Fuori contesto

1ª tappa: Bologna, Artefiera off
2ª tappa: Milano, off-Miart
3ª tappa: Bolzano, apertura Museion
4ª tappa: Trento, Manifesta

a cura di Daria Filardo, Cecilia Guida e Gino Gianuizzi

fuori contesto propone parole: un’invasione di segni che per la loro differenza da quelli che hanno vicino provocano un effetto di straniamento.
fuori contesto chiede alle parole di infiltrarsi, di essere allo stesso tempo leggere e significative.
Per questo abbiamo chiamato artisti italiani e stranieri invitandoli a pensare e a proporre una frase senza imporre un tema da rispettare.
Le parole al posto delle immagini, le parole fuori contesto perché stampate su manifesti 70x100 e diffuse negli spazi delle pubbliche affissioni si troveranno a convivere insieme con la pletora di messaggi (mediatici, pubblicitari, informativi ecc.) che invadono l’orizzonte visivo della città.
L’intento è quello di distrarre il lettore dal suo abituale paesaggio urbano, strutturato nell’organizzazione spaziale come concettuale.
La volontà è di provocare un’interruzione, catturare l’attenzione e sviare il normale corso della percezione della quotidianità introducendo una condizione creativa e attiva.
Per questo progetto sono stati invitati a partecipare cinquanta artisti che, nella prima tappa bolognese, porteranno le loro parole negli spazi destinati alle affissioni dei manifesti pubblicitari in giro per la città come pure la parete di un container posizionato fuori dagli spazi della fiera.
Il progetto si svilupperà in più tappe, pensate come una strategia di invasione e di riappropriazione dello spazio urbano.

cesare pietroiusti, giancarlo norese, alberto zanazzo, gianluca codeghini, fabrizio basso, michelangelo pistoletto, franco vaccari, luca vitone, amedeo martegani, mili romano, emilio fantin, giulio paolini, paolo parisi, maurizio nannucci, fabio mauri, silvia cini, elisabetta benassi, liliana moro, cuoghi&corsello, stefano arienti, luigi ontani, anna valeria borsari, gianfranco baruchello, alberto garutti, domenico mangano, tino sehgal, luca bertolo, marcello maloberti, anri sala, sisley xhafa, bert theis, mario airò, A12, armin linke, gea casolaro, cesare viel, bruna esposito, maurizio cattelan, massimo bartolini, annalisa cattani, adriana torregrossa, zimmerfrei, sabrina mezzaqui, marzia migliora, alessandro piangiamore, grossi maglioni magic duo, pino boresta, nicola pellegrini, ottonella mocellin, michael fliri, maria papadimitriou

neon>campobase
info@neoncampobase.com
www.neoncampobase.com
+39 051 5877068
skype neoncampobase

Expertise Express

A book by Giancarlo Norese
Published by Galleria Massimo De Carlo, Milan, Italy, 1997
40 pages, b/w, sewn bound, size 5x7.5 cm, Italian
Edition: 500
Distributed by Printed Matter, Inc., New York

I made Mr De Carlo the proposal to spend an afternoon a week in his office—every Thursday, free of charge—to meet artists who wanted to show their works to the gallery. He accepted my offer immediately. I examined artists' portfolios, I spoke to them, while trying at the same time to explain that it was really an "expertise" job as well as being a work of art. So they asked me what kind of art I did. I replied that our conversation—along with the inquiry about their past movements and current affiliations—"was" the work of art. I asked them for pictures or texts so that at the end of the operation I could present these to Mr De Carlo and keep a record of their passing. All this information produces "side effects": just like this booklet.

Download as PDF (841 KB)

Inventorying discarded objects and waste at SculptureCenter, New York

FORGOTTEN SCULPTORS
Lo Stato Delle Cose / The State Of Things
November 3, 2007

Discarded objects and waste found at SculptureCenter
between Oct 30 and Nov 3, 2007:

