MODICA – This is a sign. It is not an artistic installation, it comes from my mother’s practicality: if there is this bottle on the toilet, you have to use the other bathroom.
However, I understand that if I were to place this ensemble in an exhibition space, the way of looking at its meaning would change. It has already more or less been done and the shift in location has generated a reinterpretation of the sign.
I’ve never been good at interpreting a certain kind of art. The first time I realized I was struggling was as a teenager in front of an enormous Mirò at the Prado in Madrid. Huge, white, with two red dots in the lower right corner and the title “Untitled”.
I still struggle in front of certain types of works and installations. Sometimes they stimulate me, sometimes they make me nervous because I am curious to understand and I can’t. Sometimes I can accept that I don’t understand, because the works come to me not through my mind but through other ways, and I trust my instinct for beauty. This is probably how art should act. It enriches you, comforts you, shakes you, nourishes you, moves you, and it does so through the use of signs that can be broken down and re-interpreted.
Yesterday in Sanremo, like every evening, I was curious to see Achille Lauro’s painting. Nothing is left to chance, it is an ensemble composed of many signs: set design, choreography, music, singing, makeup, costumes.
His performances undoubtedly generate expectation and amazement, and seem to constitute a breath of fresh air in the contemporary artistic panorama, which is why those who understand and those who don’t can enjoy them.
However, in this case I would like to understand only one thing, because yesterday’s exhibition did not strike my instinct for beauty and therefore I need someone with good will to give me an exegesis, an aid to the comprehension of the meaning in order to tune my sensitivity to the work: exactly how should they be interpreted, the Italian flag, a very strong sign that loads on itself its History, and the crown of thorns, another very strong sign that loads on itself a revelation of Truth? I ask also for my mother.
Of all the possible interpretations, at the end of the performance, the national Fiorello, staring motionless at the microphone, gave me a clue: I cannot move because I am a color on Achille Lauro’s painting.
These spots of color on the untitled paintings continue to torment me.
I understand, however, that if I don’t care, Achille Lauro will intercede so that I will be blessed.
