Il senso dell’assenza 2010
IT
Come ha scritto Alessandro Baricco alcuni giorni or sono sulle pagine di un noto quotidiano nazionale, il cambiamento è in atto, “siamo oltre una certa civiltà”, ci stiamo inoltrando a grandi passi in una nuova epoca, peggiore o migliore questo al momento non possiamo dirlo, ma sicuramente in sintonia con il tempo dell’oggi. A mio avviso si tratta ora di capire come affrontare tale cambiamento, come relazionarci all’interno di questa nuova fase, che volenti o nolenti ci appartiene.
Altrettanto certo è il compito che ognuno di noi dovrebbe avere nel collaborare, non nascondendosi o limitandosi a definire il contesto attuale come superficialità patinata con la quale non vogliamo avere nulla a che fare.
Avendo scelto di dedicarmi all’arte, non posso non credere al suo valore, ai suoi contenuti, alle sue potenzialità espressive e comunicative e soprattutto nell’analisi e negli spunti riflessivi che costantemente sgorgano dal lavoro degli artisti. Scambio costante, serrato, illimitato che cresce costantemente fornendo una visuale “concretamente poetica” in relazione a ciò che solo apparentemente non può essere afferrato. Francesco Di Luca agisce certamente in questa direzione, riuscendo ad intrecciare l’estenuante creazione, l’indomabile indagine sulla contemporaneità e sugli avvenimenti attraverso il fare artistico, in modo che si possa perfettamente identificare con l’interrogativo che esso stesso suscita. Una presa di posizione netta, coraggiosa, che non si limita a voler considerare l’elemento artistico “solo” come opera in sé, ma come priorità che aspira ad identificarsi con l’ essenza del soggetto ritratto.
Lo scenario è un mondo di lamiere, materico nella congiunzione di piccole barre di metallo smaltate, che saldate tra di loro come singole esperienze, cicatrici e ricordi, plasmano uomini il cui senso vitale trae origine dallo spettro dell’assenza.
La prima indagine di Di Luca si era orientata sulle nuove generazioni, esaminandone l’abbigliamento, gli status-symbol, i comportamenti e l’interazione con il mondo che li circonda. Il risultato scaturito è quello di una generazione solo apparentemente “strutturata”, omologata all’interno di una sorta di divisa fashion, alla quale non ci si può sottrarre, che ostenta una fittizia sicurezza, ma che in realtà diviene una maschera dietro la quale si nasconde una generazione spesso fragile, insicura e con la sola certezza di non conoscersi realmente.
Ecco che la fisicità, il corpo diviene solo un ricordo lontano, la dissolvenza della materia, della carne non viene totalmente negata solo grazie alla persistenza dell’involucro, che ne delinea ancora contorni e fattezze.
L’indagine si amplia, prende consistenza e si propaga in ogni aspetto del sociale, insinuandosi tra i substrati della società, prendendo in considerazione causa ed effetti del comportamento umano. Francesco Di Luca vede in queste forme attorcigliate, in queste lamiere umane, una possibilità di unione del singolo con l’universale, il particolare e il generale, il senso dell’intellegibile congiunto all’estrinsecazione del mondo sensibile.
Ma allora dov’è finito il corpo? Può esistere il contenitore senza il contenuto? Quale strana metamorfosi sta accadendo a questi uomini e perché? È proprio su questi quesiti, su questi dubbi che Di Luca si concentra provando a sovvertire ogni possibile aspettativa, raffigurando un involucro, un bozzolo apparentemente privo di vita, statico ed inerme, l’anima della non presenza, per indurci a considerare e provare a comprendere il senso dell’assenza. Un’assenza che obbligatoriamente invita, anzi costringe a valutare ed analizzare il motivo di tale mancanza, trovando così paradossalmente la propria unità tra le trame del sensibile, del materico, per poi trovare il significato nell’immateriale.
Si tratta ora di continuare il viaggio all’interno della crisalide, nelle viscere del corpo, tra le trame dell’anima e le elucubrazioni del pensiero; sculture che trovano il coraggio della rottura, per poi addentrarsi nell’intimo e nella strutturazione dell’ossatura umana.