4 small pieces of white plaster
lead tube with twine
broken lamp
scrap of paper, "satisfied"
large label, marked "armored cable"
iron wire and piece of rusted metal
lid of coffee cup
bent bar of rusted metal
ring of rusted metal with plastic
fragment of black stone
2 black rags
piece of bubble-wrap
piece of transparent adhesive tape
rusty screw
piece of broken ceramics
2 stones (1 with a square section)
boot leaning on protruding wall
2 wooden boards
small piece of styrofoam
square piece of wood
wooden wedge
metal pin of an electric plug
white plastic fragment from an electric wire
piece of blue adhesive tape stuck on a brick
band for holding wires
label "22 watt"
piece of twisted blue adhesive tape
piece of cardboard, 20 cm long
small piece of white wire
piece of black adhesive tape
wadding
4 screws
2 pieces of electric wire
piece of tangled up wire
fragment of film
metal washer
rusty iron key
small piece of red electric wire
small piece of adhesive tape
piece of plastic sheeting
pair of old gloves
3 pieces of electric wire
screw
bent metal ring
rolled up piece of white adhesive tape
zip tie, V shaped
pieces of electric cable and iron wire, rolled up
piece of transparent plastic
small black cable, Y-shaped
rusty iron wire, bent
small iron bar, length 50 cm
small piece of wood with two screws
various leaves
white plastic ring
piece of ceramics
small piece of steel, probably a pin from a plug
white mold, looking like cotton wool
rusty screw
small thin piece of white glass
small wooden wedge
small piece of wood approx 4cm
2 pieces of packaging foam, '8'-shaped
2 pieces packaging foam, '8'-shaped, broken
piece of wood, approx 10 x 2 x 2 cm
piece of cloth, almost fossilized (resembling chicken skin)
2 small pieces of paper
thin plastic ribbon, approx 30 cm long
iron wire, bent
screw, 4cm, with nut
screw of light bulb, bent
several small pieces of light blue packaging foam
new screw with nuts
2 red felt pen lids
screw, 3 cm
knotted elastic
piece of electric wire, white/gold, approx 15 cm
piece of large adhesive tape, black
two grey nails
piece of black electric wire 35 cm long, hanging from a hole in the ceiling
hexagonal bolt
small piece of paper
fragment of label
2 small pieces of coating from electric wire
small round piece metal marked “80 tons”
3 stones (one made of brick and mortar, one cubic, and one very small)
stone, profile-shaped approx. 15 cm
yellow felt pen lid
fine metal wire with three screws
bolt with indentations
hexagonal nut
small ball of blonde hair
right-angled stone, 10 cm
piece of lead, 2 cm
amorphous piece of copper
2 pieces of broken glass
iron tube, 30 cm
ball of hair, 3 cm
large broken bolt
hexagonal nut
2 pieces of stone, cube shaped 12 x 4 cm
small shiny stone
wooden wedge 5 cm high
large quantity of rubble and dust
copper washer with small hole, 3 cm
piece of small packaging foam, light blue
piece of electric cable, 5 cm
piece of black rubber (looks like car tyre)
2 black stones, flat – one 20 cm, one elliptical, 35 cm wide
ceramic and metal mechanism looking like an alarm clock, 10 cm high
piece of wood, 30 cm high
2 fragments of ceramics, one grey, one brown
stone, like from river bed, very wrinkly
piece of black wood, 25 cm
rusty screw, 5 cm
screw with square head 2.5 cm
new hexagonal nut
rusty screw
large nut, broken
piece of polystyrene, 4 cm long
rusty screw, 5 cm
2 pieces of white earthenware, very dirty
white stone with hole
small white stone, wonky shaped, with small hole
piece of iron with small round hole, 4 cm
rusty nut with small hole
piece of coating, torn, 4 cm
piece of thin iron wire, twisted
piece of old electric cable, black, 20 cm
enormous plug with screw inside, 15 cm
piece of dirty plastic
small pointy stone
angular stone
piece of glass
2 pieces of cement
rusty iron door handle
washer
ceramic tube approx 25 cm
complex metallic material including cap marked “ford”
iron wire
collar with strips
piece of rubber tubing, black, 4 cm
coil, almost complete
white styrofoam, right angle, 10 cm long
sheet of slate, triangular, 20 cm long
large ceramic coil, white, broken
screw with washer and small nut
metal disk with hole in the middle approx 6 cm
new bolt with small hole
1st level: bolt, 3cm with hole
large ceramic spiral, almost complete
flake of dirt
2 pieces of earthenware, brown
piece of black stone, circular
piece of toilet roll, dirty and black
beige stone, triangular, 3 cm long
1 shiny stone, 3 cm
glove, folded in 2, standing up
copper wire, R-shaped, standing up
iron mechanism with 4 discs of rubber
hexagonal nut, new
piece of copper wire, torn, standing up
piece of rock, slightly shiny, 4 cm
small rock from river bed, covered in white lime
piece of brick, 3 cm long
rusty nut, 5 cm wide
right-angled stone, 25cm long
triangular stone
metal clasp, 4 cm wide
staples, joined together
small piece of L-shaped metal, very thin
small strip of cotton
3 nails
strip of black plastic
nut
bottle top
plastic folder, red, blue and yellow marked “firm grip”
staple
transparent plastic folder, containing 2 small orange cylinders
coca-cola label
small piece of transparent plastic
plastic tape, transparent, tangled up
2 nails
piece of wood
shoe laces, white
long and thin nail, bent
small piece of metal, cylindrical, golden
plastic beaker, hard and transparent
cardboard box with label “medium split lock washer”
tube of black plastic
small piece of paper tape, tangled up
sheet of laminated paper, “create with clay”
sheet of laminated paper, upside down “play sculptionary”
piece of black plastic with 4 holes
plastic folder with small bar code
long plastic strip
paper tissue, crumpled
white shelf
small piece of paper tape, twisted
small white rag
small piece of thin cardboard, black and dirty, marked “stop set”
thin nylon wire
staple
small stone
long packaging plastic strip, white
piece of black plastic sheeting, crumpled
2 pieces of cardboard
blue transparent plastic folder, marked “wood”
thin, white, plastic strip
2 small stones
4 staples
piece of styrofoam
small piece of blue plastic
transparent plastic folder with bar code
long piece of metal
screw
staple
piece of white and blue plastic, with bar code
long, flat piece of wood, painted black on one side
nail
piece of pink adhesive tape, crumpled
piece of rectangular cardboard, white, with piece of blue paper stuck on
2 thin strips of wood approx. 7 cm
small, rigid plastic cylinder, black
piece of thin transparent plastic, with orange printed text
2 small pieces of styrofoam
2 gems made from black and red plastic
little red star
fake precious stones made from silver and light blue plastic
adhesive letters A, S, L, made from black paper
white round plastic container
thin strip of wood
crumpled piece of black adhesive tape
nail with orange piece of plastic attached
pieces of scrap plastic, transparent
pink tape, crumpled up
strip of white tape
drawing pin, white plastic
leaflet, red paper, marked “Hilti”
very big screw, white
plastic pin, black
28 small stones, grouped in a corner
3 screws
piece L-shaped metal, very thin
2 small pieces of plastic, transparent
strip of cardboard
piece of broken lamp shade (part which holds light bulb)
golden screw
blue t-shirt, marked “2000 york”
piece of paper tape
adhesive letter U, black paper
piece of blue paper
2 pieces of thin glass
screw
small stone
cardboard box, black and yellow, crushed, marked “Remington”
piece of polystyrene
piece of plastic cord with metal inside
washer bent
iron wire, tangled up, with little colored stars
little piece of wood, approx 6 cm long
group of 26 stones
thin wire of black cloth
electric cable, covered in transparent plastic, 2 m
transparent plastic cup
2 small orange fragment of rubber, star shaped
screw
small, triangular piece of tile
pin with colored round head
small piece of styrofoam
1 cent coin
rusty screw
velcro label
two 10 cent coin
screw with small nut
amorphous piece of silicon,
point for drill, rusty
screw, covered with thin gray dust
small piece of plaster
piece of wood, approx 3 cm
small piece of aluminum foil
split-ring lock washer
printed cardboard approx 10 cm, covered with mold
beer bottle cap
small leaf
2 amorphous brown objects, very light
bottle of beer
piece of black adhesive tape, 2 cm
23 leaves
“walker” biscuit container
potato chips container
plastic glove
white scottex paper
small piece of brown paper, rolled up
2 white plastic bag with garbage
pair of woman black shoes
2 foam core boards, approx 150 cm wide, taped together
cardboard pizza container
yellow elastic band
big cardboard box, with orange wire
shredded paper
pink post-it, crumpled.

During the performance every single item returned to its original position.

Forgotten Sculptors: 4. A Blind Sculptor

Istituto Nazionale dei Ciechi di Guerra, Rome. On the floor, two bronzes by Filippo Bausola (Vittorio Emanuele III and Benito Mussolini), circa 1934

The last image is a hailstorm of little black stones against the leaden gray field of the sky. Then an awful burning sensation all over my face, stabbing pain in the eye sockets. I was lying in a bed, voices whispered so softly that the words were almost incomprehensible, though they seemed to be talking about me. I thought I heard the word "extraction". The smell of chloroform and, in the distance, moaning.
Five years ago, when I delivered my work to the Head of State, Benito Mussolini, he was very surprised and pleased. He told me he had rarely seen portraits of such accuracy, and when he found out that I had made the work only from memory, and by touching some other sculptures, like that of Selva, he allowed me to touch his face so I would know what a good job I had done.
For the regime I was some kind of hero: blinded by a grenade near the end of the war, I had begun to sculpt: I shaped clay, sculpted stone, received dozens of commissions, and today my sculptures are found in many public buildings in Rome, the great home of the invalids, the ministry, the headquarters of the blind veterans.

Over time, though, I seemed to understand that another possibility existed, apart from that of trying to reproduce the forms of a face, the proportions of a body as accurately as I could. It was Zighina, daughter of the sun. She agreed to be the model of a blind sculptor, and she let me touch not only her face but also her whole body. I understand almost nothing of her language, and she cannot speak mine, but she guides my hands, and with hers she helps me to know her in the only way I can. With an ingenuousness (or indifference?) that to me seems like naturalness and complicity, she let me be free to feel pleasure when I touch her.
Since I became blind I have always said that sounds seem almost like an intrusion, that the sense of smell is useless, and that eating serves only to fill the stomach. I said that the blind have eyes in their fingertips. But since Zighina arrived touch gives me a pleasure that I had never imagined. Today I think my art can go beyond color and figure. I want to be able to make sculpture that reproduces the sensuality of a smooth surface, not the form of an arm or a thigh; the pleasure of caressing a throbbing breast, not its perfect roundness. I would like to be a pioneer, to make sculpture something it has never been: an art of the touch.

Freely adapted from the story of Filippo Bausola (1893-1952), who became a sculptor after losing his sight in World War I, and from the film Môjuu (English title: Blind Beast) by Masumura Yasuzo (1969).

