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29/1/2010

Piero Maniscalco

Artists' House, St. Petersburg

It is a call to consider the role played by pictures from every type of media, from the traditional printed page, with fascinating photographs illustrating aspects of psychology and personality, to video with pictures taken from films or from the internet, owing more to enhancement or virtual means than to any correspondence with material reality.

It is a kind of all-embracing story without words, where the world’s individuals confront each other without awareness of their negative reflections, in a dialectical relationship without theories to propose or assumptions to defend, with the intention only of generating intuitive leaps, algebraic totals and formal inventions arising out of chance and necessity. This comes from the need to construct a process whose essence is to demonstrate by a light-hearted and credible coalescence beyond chance or necessity that becomes truly serious when the dilemma between good and evil, between science and magic, between exploration and laziness, and between kindness and malice, becomes apparent.

It is the scanning of excerpts from television programmes where aspects of ordinary life are encountered, transformed into extraordinary mixtures of feeling and emotion without ever falling into the uncaring combinations of chess where pawns and queens are icons of politics and of daily life. They resemble letters fleeing from an insane alphabet thrown into the air like confetti at an evanescent party that no-one can live to the full, remaining an open work which can be worked upon from all sides, like a palimpsest that can become a metaphor and can be extended, perhaps excessively, by its head or its tail.

It concerns some ‘other’itinerary, where the subject is not the same and not itself, but an unforeseeable event that comes from another psychology and another poetry, all originating from quotations on present events which are running towards the precipice, the future, while its imprints become traces of a past that is not satisfied with itself, but wishes to simulate a syntax, an overall dispersal, that leaves nothing outside its chronicle.

In short, the author of this construction, Piero Maniscalco, clearly enchanted by the unceasing flow which pours over this collective name, our ‘us’, with which I never totally identify myself, of dialectic like a huge mirror which belongs to no-one, offers itself to all but at the same time retreats, fades, loses significance, sense and communicative ability, is a real neurotic cloak, always as dense and implacable as it is invisible and imperceptible.

As an epilogue to this book, the original spirit of the game and the lack of balance, is shown in all its load of excess, of cries and delirium. Everything that by ‘vocation’ or ‘destiny’ finds itself at the edges of the procession of events, becomes commentator and interpreter of events that often seem to be completely self-referential, while causing deaths, wounds and disease that sociology and psychology insist on considering worthy of literary analysis, rather than true and actual phenomena of secret corrupt knowledge, with the intention of not knowing and not being recognised.

The fruit of the good co-exists with the fruit of evil in a delirium that no-one wants to recognise as their own, in an endless Babel where languages battle on the edges of chaos, where anything can happen, the expected and the unexpected, even to assuming Dionysus in the semblance of Apollo. The same thought, the same judgement, takes time to ask itself if it really exists and if it can act as a chapter of Marx or Freud, or of Lacan and Foucault, mingled on purpose for the sake of confusion, with untouched volumes from the book of obsessions being remaindered and sold at bargain prices.

Turning and turning again is a symptom of anxiety, of not being able to find a comfortable position, and thus the shuffling of the cards is, in spite of all, the concealed wish of a great organiser who resembles both you and me.
Francesco Gallo.

Opening 30 Jan

Artists' House
Uliza Piestila 93 - St. Petersburg

stampa

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