Una grande gabbia, una prigione con alte sbarre fuori misura, appositamente incombente sulle presenze umane recluse all’interno. Sono i prigionieri reclusi nella prigione americana di Guantanamo, un luogo ai limiti del mondo, che nella struttura e nelle modalità di gestione, ricorda più un campo di concentramento che una prigione. Qui l’esistere sembra avere perduto ogni valore e ogni diritto, l’unica possibilità e forza rimasta al corpo è quella di inginocchiarsi, una sottomissione alla violenza, che si conclude con una rinuncia alla vita. Come viene definito in modo inequivocabile dallo stesso Di Luca, in questo caso “il vuoto delle sculture è indotto”, provocato da quel male che di oscuro non ha più nulla, anzi è luminoso come la luce del sole, disponibile allo sguardo di chiunque, uno spietato deterrente che non ammette lacrime o pentimenti.
I soggetti ritratti da Francesco Di Luca sono gli artefici di un dialogo con il mondo, instaurano un rapporto di scambio reciproco, continuo e serrato con l’attuale, assumendone i simboli, gli elementi caratterizzanti; si lasciano trascinare dalle icone in modo da poter poi una volta assimilatane definitivamente l’immagine esterna, immergersi nell’assenza poetica recuperandone il senso esistenziale.
I vuoti non vengono solamente indotti, o meglio vanno certamente contestualizzati ed analizzati nello specifico, considerandone anche il contesto sociale e storico nel quale si creano. Le opere infatti che ritraggono un soldato nazista, un rappresentante del Klu Klux Klan e un potenziale kamikaze, riportano l’attenzione sugli artefici del vuoto, su coloro che in questo caso producono solo assenza di vita. L’oggetto e il soggetto trovano un’unica identità, un dentro e fuori incessante, che investe anche lo sguardo del fruitore, il quale perdendo gli usuali punti di riferimento sensoriali, sembra poter trovare il visibile nell’invisibile.
L’artista è colui che dovrebbe invitare alla riflessione, ma anche il Virgilio che ci accompagna in un viaggio, conducendoci in un territorio, non dico ignoto, ma che ancora non abbiamo perlustrato in tutte le sue sfaccettature. Ebbene Di Luca riesce a mettere in atto un racconto per immagini, dove i soggetti delle sue opere compiono un itinerario trascendentale nel quale prima vengono identificati, analizzati, destrutturati, per poi far ritorno nel mondo trasfigurati in “tangibili chimere”.
La lamiera perde la sua tridimensionalità, ma diviene supporto, tabula rasa sulla quale l’artista intervenire narrando esperienze, avvenimenti, riflessioni, che in alcuni casi divengono la rivelazione visiva di quell’intima assenza, nascosta, silenziosa e non visibile nelle sculture.
Un’intensità e perciò un prolungamento riflessivo ed emotivo che ci introducono e ci accompagnano nell’universo americano, che Di Luca rappresenta nei suoi simboli, nella straripante forza, nelle infinite potenzialità, non tralasciandone però le altrettanto molteplici contraddizioni, a volte debordanti in egoismo ed inesorabile violenza.
Sono le parole di Di Luca a svelarci il procedimento del suo lavoro: “I dipinti su ferro prendono forma attraverso vari passaggi. In primis con l’utilizzo della fotografia e poi tramite l’uso di un software per elaborare le immagini, procedendo infine alla realizzazione fisica dell’opera. Una parte fondamentale del lavoro è concentrata sul disegno, molto grafico, il quale mi permette di enfatizzare i contrasti. Velature di antiruggine preservano le parti ferrose da mantenere in luce”.
Si aprono le porte che conducono ad un’attenzione per il quotidiano, la vita di tutti i giorni, i luoghi della metropoli, i palazzi le vie, gli edifici, le insegne pubblicitarie. Divengono protagonisti anche i fatti quotidiani, individuali e collettivi come gli incidenti stradali, che fanno ritornare alla mente la serie Car crash di Andy Warhol, certamente un’analisi riguardante una problematica reale, ma anche un modo per esorcizzare l’inaspettata morte.