(Translation: Steve Piccolo)

Bendati/Blindfolded

SculptureCenter Presents

Bendati/Blindfolded, an open, collective performance

Sunday, November 18, 2007
10am New York; 11am Buenos Aires; 12pm São Paulo; 3pm London; 4pm Cairo, Rome; 5pm Addis Ababa; 9pm Phnom Penh; 10pm Shanghai

Everyone, all over the world, is invited to take part in the action Bendati/Blindfolded.
Participants are asked to remain blindfolded for one hour. This is to identify with the state of mind of Luigi, who, for over a year now, has had trouble with his eyesight. He must remain in complete darkness, or keep his eyes closed for long periods of time. Those contributing are free to stay still or move, do something or not, work or rest. Participants are also invited to identify with Luigi's condition and very simply experience the loss of sight for an hour.
After the performance impressions can be posted on forgottensculptors.blogspot.com: a space where analogies, coincidences, and individual thoughts may appear; where images and voices seen or heard during the action can find an echo.

Emilio Fantin, Luigi Negro, Giancarlo Norese, Cesare Pietroiusti


Bendati/Blindfolded and Forgotten Sculptors
Bendati/Blindfolded is the last action in a series of performances that make up Forgotten Sculptors. Forgotten Sculptors is a project by Fantin, Negro, Norese, and Pietroiusti, produced by SculptureCenter for Performa 07. Part of the project consists in a series of short email stories. A performance by the four artists with the participation of Joan Jonas and Steve Piccolo will be held at SculptureCenter on November 3rd at 3pm as a part of Forgotten, Continuous, Influx: 30 Hours at SculptureCenter.

With the support of the Italian Cultural Institute, New York
In collaboration with Fondazione Salvatore Meo, Roma

Photo: Davide Bertocchi


SculptureCenter, New York
www.sculpture-center.org
(1) 718 361 1750

Forgotten Sculptors: 3. Modigliani’s Heads

Try to imagine the rediscovery of several previously unknown pieces by Modigliani during an exhibition of his works, along with the din of attributions, statements, expert opinions, proclamations and critical hairsplitting that cannot help but follow in its wake. Now try to imagine four high-school students in a garden, armed with hammer and chisel, working on a stone and savoring, in advance, the surprised expression of those who will find it. At least for a few minutes, because the experts will undoubtedly realize soon enough that the statue is a fake. Now try to imagine the faces of the students when they find out that the statue has fooled everybody. At this point, it is up to them to admit to their practical joke.
Twenty-three years have passed since the perpetration of one of the greatest hoaxes in the history of Italian art. Four kids from Leghorn did their part, as citizens, to make a contribution to the loopy adventure of the salvaging of the lost sculptures of Modigliani. Rumor had it that the artist, in a moment of discouraged despondency, convinced that his sculptures would never be as good as his paintings, had tossed them into the Fosso Mediceo (a canal). After having dredged up all kinds of stuff, but no sculptures, people began to make jokes about the entire operation: «Look, they just found Modigliani’s bicycle!», «There is one of Amedeo’s shoes!»…

One night Pietro Luridiana, Pierfrancesco Ferrucci, Michele Ghelarducci and Michele Genovesi, after having sculpted a stone with a Black&Decker drill, stealthily threw it into the canal. The next day, as the dredging continued, the workers did indeed find a sculpted head in the style of Modigliani. But when they saw it the boys were amazed… it wasn’t the head they had made!
Its real author was Angelo Froglia, a dockworker and artist, who later declared that his action could be seen as a work of conceptual art, unmasking the faulty mechanisms of the art world. But the joke got the better of the concept, and as the entire tale emerged the media turned all their spotlights onto the four boys.
The head made by the students was the second to be discovered. Immediately afterwards, the leading experts expressed pompous opinions regarding the artworks and the episode, confirming the authenticity of the sculptures (though we should recall that unlike all his colleagues, Federico Zeri said the sculptures were so "immature" that even if they were authentic, Modigliani had been right about throwing them away).

The four friends, heirs to Buffalmacco and Calandrino, must have had a good laugh, though at a certain point the event took on such importance that it would be hard to resolve matters just by saying: «Hey, it was just a joke». But fortune smiles on the daring, and our practical jokers – who, after all, had committed no crime – demonstrated the truth with photos taken at pertinent moments. In the end, at prime time, they made a replica of the work (with the usual tools) for the television cameras: a perfect Modigliani, in just 45 minutes.
Michele told me he started to make sculptures again, a few years ago, and I immediately understood that the spirit of Modì, together with that of Angelo Froglia, who passed away a few years ago, were still in town, spreading the virus of sculpture.

(Translated by Steve Piccolo)

Forgotten Sculptors is an art project by Emilio Fantin, Luigi Negro, Giancarlo Norese and Cesare Pietroiusti, produced by Sculpture Center (New York) in the context of PERFORMA07, the second biennial of new visual art performance.

Part of the project consisted in a series of short email stories. A performance by the four artists with the participation of Joan Jonas and Steve Piccolo was held at Sculpture Center on November 3rd, 2007. As a final step to the project, the artists invited everyone to join them in a collective performance on Sunday, November 18th.

Forgotten Sculptors: 2. Dorothea

The Clay Club, circa 1940. Photographer unknown

In front of me is the face of Annie L.; in her early 60s, she died of a heart attack. Her face is like a ball of paper, crushed in a fist. Her mouth is a box for rings, opened and emptied. “Theft”, I think... then I hear a voice softly say “It won't be easy, Dee”.
Working for the MacAllister School of Embalming hadn't seemed like such an outlandish idea. My father was an illustrator and had a strange passion for anatomy. Knowing the human body gave him confidence; for him it was a sort of guarantee, the way people carry an amulet in their pocket. Who knows if his real desire was to shape bodies rather than draw them. His passion was contagious and anatomy became a path leading to art for me as well. So when I looked at or touched a skull, I began to feel I was simply shaping what was latent in a face; I felt like someone making a portrait, but my action was clearly sculptural. I wanted to create forms.

Here at the Embalming School, I handle a material that is not clay. I touch the lips, smooth the forehead, comb the hair, touch up the eyebrows, imagine the movements of that face, its character, its tics, all its expressions. Over time I have developed a technique for reshaping the faces of corpses. Slender but strong elastic threads stitched inside the cheeks make it possible to restore the skin's tension, to keep the mixture of wax, parafin and cornstarch in place, which I have always used to fill the oral cavity and, where necessary, to restore the smooth firmness of the face. I feel that working on the head of a dead person is much more than making a sculpture: of course the sculptor's challenge has always been that of giving life to his creation, but those faces grant me an emotion that is hard to describe. It's not so much in the idea of imagining the person alive, or coming back to life, and it's not the thrill of creating an illusion, or having a feeling of power over life or over bodies.
Maybe it is simply a state similar to the one certain dreams confusedly leave behind them. I've always known that no one would come back to life, that my hands could not restore life, but lately I have felt that the face of the deceased, in my hands, takes on a particular power, very great and very fragile at the same time; something that calls forth an idea of life as potential, an instant in which time inexplicably loses its dimension and its very reason for existing, and goes back to being absence. The thrill of this suspended moment in which I feel like something could happen, like something is about to happen.

Inspired by the life and work of Dorothea Denslow (1900-1971), sculptor, founder of the Clay Club (1928), later re-named SculptureCenter. Denslow taught anatomy at an embalming school from 1946 to 1951.

(Translated by Steve Piccolo)

Forgotten Sculptors is an art project by Emilio Fantin, Luigi Negro, Giancarlo Norese and Cesare Pietroiusti, produced by Sculpture Center (New York) in the context of PERFORMA07, the second biennial of new visual art performance.

Part of the project consisted in a series of short email stories. A performance by the four artists with the participation of Joan Jonas and Steve Piccolo was held at Sculpture Center on November 3rd, 2007. As a final step to the project, the artists invited everyone to join them in a collective performance on Sunday, November 18th.

