the practical limits of specialisation. In the latter case, however, we cut ourselves loose, we follow that instinct and that impulse that lead us to a verse and then to a prose; yellow, black and pink. Perhaps this happens because in the cases I mentioned, there is less time to dedicate for learning something different, which would really need only a short leap. In such an event, the attention turns to subjects that have a common etymon. And that’s a thorny issue! A battle between my very own hands. Enthusiasm is, indeed, born from the knowledge that each journey has a desired destination, while the journey that leads us to that destination can be equally precious. Destinations without a journey are for those with the right connections and who suddenly find themselves in a place where they are unable to stay still and who will never understand how precious it would have been to reach that destination by moving each stone along the path the leads to the summit, getting there without suffering from the dizziness caused by the sudden appearance of the peak, conscious of having found the map needed for the almost inevitable descent.
We should avoid being voracious therefore, tasting each dish in all of its senses and, at the same time, discovering new ones. The forms of art that are unknown to us are food which wet our appetite, food which sometimes we only take small bites from and which stimulate explosions of taste in all of us…
No, I will not be voracious and I will not allow the discomfort of my childhood, and my excessive yearning, to prevent me from tasting. I will have to be patient and to be happy with that part of the world that I will
be able to visit. And patient if I will then have to return to those very same places. I will learn to scrutinise them again and again and, in these places, discover new and unique marvels. This is the salvific magic of art
which allows us to “satisfy” each and everyone’s taste even with only that favourite dish which we chose or which was served to us by chance and which we grew to love and which, above all, we could never do without.
Answers, these half answers which only vaguely comfort us. I feel small and powerless in the face of my gigantic impulses that inexorably drive me towards other horizons. But knowing how to make do with continuing my journey is as solid as iron, knowing that the end of this transitional leg of the journey is a destination where one can stay and, while keeping still, from where you can continue to delve and consequently meander, create and dream.. After all, we will never be able to completely understand the universe even if we would like to, but this does not mean that we feel distraught when faced with this unbridgeable shortcoming.
We need to abandon any belief we have of being able to grasp the unambiguous and objective truth surrounding a concept. In every truth we can only catch fragments which are always perceived from subjective points of view, and therefore unique and unrepeatable given that space and time will inevitably differ in all those who decide to relive the experience.
We should then think about the type of art that is forming in our society today, considering the mutations taking place in means of communication and in the new artistic offerings, often extravagant and with the tendency of establishing themselves at a lower level. If we accept the notion, that I have frequently heard mentioned not only by younger artistic movements, that everything can be considered as being “poetry” (a critical opinion of absolute beauty which can be applied to each and every form of art) then “poetry” risks being relegated, meaning that it will no longer be the same as it has been over the centuries, as a result of a particular way of studying it, and that it could now become a mixture of impressions and effects, which are a far cry from what the God of artists commands and laid down by the strict Gospel passed down to us by inspired people over the centuries. And furthermore, is it really this poetry, lacking so much wisdom, that we want and that we need?
Perhaps, once again, we should start anew from classic works instead of giving credit to those new trends that tend to arrogantly impose their own interpretations of art, sometimes born from impromptu perceptions
without any solid base and other times from the arrogance of those who believe they have the born right to rule.
The new millennium, which we thought would bring wealth, peace and protection for all, has turned out to be very problematic. We are living in a tremendous era with regards to methods of communication (I will avoid exploring other fields where the drama is even greater).
Social networks – around which the real revolution will not be discovering them but being able to abandon them – are in command and have given voice to those who usually have little or nothing to say, silencing, as a result, those who are wiser and of a richer spirit but who are inhibited by this general chaos. A society which all too often appears neo-medieval, as proven by that innumerable army of people who, while being fortunate enough to have a more or less steady job, find it economically hard to make it to the end of the month (as a way of saying that our governments are putative and not actually civil). We should look closely at every field, but here we will naturally be debating Poetry, aware of the fact that, at the end of the day, it will still be down to the artists to show us the path.
So which form of poetry then, poetry in the meaning of a literary work in verses, has its place on the contemporary scene? Essentially, as I mentioned, we should start over from the classics, once again and every time. Those who tried to innovate in every form of art, leaving behind tradition, have more or less created an ephemeral revolution and often less innovative than that of the artists who lived centuries before them. Those artists who, on the other hand, have absorbed the teachings of the fathers and who try to improve the visual creation, to revolutionise it or to create new ones, aware of what had previously been accomplished, have found it easier to innovate than those who proclaimed the needs of the tabula rasa (think about the Futurist movement, for example, and compare it to the Imagist movement of the early 1900’s).