La ruggine invade lo spazio, la superficie metallica, come un tarlo che scorre inarrestabile nella mente, si espande, scende nel nostro intimo, si impadronisce dei ricordi, svelandone un dimensione inedita, a volte dimenticata, accartocciata e messa da parte, che qui si fa strada intensificandone il pensiero e i sensi. L’opera d’arte, come ci ricorda André Malraux[1], non è solo esecuzione, ma nascita, è la vita in faccia alla vita.
[1] Andreé Malraux, Les voix du silence, 1951
EN
As Alessandro Baricco wrote a few days ago in the pages of a well-known national newspaper, change is underway, “we are beyond a certain civilization,” and we are stepping boldly into a new era. Whether it is better or worse, we cannot say at the moment, but it is undoubtedly in tune with the present time. In my opinion, the task now is to understand how to face this change, how to relate within this new phase, which, whether we like it or not, belongs to us.
Equally certain is the role each of us should play in collaborating, not by hiding or merely defining the current context as superficial gloss with which we want nothing to do.
Having chosen to dedicate myself to art, I cannot help but believe in its value, its content, its expressive and communicative potential, and especially in the analysis and reflective insights that constantly flow from the work of artists. This continuous, intense, and unlimited exchange constantly grows, providing a “concretely poetic” perspective in relation to what only seems impossible to grasp. Francesco Di Luca certainly works in this direction, managing to intertwine the exhausting creation, the untameable investigation of contemporaneity and events through artistic expression, in such a way that it perfectly identifies with the question it itself raises. A clear, courageous stance that does not limit itself to considering the artistic element “only” as a work in itself but as a priority that aspires to identify with the essence of the portrayed subject.
The scenario is a world of metal sheets, material in the conjunction of small, enamelled metal bars, which, welded together like individual experiences, scars, and memories, shape men whose vital sense originates from the spectrum of absence.
Di Luca’s first investigation was focused on new generations, examining their clothing, status symbols, behaviours, and interaction with the world around them. The resulting picture is of a generation only seemingly “structured,” homogenized within a sort of fashionable uniform that one cannot escape, which flaunts a fictitious security but is a mask behind which a generation often fragile, insecure, and with only the certainty of not really knowing itself, hides.
Thus, physicality, the body, becomes only a distant memory; the fading of matter, of flesh, is not entirely denied only thanks to the persistence of the shell, which still outlines its contours and features.
The investigation expands, takes shape, and propagates in every aspect of society, insinuating itself among the layers of society, considering the causes and effects of human behaviour. Francesco Di Luca sees in these twisted forms, in these human metal sheets, a possibility of union between the individual and the universal, the particular and the general, the sense of the intelligible joined with the expression of the sensible world.
But then, where has the body gone? Can a container exist without its content? What strange metamorphosis is happening to these men, and why? It is precisely on these questions, these doubts, that Di Luca focuses, trying to subvert every possible expectation, depicting a shell, a cocoon seemingly devoid of life, static and inert, the soul of non-presence, to induce us to consider and try to understand the sense of absence. An absence that necessarily invites, indeed forces, us to evaluate and analyse the reason for such a lack, thus paradoxically finding its own unity among the threads of the sensible, the material, and then finding meaning in the immaterial.
It is now about continuing the journey inside the chrysalis, in the depths of the body, among the threads of the soul and the elaborations of thought; sculptures that find the courage to break, and then delve into the intimate and the structuring of the human skeleton.
A large cage, a prison with oversized bars, deliberately looming over the human presences confined within. These are the prisoners detained in the American prison of Guantanamo, a place at the edge of the world, which, in its structure and methods of management, resembles more a concentration camp than a prison. Here, existence seems to have lost all value and rights; the only possibility and strength left to the body is to kneel, a submission to violence that ends with a renunciation of life. As Di Luca himself unequivocally defines, in this case, “the emptiness of the sculptures is induced,” provoked by that evil that is no longer dark but as bright as sunlight, available to anyone’s gaze, a ruthless deterrent that admits no tears or regrets.
The subjects portrayed by Francesco Di Luca are the authors of a dialogue with the world, establishing a relationship of mutual, continuous, and intense exchange with the present, assuming its symbols, its characteristic elements; they allow themselves to be carried away by the icons so that, once they have fully assimilated the external image, they can immerse themselves in poetic absence, recovering its existential meaning.