Forgotten Sculptors: 1. The Nanocafausu

Lu Cafausu, San Cesario di Lecce, Italy. Photo Maurizio Buttazzo

Dusk. I knew my way around that suburb. Lu Cafausu was in the reflection on a puddle, together with a scrawny pink pepper tree. Surrounded by tract houses and condos that still emitted odors of construction dust and mortar. It looked like a Cyclops with a droopy single eyelid. The totally ungovernable nature of its beauty, and at the same time its complete autonomy with respect to my sentiments, had never been so clear before. It had been raining for days, and a dark dog had taken shelter under the roof: from a distance the dog was just a blotch, like a little tar pit.
Two hours later I was in a room full of Canon printers: Professor C was seated in front of me, in his studio at the Nanotechnology Research Group. I had explained things to him openly: I felt a physical need to contain that place, to incorporate it in me. Lu Cafausu had to be able to travel thanks to my body, I wanted to become its vector, I felt an urgent need to hide it, wrapping it inside me like a fetus. To become its living frame. I also told the professor that the first time I talked about this with Cesare (a mutual friend) he immediately urged me to swallow it. SWALLOW IT. I was fascinated by the word, more than the act in itself. Digestive processes exist to transform or to expel, but the nano-Cafausu would never have to be transformed.

Talinjit was from New Delhi and had been Professor C’s assistant for a couple of years. Together, with boundless patience, they tried to explain how I should guide the flywheel with which I could create, “freehand”, the nanosculpture of Lu Cafausu. Later, though, we would have to come up with about 10,000 euros: the average cost of a hypothetical material with which to “work”. Otherwise, the use of the laboratories and the work of the team were free, because everyone seemed to like the idea. But something seriously bothered me; in that moment I tried out my sculpture using a material that was easy to shape, but toxic:
«It’s the most ductile and flexible of all elements, but it is not suitable. This is because we cannot know what will happen inside your body in ten years’ time. We can inject it into a muscle, under the skin, or if you prefer we can use a long needle to place it in the parenchyma of an organ. No one can tell you what will become of your little Cafausu if it starts to freely circulate inside your organism...»
The fact is that I continued to complicate matters. I thought about a material that would remain stable, in its shaped form, only inside a living human being. I imagined my death and Lu Cafausu as it came apart within me, with me.
I took some journals home with me that day: “Mechanical and Electrical Behavior of Carbon Nanotubes”, “Rivista Italiana di Compositi e Nanotecnologie”.
Over the next few days the attempts to construct a form similar to the Cafausu failed repeatedly. The scientists who were helping me thought it was excellent news and tried to convince me to abandon my sculptural compulsion, saying I would not be able to achieve much more, even after a full year of trying. I remember that during the first days they kept urging me to make a computer-aided construction, based on a photograph but the results seemed cold, impersonal, like an architectural model. It wasn’t the work I wanted to contain, to carry, to feel, to frame. The sculpture had to be less like a caption, it should have been more symbolic, more emotional. At a certain point Talinjit, without taking his eyes off the monitor, said that I was building myself a non-functional organ.

(Translation: Steve Piccolo)


Forgotten Sculptors is a project by Emilio Fantin, Luigi Negro, Giancarlo Norese and Cesare Pietroiusti, produced by SculptureCenter in the context of PERFORMA07, the second biennial of new visual art performance. Part of the project consists in a series of short email stories like this one. A performance by the four artists with the participation of Joan Jonas and Steve Piccolo will be held at Sculpture Center on November 3rd at 3pm. As a final step to the project, the artists will invite everyone to join them in a collective performance that can take place at home, on Sunday, November 18th. For more info on how to participate, please email forgottensculptors@sculpture-center.org

With the support of the Italian Cultural Institute, New York
Thanks to the Nanotechnology Research Group, Lecce

SculptureCenter
Founded by artists in 1928, SculptureCenter is a not-for-profit arts institution dedicated to experimental and innovative developments in contemporary sculpture. SculptureCenter commissions new work and presents exhibits by emerging and established, national and international artists.

SculptureCenter
44-19 Purves Sreet
Long Island City, NY 11101
t 718.361.1750
www.sculpture-center.org


PERFORMA07 (November 1-20, 2007) is the second biennial of new visual art performance presented by PERFORMA, a non-profit multidisciplinary arts organization dedicated to exploring the critical role of live performance in the history of twentieth century art and to encouraging new directions in performance for the twenty-first century. www.performa-arts.org

Meeting Through Fasting

This project was conceived and developed by Emilio Fantin, Giancarlo Norese, and Cesare Pietroiusti for the "First International Lunchtime Summit. A coming together of collective initiatives and socially engaged art in 16+ cities" (September 26th, 2003), organized by Sixteen Beaver Group, New York.

The three of us, each one in his own place and city (Bologna, Novi Ligure, Rome), observed a whole day of fasting on September 26th, 2003. During lunch and dinner time we introduced an original subject that became the plat du jour and conferred on it instead of eating. We also tried to guess what the other two were thinking about the chosen topic.
Our project tried to reach an indirect, neither personal nor auto-referential, common thinking. We then collected our considerations together with some pictures of the sites where our action took place.

Click here to download the booklet (redesigned in 2007; PDF, 1.65 MB)

PERFORMA07

PERFORMA07, the second biennial of new visual art performance, opens on October 27 in New York City, launching a four-week program of performances, exhibitions, screenings, symposia, and live events including ten major PERFORMA Commissions by Carlos Amorales, Sanford Biggers, Nathalie Djurberg, Japanther, Isaac Julien, Daria Martin, Kelly Nipper, Adam Pendleton, Yvonne Rainer, and Francesco Vezzoli. PERFORMA07 features the work of over ninety international artists at more than fifty leading cultural institutions and venues throughout the city, with the participation of more than thirty curators, and is organized under the artistic direction of its founder, RoseLee Goldberg.


ARTISTS:
Vito Acconci / David Adamo / Carlos Amorales / Francis Baudevin / Ei Arakawa & Amy Sillman / Are You Meaning Company / assume vivid astro focus / Fia Backström / Ronnie Bass / Jérôme Bel / Tamy Ben-Tor / Sanford Biggers / John Bock / Ulla von Brandenburg / Pablo Bronstein / Trisha Brown / Tania Bruguera / James Lee Byars / John Cage / Kabir Carter / Dimitri Chamblas / Boris Charmatz / Zoila Imaculada de la Concepción / Douglas Coupland / Tom Cole & Lovett / Codagnone / Tony Conrad / Marie Cool & Fabio Balducci / Nick Currie (aka Momus) / Philippe Decouflé / Nathalie Djurberg / Pete Drungel / Brock Enright / Nicolás Dumit Estévez / Emilio Fantin / James Fei / Ryan Gander / Gang Zhao / Rainer Ganahl / Grand Union / Nicolas Guagnini / Deborah Hay / He Yunchang / Karl Holmqvist / Hans Isaksson / International Festival / Christian Jankowski / Joan Jonas / Japanther / Isaac Julien & Russell Maliphant / Allan Kaprow / John Kelsey & Christopher Williams / Jon Kessler / Alison Knowles / Elke Krystufek / Tove Leffler / Shaun El C. Leonardo / Xavier Le Roy / Long March Collective / Robert Longo / Daria Martin / Eva and Franco Mattes (aka 0100101110101101.org) / Dave McKenzie / David Medalla / Gustav Metzger / Meredith Monk / Robert Morris & Stan VanDerBeek / My Barbarian / Bruce Nauman / Maurizio Nannucci / Luigi Negro / Kelly Nipper / Giancarlo Norese / Michael Northam / Darren O’Donnell / Yoko Ono / Serkan Özkaya / Adam Pendleton / Mai-Thu Perret / Cesare Pietroiusti / Michael Portnoy / Emilio Prini / Qiu Zhijie / Yvonne Rainer / Zach Rockhill / Robert Rauschenberg / Aïda Ruilova / Jelena Rundqvist / Carolee Schneeman / Second Front / Dexter Sinister / Markus Schinwald & Oleg Soulimenko / Snöfrid / Barbara Sukowa / Agathe Snow / Elaine Summers / Emily Sundblad / Eva Svuje / Min Tanaka / Javier Tellez / TM Sisters / Tomas Vanek / Francesco Vezzoli / Marianne Vitale & Agathe Snow / Tris Vonna-Michell / Jennifer Walshe / Lawrence Weiner / Michael Williams & Melissa Brown / Ian Wilson / The X-Patsys / Xu Zhen / + MORE