Innovation cannot take place without knowledge and without the strenuous fight that each proposal needs in order to overturn an institution. Written works in verses – though this applies to all forms of arts – have to confront themselves with modern day globalization which has provided everyone with a greater familiarity with places, local knowledge, traditions and languages. This all has to be taken into consideration. This new form of poetry will easily feed on the work of others because nowadays one can instantly “hijack” it. If you think about Eugenio Montale, for example, probably far from being innocent and in good faith, he let himself be influenced by Thomas Stearns Eliot, with regards to the concept of “impersonality” and of the “objective correlative” concept, as soon as he became aware of his innovative literary works, fresh off the press and from being translated, which Professor Mario Praz enthusiastically showed him while they were sitting at the Literary Café “Giubbe Rosse” in Florence, having just returned from one of his countless trips to the Isola degli Albioni. It would nowadays be impossible for someone to “hide” their work and to let it
sufficiently mature for then presenting it to the world as their very own, and while we would be right to acknowledge this, we must turn it to our general advantage, or disadvantage. Poetry that is written today is wholly influenced (and full of anguish) as it has never been before. Above all it is packed with the moulds of new elements which have just been published by artists who often live on the other side of the world and who may not even speak our language and who cannot even imagine that there are those who will instantly steal and camouflage those verses, thus making them their own. But that’s fine! As long as we realise it! And we have to be strong enough to say what really happens! But now let’s get down to our primary needs.
Poetry requires an experimental fabric as much as it needs one of imagination and emotion, but above all it requires research. We have had enough of poets who have nothing to say and even less to teach and who keep on filling pages with fantasies which, linguistically speaking, are scarcely developed and often taken from sterile newspapers, lacking any form of artistic value, the primary requirement that poetry and art call out for. More than anything, poetry needs talent that is cultivated by intense study that can exalt it. Art never derives from nothing or, in other words, there is no art or talent that has not gained from preparatory studies, from constant learning. Additionally, I would like to express my thoughts on the matter regarding the awarding of the Nobel Prize for literature to the songwriter Bob Dylan. It would be “easy” and unfair to say that it was the wrong decision, even if I admit that I did not go along with it. We should, however, consider the fact that the probable reason for awarding the Prize to a songwriter can be found in mediocre contemporary poetry production.
But let’s forget about this and go back to talking about ourselves. Antonello Pelliccia, who shared with me this idea of an interdisciplinary journey between various forms of art, adds the following for indicating to
us the clear path that the Centre would like to follow, as well as for explaining the reasons that inspired him:
“By starting from thoughts surrounding the assertions by Wittgenstein regarding the “Theory of Language” (the Picture Theory of Language concept) I began a new way of elaborating my thoughts, of my idea of contemporary art in its complex articulation and its repercussion on the world and on our society.
I think it would be a good idea to explain my position as an artist and as a man, as a responsible person, aware of the changes in taste, in trends and in expressive language. Art has always had an effect on the social climate, it has singled out, suggested and foreseen possible answers to the problems with existence and with coexistence. My research is aimed at defining a new artistic multidiscipline, with particular attention paid to sustainability and to visual culture, as reference and in connection to the Wittgenstein’s thesis regarding the interpretive validation of the artistic result, accumulating in the rejection of the formulistic reading of the work of art, leading me, finally, to elect multidiscipline as being the essential method for interpreting the history of art.
A reflection and an observation of things done and on which, over the past few years, we have started to concentrate the interests of the new operators of vision, of visual cultures, which means determining the role of director in an artist as well as a mediator between the various forms of art which, through his work,
contextualises the historic-political and cultural background of his era. A journey through the maze of the new media, theatre, performance, landscape design, of poetry reading, video, cinema, of music, of multimedia installations and of related forms of art. An attempt – a temptation to escape from the everyday
frameworks. A straight dialog between artist and visitor, in search of emancipation. The concept of resistance, of overlapping, of looking for an answer and for answerability, in order to keep the memory of
the world alive. To study the new potentials of the means of mass communication, web and interactive technology, links to photography and to the world of design, as well as their relative social-economic consequences. To encourage artists to study the definition of their role in civil society, as well as in the cultural and intellectual societies, in order to generate networks of co-development with regards to solidarity amongst artists and to productive interaction, not only between artists, but with other professional figures that could eventually cross the boundary into multiple fields, from introductions to various modern lifestyles to the organization of events, from art galleries to artisan workshops: this, I believe, is the role of the artist in our modern day social reality.”
The opinions of my eternal friend seem to perfectly integrate with my own thoughts, and I believe that this will help me to feel less isolated, wandering along the intricate paths of art and of days. But here I am
coming to the end of this discourse. I would like to thank all of those – esteemed artists and forward-looking people – who were happy to take part in this new project. Today, my friends, I am joining you at the
Contemporary Art Centre in Vallo della Lucania. Perhaps this place will help to clear my thoughts and, above all, I hope will tell me who I am and how I would like to express myself, or maybe it will drive me crazy with desire playing with what I am not familiar with and that my sensitivity will yearn like a child for candyfloss or a ball. Finally, I ask for your forgiveness, for my restlessness and for this bold philosophising. Maybe I will say better things the next time around when the subject will be clear enough for me to be able to express myself in a different way.
In the meantime – and with this I will sign off – it will be down to the Contemporary Art Centre to try and find out where the Total Artist is hiding himself!
Menotti Lerro
Antonello Pelliccia
01-01-2019