The voids are not only induced, or rather they certainly need to be contextualized and analysed specifically, considering also the social and historical context in which they are created. The works that depict a Nazi soldier, a member of the Ku Klux Klan, and a potential suicide bomber, bring attention back to the perpetrators of the void, those who in this case produce only an absence of life. The object and the subject find a single identity, an incessant inside and outside, which also affects the viewer’s gaze, who, losing the usual sensory reference points, seems to be able to find the visible in the invisible.
The artist is the one who should invite reflection, but also the Virgil who accompanies us on a journey, leading us into a territory, not unknown, but one we have not yet explored in all its facets. Well, Di Luca manages to set up a narrative through images, where the subjects of his works undertake a transcendental journey in which they are first identified, analysed, deconstructed, and then return to the world transfigured into “tangible chimeras.”
The metal sheet loses its three-dimensionality, but it becomes a support, a blank slate on which the artist intervenes, narrating experiences, events, reflections, which in some cases become the visual revelation of that intimate absence, hidden, silent, and not visible in the sculptures.
An intensity, and therefore a reflective and emotional extension, that introduces us and accompanies us into the American universe, which Di Luca represents in its symbols, its overwhelming strength, its infinite potentialities, without neglecting, however, its equally numerous contradictions, sometimes overflowing into selfishness and inexorable violence.
It is Di Luca’s words that reveal the process of his work to us: “The paintings on iron take shape through various stages. First, with the use of photography and then through the use of software to process the images, finally proceeding to the physical realization of the work. A fundamental part of the work is focused on the drawing, very graphic, which allows me to emphasize the contrasts. Layers of rust-proof coating preserve the iron parts to be highlighted.”
The doors open to an attention to the everyday, the life of every day, the places of the metropolis, the buildings, the streets, the signs. Daily, individual, and collective events such as traffic accidents also become protagonists, recalling Andy Warhol’s Car Crash series, certainly an analysis of a real issue, but also a way to exorcise the unexpected death.
Rust invades space, the metallic surface, like a relentless worm in the mind, it expands, descends into our depths, takes hold of memories, revealing a new dimension, sometimes forgotten, crumpled, and set aside, which here makes its way, intensifying thought and senses. As André Malraux reminds us, a work of art is not just execution, but birth; it is life confronting life.As Alessandro Baricco wrote a few days ago in the pages of a well-known national newspaper, change is underway, “we are beyond a certain civilization,” and we are stepping boldly into a new era. Whether it is better or worse, we cannot say at the moment, but it is undoubtedly in tune with the present time. In my opinion, the task now is to understand how to face this change, how to relate within this new phase, which, whether we like it or not, belongs to us.
Equally certain is the role each of us should play in collaborating, not by hiding or merely defining the current context as superficial gloss with which we want nothing to do.
Having chosen to dedicate myself to art, I cannot help but believe in its value, its content, its expressive and communicative potential, and especially in the analysis and reflective insights that constantly flow from the work of artists. This continuous, intense, and unlimited exchange constantly grows, providing a “concretely poetic” perspective in relation to what only seems impossible to grasp. Francesco Di Luca certainly works in this direction, managing to intertwine the exhausting creation, the untamable investigation of contemporaneity and events through artistic expression, in such a way that it perfectly identifies with the question it itself raises. A clear, courageous stance that does not limit itself to considering the artistic element “only” as a work in itself but as a priority that aspires to identify with the essence of the portrayed subject.
The scenario is a world of metal sheets, material in the conjunction of small enamelled metal bars, which, welded together like individual experiences, scars, and memories, shape men whose vital sense originates from the spectrum of absence.
Di Luca’s first investigation was focused on new generations, examining their clothing, status symbols, behaviors, and interaction with the world around them. The resulting picture is of a generation only seemingly “structured,” homogenized within a sort of fashionable uniform that one cannot escape, which flaunts a fictitious security but is actually a mask behind which a generation often fragile, insecure, and with only the certainty of not really knowing itself, hides.
Thus, physicality, the body, becomes only a distant memory; the fading of matter, of flesh, is not entirely denied only thanks to the persistence of the shell, which still outlines its contours and features.