PERFORMA07 CONSORTIUM:
Anthology Film Archives / Artists Space / Art in General / Art Radio WPS1.org / Aperture Foundation / Baryshnikov Arts Center / The Bronx Museum of the Arts / Brooklyn Academy of Music / China Institute / Creative Time / Dance New Amsterdam / Dance Theater Workshop / Dispatch / The Drawing Center / Electronic Arts Intermix / Elizabeth Foundation for the Arts / The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum / Japan Society / The Jewish Museum / The Judson Memorial Church / The Kitchen / Lower Manhattan Cultural Council / The Museum of Arts and Design / Museum of Chinese in the Americas / New York University / Participant, Inc. / Performance Space 122 / P.S.1 Contemporary Art Center / SculptureCenter / The Studio Museum in Harlem / Storefront for Art and Architecture / Swiss Institute—Contemporary Art / WFMU 91.1FM-NYC and www.wfmu.org / White Box / White Columns / The Whitney Museum of American Art / WPS1 Art Radio / + MORE

ADDITIONAL VENUES:
590 Madison (The Atrium) / The Box / Columbia University / Dexter Sinister / Freemans / The Highline Ballroom / The Hudson Theatre at the Millennium Broadway Hotel / Joe’s Pub / Passerby / The New School / Second Life / Stephan Weiss Studio / World Financial Center / The Zipper Theater / + MORE

PARTICIPATING GALLERIES:
Canada / Chambers Fine Art / Deitch Projects / Fruit and Flower Deli / Greene Naftali Gallery / James Cohan Gallery / Metro Pictures / Salon 94 / Smith-Stewart / + MORE

Torno Subito! (in Berlin)

TORNO SUBITO! (ATTO II)
26.10. - 17.11.07

Mit Giona Bernardi, collettivo NISKA, Anna Leader, Sonja Feldmeier, Oppy De
Bernardo, Aldo Mozzini, Angelika Markul, Una Szeemann, Katia Bassanini, Giancarlo Norese.

Gastausstellung des Kunstraums La Rada (Locarno).
Eröffnung am Freitag 26.10, 19h bis 23h.

Substitut
Raum für aktuelle Kunst aus der Schweiz
Torstrasse 159
10115 Berlin
www.substitut-berlin.ch
Öffnungszeiten: Mi / Do 16h-19h, Fr 16h-21h, Sa 14h-18h


Vom 26. Oktober bis 17. November zeigt der Kunstraum La Rada aus Locarno im Substitut die Gastausstellung «torno subito!».
In Schaufenstern von italienischen Geschäften, besondern in süditalienischen, findet man häufig ein Schild mit der Aufschrift „torno subito“ („Bin gleich zurück“). Die Worte sind besonders oft auf den Türen von Quartierläden zu lesen. Torno subito“ signalisiert, dass der Ladenbesitzer mit grosser Wahrscheinlichkeit gerade ein Kaffee trinken gegangen ist und eben gleich wieder zurück sein wird....
Die Kundschaft kennt die Gepflogenheiten und weiss sofort Bescheid. Zu Missverständnissen kommt es aber immer mal wieder, wenn ein Tourist aus nördlicheren Gegenden, oder gar ein Amerikaner auf das Schild stossen und natürlich nicht verstehen, dass „gleich wieder zurück“ nicht unbedingt so genau gemeint ist.
Auf die Ausstellung im Substitut bezogen, soll der Titel den flüchtigen Geist einer Ausstellung unterstreichen, deren Ausgangslage die Begegnung eines Kunstraumes aus der tiefsten Schweizer Provinz mit der blühenden Berliner Szene ist. „Torno subito“ ist nicht unbedingt als reine Ausstellung zu verstehen. Eher als „arbeitsfreie“ Zeit oder als Transfer einer Fussballmannschaft ohne Torhüter und Mittelstürmer. Der provisorische Charakter entspricht auch dem Wunsch, den Kunstraum La Rada adäquat vorzustellen: Der Kunstraum ist weniger eine Kunsthalle die grosse Events organisiert, denn ein Labor, in welchem künstlerische Arbeitsweisen erforscht werden.
In diesem Sinne sollen nicht einfach Werke von Künstler/innen gezeigt werden, sondern auch La Rada repräsentiert sein. Das Tessin war Anfang des 20. Jahrhunderts ein überwiegend armer Kanton. Die Leute sind kaum aus ihren Dörfern herausgekommen und wenn, dann nur um anderswo ihr (finanzielles) Glück zu finden - immer mit den Ziel möglichst bald in ihre Heimat zurück zu kehren.
In Italien oder Deutschland haben die Tessiner zu miesen Löhnen als Kaminfeger gearbeitet oder Kastanien feilgeboten. Heute ist die Situation natürlich anders. Aber für Künstler ist sie in gewisser Weise ähnlich geblieben. Diese müssen mangels Möglichkeiten in ihrem Heimatkanton zwangsläufig auswandern - dieses Bild nimmt La Rada mit nach Berlin.

Aldo Mozzini ist im Tessin geboren, aber schon sehr früh nach Zürich gezogen. Er hat die Beziehung zu seiner Heimat nicht aufrecht erhalten, ausser dass in seinen Arbeiten mehr und mehr Motive und Reproduktionen von typischen Tessiner Objekten auftauchen.
Katia Bassanini lebt derzeit in New York und nimmt aus Entfernung an der Ausstellung teil, während der Italiener Giancarlo Norese eingeladen wurde, die italienischen Wurzeln der Tessiner Mentalität zu erkunden. Noreses Werk nährt sich von der Idee des Scheiterns. Er ist von der Art eines Maurizio Cattelan, aber menschlicher und weniger mediatisiert. Seine Arbeiten neigen dazu, die Widersprüche der zeitgenössischen Kunstproduktion aufzudecken.
Una Szeemann ist nicht nur Tessinerin, sondern auch Tochter von Harald Szeemann. Sie verkörpert alles, was ein Künstler aus dieser Region nie sein wird und nie sein kann. Ihre Arbeit widmet sich der Naturistenkolonie auf dem Monte Verità Anfang des letzten Jahrhunderts. Der Zusammenhang mit dem, was vielleicht eine wesentliche Passion ihres Vaters war, erscheint hier komplett verdreht und nimmt einen clownesken, wenn nicht gar grotesken Charakter an.
Giona Bernardi ist eine Tessiner Hip Hop-Künstlerin. Sie entwickelt ihre Arbeiten aus dem Graffiti und Comic. Die Hip Hop Szene ist im Tessin ein wichtiges gegenkulturelles Phänomen und Giona eine wichtige Repräsentantin. Das colletivo Niska (Niska ist finnisch für Nacken) ist eine Vereinigung lokaler Künstler die sich zum Ziel gesetzt hat, ausserhalb der Schemata zeitgenössischer Kunst
Anlässe zu organisieren. Als erste Aktion hat die Gruppe einen selbstreferenziellen Roadmovie gedreht, der sie auf einer Reise von Locarno nach Sodankyla im hohen Norden Finnlands zeigt, wo sie am Midnight Sun Film Festival teilgenommen haben, welches von den Kaurismäki-Brüdern initiiert worden war. Als Gegenstück dazu gibt es eine Art Italienreise, in der sich die Spuren der europäischen Zivilisation allmählich verlieren und zerstreuen. Heute führt das colletivo Niska einen Raum, wo sie Ausstellungen zeigen, die ausserhalb des Kunstkanons angesiedelt sind. Oppy de Bernardo ist auch Tessiner, der fast in Manier eines Don Quichote versucht, in der Provinz Kunst zu machen. Seine Arbeiten zeichnen sich durch scharfen Sinn für Humor aus und suchen die Provokation. Angelika Markul ist in Polen geboren, und lebt und arbeitet in Paris. Sie ist Assistentin von Christian Boltansky. Durch diesen hat sie Geschmack gefunden an der Welt des Finsteren; ihre Videos haben oft autobiografische Wurzeln und streifen das Kino von Regisseuren wie Polanski oder Lynch, ohne aber je narrativ zu werden. Ihre Protagonisten sind oft Insekten und Nachttiere auf die immer ein unausweichliches und tragisches Ende wartet. Anna Leader ist eine englische Fotografin, die sich in ihren Arbeiten auf die Geschichte der Fotografie und der Malerei bezieht. Die Künstlerin lebt seit fast zwei Jahren im Tessin und hat in dieser Zeit einige typische Aspekte des Kantons dokumentiert. Die Arbeit von Sonja Feldmeier (Basel) dreht sich um die Verdrehungen der medialen Sprache und ihrer Konventionen. Die Künstlerin hat schon mehrmals in der La Rada ausgestellt, war an der allerersten Ausstellung im White Space (Zürich, gegründet von Urs Küenzi) beteiligt und hat auch am ersten Akt von „torno subito“ im White Space teilgenommen. So schliessen sich die Kreise...
(Text: Noah Stolz, Übersetzung: Urs Küenzi)

Spacecraft. Fleeting Architecture and Hideouts

Editor Lukas Feireiss will present the latest release from dgv "Spacecraft: Fleeting Architecture and Hideouts" at the Pro qm bookstore, Almstadtstraße 48-50 in 10119 Berlin-Mitte starting at 8:30 pm on Friday, October 5.

Spacecraft presents projects that meet the changing spatial needs of our modern lifestyles and that are simultaneously expanding our current understanding of architecture. On the one hand, the book features flexible, fleeting structures that only exist for a limited time. On the other hand, Spacecraft focuses on spaces that are used temporarily. Whether vacation homes, urban hideouts, art projects, pavilions or studios, all of the included work is distinguished by a playful, unconventional use of space.
Giancarlo Norese is a contributor to this book.

Editors: R. Klanten, L. Feireiss
Language: English
Release: September 2007
Price: € 50,00 / $ 70,00 / £ 35,00
Format: 24 x 30 cm
Binding: 240 pages, full colour, hardcover
ISBN: 978-3-89955-192-1

Painting Shuffle

Mauro Maffezzoni's Painting Shuffle catalogue, designed by Giancarlo Norese. Download pdf (7.1 MB; click on the title)

Forgotten Sculptors, New York

"Forgotten Sculptors" is a collaborative art project performed by Emilio Fantin, Luigi Negro, Giancarlo Norese, and Cesare Pietroiusti, with the participation of Joan Jonas and Steve Piccolo.
On Saturday, November 3, 2007, 3pm as part of SculptureCenter’s participation in PERFORMA 07.

By combining semi-concrete, semi-absurdist methods with a wide variety of media, the artists will create stories, a play and a collective peformance about sculptures and actual sculptors whose exposure has waned into oblivion.

PERFORMA07 is the second biennial of new visual art performance presented by PERFORMA, a non-profit multidisciplinary arts organization dedicated to exploring the critical role of live performance in the history of twentieth century art and to encouraging new directions in performance for the twenty-first century.

PERFORMA07
The Second Biennial of New Visual Art Performance
October 27-November 20, 2007

SculptureCenter
44-19 Purves Street
Long Island City, NY 11101
T 718 361 1750
F 718 786 9336
info@sculpture-center.org

http://www.sculpture-center.org/
http://07.performa-arts.org/

I'll stop believing in you if you stop believing in me

THE PROJECT
by Ruth Sacks

I'll stop believing in you if you stop believing in me is a catalogue of a non-existent exhibition. In South Africa it is a difficult for young artists to get on exhibitions regularly, owing to challenges of infrastructure and funding. Even more established artists must often grapple with similar concerns. The role of printed matter holds great significance in this context.

Making and studying artwork in South Africa (and many other less central parts of the world) largely entails experiencing contemporary works through their documentation. That is, websites, books and magazines that were created to represent art events long after the fact. One of the most impressive things about the South African art world is the number of publications through which it is presented, as compared with the rest of Africa.

Nevertheless, there is no comparison to the amount of printed matter generated in first world art centres in Europe and America. It is this that we address in I'll stop believing in you if you stop believing in me. We decided to cut corners and remove the exhibition altogether.

Artists were invited to specially make works, following their own styles and concerns, but with this concept as a starting point. While the exhibitors had some control over how their work was displayed within this forum, the overall decisions lay in the hands of the curators.

In this particular case, the participating artists are all known to have dealt with themes of authenticity and fictionality and were each allotted four A5 pages to explore projects that might not be possible in real time or space. The end result reveals a number of issues which highlight the context of working within the contemporary South African art world.

In the spirit of the overall atmosphere of lying and fakery, many artists involved worked under a pseudonym. In the case of Zama Kubu's contribution, a well known Swiss artist selected an isiXhosa name to use as his own. He had been fascinated by what he saw as the pressure on all South African artists to deal with race and quota issues, despite over ten years having passed since the apartheid regime ended. His actual project involved providing photographic 'evidence' of an intervention on the outskirts of Cape Town.

One large foldout poster depicts a text piece installed on a bridge along the N2, the freeway which runs from the airport to the city of Cape Town (the 'townships', areas where people of colour were forced to live during apartheid, are visible from this road).

Concerns with issues of identity are further accentuated by Kathryn Smith. For her contribution, she went under mitochondrial DNA testing, a process which traces one's origins as far back as possible along the maternal line. At the same time she hired a past life regression therapist to expose her previous lives through hypnosis. She displays evidence of the results of both processes in the book.

Daniel Halter's project brings the interesting phenomenon of discontinued exhibitions as well as wish fulfillment to the fore. The young Zimbabwean artist creates an exhibition within the pages of the book which utilizes the material originally intended for the third Brett Kebble Art Awards which never took place. These exhibitions were part of a glamorous, high profile awards ceremony in South Africa. Only two Brett Kebble Art Awards were held (in 2003 and 2004), due to its controversial patron being shot dead in September 2005.

Halter was an assistant on the show. In the pages of the book, he describes and provides evidence of creating his own impromptu Brett Kebble Art Awards 2005 in the luscious store rooms of the late Kebble's mansion in Bishopscourt, Cape Town, during the days when the fate of both the work intended for display and the employees of the awards ceremony were still uncertain. His is the only exhibition of that particular group of work that will ever exist.