The investigation expands, takes shape, and propagates in every aspect of society, insinuating itself among the layers of society, considering the causes and effects of human behavior. Francesco Di Luca sees in these twisted forms, in these human metal sheets, a possibility of union between the individual and the universal, the particular and the general, the sense of the intelligible joined with the expression of the sensible world.
But then, where has the body gone? Can a container exist without its content? What strange metamorphosis is happening to these men, and why? It is precisely on these questions, these doubts, that Di Luca focuses, trying to subvert every possible expectation, depicting a shell, a cocoon seemingly devoid of life, static and inert, the soul of non-presence, to induce us to consider and try to understand the sense of absence. An absence that necessarily invites, indeed forces, us to evaluate and analyze the reason for such a lack, thus paradoxically finding its own unity among the threads of the sensible, the material, and then finding meaning in the immaterial.
It is now about continuing the journey inside the chrysalis, in the depths of the body, among the threads of the soul and the elaborations of thought; sculptures that find the courage to break, and then delve into the intimate and the structuring of the human skeleton.
A large cage, a prison with oversized bars, deliberately looming over the human presences confined within. These are the prisoners detained in the American prison of Guantanamo, a place at the edge of the world, which, in its structure and methods of management, resembles more a concentration camp than a prison. Here, existence seems to have lost all value and rights; the only possibility and strength left to the body is to kneel, a submission to violence that ends with a renunciation of life. As Di Luca himself unequivocally defines, in this case, “the emptiness of the sculptures is induced,” provoked by that evil that is no longer dark but as bright as sunlight, available to anyone’s gaze, a ruthless deterrent that admits no tears or regrets.
The subjects portrayed by Francesco Di Luca are the authors of a dialogue with the world, establishing a relationship of mutual, continuous, and intense exchange with the present, assuming its symbols, its characteristic elements; they allow themselves to be carried away by the icons so that, once they have fully assimilated the external image, they can immerse themselves in poetic absence, recovering its existential meaning.
The voids are not only induced, or rather they certainly need to be contextualized and analyzed specifically, considering also the social and historical context in which they are created. The works that depict a Nazi soldier, a member of the Ku Klux Klan, and a potential suicide bomber, bring attention back to the perpetrators of the void, those who in this case produce only an absence of life. The object and the subject find a single identity, an incessant inside and outside, which also affects the viewer’s gaze, who, losing the usual sensory reference points, seems to be able to find the visible in the invisible.
The artist is the one who should invite reflection, but also the Virgil who accompanies us on a journey, leading us into a territory, not unknown, but one we have not yet explored in all its facets. Well, Di Luca manages to set up a narrative through images, where the subjects of his works undertake a transcendental journey in which they are first identified, analyzed, deconstructed, and then return to the world transfigured into “tangible chimeras.”
The metal sheet loses its three-dimensionality, but it becomes a support, a blank slate on which the artist intervenes, narrating experiences, events, reflections, which in some cases become the visual revelation of that intimate absence, hidden, silent, and not visible in the sculptures.
An intensity, and therefore a reflective and emotional extension, that introduces us and accompanies us into the American universe, which Di Luca represents in its symbols, its overwhelming strength, its infinite potentialities, without neglecting, however, its equally numerous contradictions, sometimes overflowing into selfishness and inexorable violence.
It is Di Luca’s words that reveal the process of his work to us: “The paintings on iron take shape through various stages. First, with the use of photography and then through the use of software to process the images, finally proceeding to the physical realization of the work. A fundamental part of the work is focused on the drawing, very graphic, which allows me to emphasize the contrasts. Layers of rust-proof coating preserve the iron parts to be highlighted.”
The doors open to an attention to the everyday, the life of every day, the places of the metropolis, the buildings, the streets, the signs. Daily, individual, and collective events such as traffic accidents also become protagonists, recalling Andy Warhol’s Car Crash series, certainly an analysis of a real issue, but also a way to exorcise the unexpected death.
Rust invades space, the metallic surface, like a relentless worm in the mind, it expands, descends into our depths, takes hold of memories, revealing a new dimension, sometimes forgotten, crumpled, and set aside, which here makes its way, intensifying thought and senses. As André Malraux reminds us, a work of art is not just execution, but birth; it is life confronting life.