All sorts of projects emerged in the process of making the book: A manipulative infiltration of a private online sex chat group by William Scarborough (the riposte from one of the duped victims is also included in order to allow for fair play), a purely aesthetic all girl Goth band by Andrew Lamprecht, the launch of the Association of Happy Artists by Gallerie Puta as well as that of the first African journey to the sun by Kiluanji Kia Henda.

Many artists, like Sebastian Charilaou, alongside the combined efforts of Cesare Pietroiusti and Giancarlo Norese, toy with the clichés of aesthetic and verbal languages found in the documentation of contemporary art. Some projects were actually carried out. Others were purely fictional. At the end of the day, not one single statement or image in the pages of the book is to be trusted. Curator Robert Sloon is purportedly a fictional character, while fellow curator Ruth Sacks continually claims informally that every part of the project was, in fact, her own doing.

We hope the book will be in print by the end of this year.

Curators:

Ruth Sacks and Robert Sloon

Participating artists
Kiluanji Kia Henda
Chad Rossouw
Gallerie Puta
Ed Young
Sebastian Charilaou
William Scarborough
Zama Kubu
Kathryn Smith
Suzyme
Daniel Halter
Cesare Pietroiusti
Giancarlo Norese
Karin Gavassa
Elan Gamaker

Cafausic, an adjective

The Cafausu is a sort of metaphorizing device, a mark for identifying some absurd contradictions concerning aesthetics, architecture, landscape, beauty of our time; and also an adjective: "Cafausic", related to

self-abandon
self-abuse
self-accusation
self-admiration
self-condemnation
self-creation
self-deception
self-delusion
self-denying
self-destruction
self-devotion
self-doubt
self-dramatization
self-expression
self-flattery
self-glorification
self-justification
self-knowing
self-limiting
self-locking
self-loving
self-parodying
self-perpetuation
self-portrait
self-regard
self-regulation
self-renunciation
self-respect
self-revelation
self-sacrificing
self-satisfaction
self-styling
self-sufficiency
self-understanding.

Here you find two tripods at SoundRes.

Precarious Home

A shocking distinction between freedom and solitude.
A project by Giancarlo Norese, exhibited at “Public Art a Trieste e dintorni”, Trieste, Palazzo Costanzi, july-sept 2007

Barbonato

I'd no friends, no home, no job, no girlfriend and no money. One fine day I decided to drop all this nothingness and leave for a place I knew not where. I let myself be carried by the flow of events, opting to use this "absence" as a strength rather than the stuff of desperation. I left the day before the 1st of January, 1996, and allowed myself to be fed and housed by the people I met by chance; initially people I already knew and then others they introduced me to and to whom they entrusted me. With no set programme to respect, with no certainty of sleeping in the same place twice. During the course of this "trip" it might happen that talking to someone they would decide to participate in my project, inviting me to stay in their home for a few days, or simply offering me a cup of coffee.

Barbonato is a kind of study grant to be obtained by way of self-congratulation. Anybody can get one without any great trouble. It fights unhappiness. Allows you to observe how others spend their time and to meet their friends. I've lived in dozens of different homes in Milan, Trieste, Gallarate, Bologna, San Lazzaro di Savena, Rome, Genoa, Rivara, Como, San Maurizio Canavese, Turin, Lanciano, Mostar.

I bought a camera with a date function and each time I slept in a new place I photographed the first thing I saw when I woke up (usually the ceiling or parts of windows). The dates stamped on the slides serve as memoranda.

I sometimes took notes on the people I met and the phrases pronounced in certain circumstances. Then, after exactly nine months, all this freedom sickened me and for a while I rented a room in Milan.

Vitellia

Southern Europe, a peninsula extending into the central Mediterranean Sea, northeast of Tunisia.

Persistent problems include illegal immigration, organized crime, corruption, high unemployment, sluggish economic growth, and the low incomes and technical standards of south compared with the prosperous north.
Air pollution from industrial emissions such as sulfur dioxide; coastal and inland rivers polluted from industrial and agricultural effluents; acid rain damaging lakes; inadequate industrial waste treatment and disposal facilities.
Regional risks include landslides, mudflows, avalanches, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, flooding, land subsidence.
Strategic location dominating central Mediterranean as well as southern sea and air approaches to Western Europe.
Land boundaries: Holy See (Vatican City) 3.2 km

Lavorare gratis godendo (rubrica di Economia)

Luigi Negro
Ho una domanda…

Emilio Fantin
Dai.

Luigi Negro
Ma… il tempo non è denaro?
Voglio dire… (così sembra una stronzata, infatti lo è)

Emilio Fantin
Questo detto è del 1849.

Luigi Negro
Sì, l’ho letto…

Emilio Fantin
Ora si dice che il denaro è il tempo.

Luigi Negro
Anche nei miei studi economici.

Emilio Fantin
Cioè la tua vita costa.

Luigi Negro
Esatto…

Emilio Fantin
Si sa che nasciamo con i debiti…

Luigi Negro
E non importa quanto e come viene calcolato.
Già… sono ereditabili poi.

Emilio Fantin
Ma questo sarebbe niente.
Il fatto è che se non viviamo abbastanza, non potremo consumare abbastanza.

Luigi Negro
Ma la questione è che se dobbiamo eliminare l’economia o meglio l’economicità, dobbiamo eliminare il tempo.
(è quasi lo stesso concetto)

Emilio Fantin
Oppure non dovremo consumare.

Giancarlo Norese
E il tempo è uguale per tutti?

Luigi Negro
No.

Emilio Fantin
Nel senso dei consumatori, sì.

Luigi Negro
Assolutamente il tempo non è MAI uguale per tutti.
Intendi come consumatori di tempo?
Ma vorrei farvi però una domanda… ancora.

Emilio Fantin
Voglio dire che se in 50 anni spendi 100 milioni sei diverso da uno che ne spende 120.

Luigi Negro
… hmmm. Non so.
Potrebbe essere la stessa cosa. Ci sono molte variabili che possono entrarci.

Giancarlo Norese
Ormai anche i venditori di auto sanno cos'è la fidelizzazione del consumatore.

Luigi Negro
Infatti.

Emilio Fantin
Se in 50 anni spendi 50 € ti mettono dentro.

Giancarlo Norese
Meglio vendere delle auto per tutta la vita alla stessa persona, che cercare nuove persone per vendere tante auto subito…

Luigi Negro
Il godere implica la questione del tempo, ma il tempo implica ineluttabilmente la questione economica.
Voglio dire, ora esistono anche le Banche del Tempo.

Giancarlo Norese
Aspettando godo.

Emilio Fantin
Mi sembra di intuire che denaro e economia non hanno più molto a che fare.

Luigi Negro
Un comportamento anti-economico cosa è secondo voi?
Emilio… ti vuoi spiegare meglio?

Giancarlo Norese
Quello che va contro le leggi della casa.

Emilio Fantin
Se il denaro è il tempo diventa un fatto esistenziale, di più, fisiologico…

Luigi Negro
Economia viene dal greco, come sappiamo tutti… οίκος [oikos], “casa” e nόμος [nomos], “norma”, cioè “amministrazione della casa”.
(rispondendo a Giancarlo)

Giancarlo Norese
Che bravo, che trovi le lettere greche.

Luigi Negro
Grazie…
Emilio, ho capito.

Emilio Fantin
Il denaro è il sostituto del sangue.

Luigi Negro
Già. Forse è sangue.

Emilio Fantin
E te lo ciucciano ogni giorno.

Luigi Negro
Ma la questione ora è: l'economia ha sempre a che fare con il denaro?
O invece a questo punto con il tempo?

Emilio Fantin
L’economia è politica, il denaro è sangue.

Luigi Negro
Sì. Mi devo chiarire le questioni, sono troppo legato alla disciplina…

Emilio Fantin
Non ci sono però centri di trasfusione.

Luigi Negro
Ho sempre un dottorato in storia economica.

Emilio Fantin
Cioè sì, le banche.

Luigi Negro
Il sangue è il denaro come un mezzo simbolico di scambio, una unità di conto, una riserva di valore o come “tempo”?
Il sangue è il tempo?

Emilio Fantin
Se non hai denaro crepi, quindi la tua vita s’accorcia.
Ma questo è sempre stato vero.

Luigi Negro
Chi non vuole un’economia fondata sul denaro?

Emilio Fantin
Noi, per esempio.

Giancarlo Norese
Be’, avevamo detto di partire dal tema di lavorare gratis e godere.

Luigi Negro
Si dice che l’unico modo per scambiare delle merci è il baratto, ovvero lo scambio diretto di beni contro beni.
Lavorare gratis e godere è uno scambio?
Io che lavoro per te ho, in cambio un godimento.
Vengo ripagato di un godimento.
Voglio dire… non si puo dimenticare l’alienazione marxiana; è uno dei pochi concetti inalienabili e onesti dell’economia.
Quali lavori posso fare traendone godimento senza essere pagato?
O meglio, essendo pagato dallo stesso godimento di farlo?

Emilio Fantin
A volte mi chiedo che cosa significhi (nelle sfere profonde della psiche) “gratis”.

Luigi Negro
Già.

Emilio Fantin
Del resto anche il beota gode…
Ho il vago timore che dietro a questa frase (lavorare gratis e godere) ci sia qualche irrisolutezza.

Luigi Negro
Vero.
Ogni volta che diamo per assunti alcuni concetti, commettiamo un errore quasi classico.
Come quando si parla di “normale”, “sesso”, “gratis” ecc.

Giancarlo Norese
A volte è più economico non farsi pagare.

Luigi Negro
Questo è verissimo.
Si assume il fatto che il sociale si fonda al minimo sullo scambio e al massimo sui sistemi economici complessi.

Emilio Fantin
Piuttosto che lavorare gratis, dovremo dire che il nostro profitto non corrisponde a una cifra in denaro.

Luigi Negro
Ci sono delle aziende o persone che regalano servizi,
come la stampa (costa poco per una tipografia stampare).

Emilio Fantin
Potremmo dire che ci aspettiamo che, comunque, qualcuno si prenda cura di noi.

Luigi Negro
O l’ospitalità (non costa nulla a un albergo ospitare d’inverno in un posto per il turismo estivo).

Giancarlo Norese
Essere accolti, mi piace.

Luigi Negro
Giusto.
Forse la svolta per ora è semplicemente nel “riscaldare” le parole con cui descriviamo le questioni cosiddette economiche.
Come vengono pagati i bambini?
(si usa spesso dire “ripagati”… ma non so bene quale sia la differenza)
A parte i giocattoli.
Credo che la loro moneta siano le carezze.
Le coccole.
Il calore.

Emilio Fantin
Cioè si gode lavorando… (“gratis” non lo voglio dire), se sappiamo che saremo pagati con una moneta imprevista.

Luigi Negro
Il sentirsi curato.
Ma questo comporta però anche una altra questione:
la dimensione della fiducia (esiste anche nell’arida materia bancaria), se è imprevista la moneta...
Ma sappiamo che verremo pagati.
Il godimento si realizza ugualmente?

Emilio Fantin
Intendo una moneta che può non essere di conio…

Luigi Negro
O invece (come spesso nei regali) rischiamo di rimanere delusi.

Giancarlo Norese
Godiamo se conosciamo la nostra moneta futura.

Luigi Negro
Ma secondo me deve essere predefinita, come quando si fa volontariato in zone di emergenza.
Non so se avete provato (io una volta in Somalia…), si viene ripagati da questa esperienza.
Quando qualcuno ci regala un programma di residenza (dove magari possiamo incontrare gente interessante o essere semplicemente ricambiati da contatti ed esperienze). Basta che ci paghino il treno, a volte neanche quello.

Emilio Fantin
Capisco, ma questo (intendo la sicurezza dell’esperienza o il viaggio pagato) non è la nostra moneta…

Kein Paparazzi

Cafausic Table

Moroloja, the chant of the dead

Like a reawakening, as if the little space inside the Cafausu had expanded. I’m dressed up, in a shirt and tie I haven’t worn for ages, perfectly still. Maria Concetta slides eyeglasses into position on my head, then emits a long shout. At first I don’t understand that it is the prelude to a chant. A melodious lament that goes on for hours, hypnotic, anguishing: the Moroloja, the chant of the dead. Somebody pays her to do it, I’m not sure whom, also because I’m not supposed to be dead and in any case I don’t even know what is supposed to have killed me. All I know is this lamentation, this woman who just a few minutes ago was stealing my gold and my watch. Now she’s crying (tearlessly) and singing my praises. She seems to know me, as if we’d met time and again for years. I am on the ground in the Cafausu, surrounded by people I’ve never seen before. Maria Concetta wails and cries, shaking her head, mussing her hair, shaking. She holds a kerchief in one hand. Candles and rotting flowers waft a putrid odor of lavender and coffee. I feel like throwing up but I can’t. Evidently the dead are not allowed to vomit. The “chiangimuerti” is sweating now, swimming toward a spoken tone, but then her inebriating sobs return, another spasm of grief. I can hear the way she avoids the pleasures of singing, out of respect, eschewing the harmony of the musical structure, keeping a perfect balance between groan and tune. I start to pay attention to the words. They express no Christian concepts of death or resurrection, no mention of Christ, Mary, saints.

After life there is only dissolution, “dark night”. I listen to an appeal to Thanatos, death personified, and to the fairy Fate, with her dramatic power of dominion and destiny. I think I can salvage a memory: my grandmother, Vicenzina, became senile when she was about eighty, and would often sing a song by Orietta Berti:

"Stretti stretti nell’estasi d’amor la spagnola s’amar così bocca bocca la notte e il dì."

Then she would immediately cut it short, and lose herself in a wailed lament:
Ohimmè, Sorte noscia." (Oh my… such is our Fate)

Morales de Jardin

Es curioso – pensé – que, siendo yo argentino, cuando Giancarlo Norese me propuso que escribiera un texto sobre jardines para un libro que se disponía a publicar, no me viniera de inmediato a la mente aquel memorable jardín de cierto cuento de Jorge Luis Borges (“El jardín de senderos que se bifurcan" es su título) sino otro que aparece en un relato de la escritora brasileña Clarice Lispector.

El relato tiene el título de "Amor", y el jardín en cuestión está abierto para todos: se trata del Jardín Botánico de Rio de Janeiro. ¿Será –me pregunté– por mi propia afición a visitar este jardín que me vino en primer término a la mente, al recibir el mensaje de Giancarlo Norese proponiéndome que escribiera el texto en cuestión, precisamente el de Lispector? Porque es cierto que, cuando estoy en Rio de Janeiro, me urge ir a ese sitio, cosa que hago por lo general en el transporte sobre el cual nos encontramos en el comienzo del relato a la protagonista de "Amor": un ómnibus que, en el momento preciso en que el cuento nos la presenta, pasa por el barrio de Humaitá y se aproxima, como cualquiera que conozca la geografía de la ciudad lo sabe, al Jardín Botánico.

Una mujer (su nombre es Ana) se encuentra en un ómnibus que pasa, en Rio de Janeiro, por el barrio de Humaitá, en la dirección del Jardín Botánico. Y ¿quién es esta Ana? Alguien que el relato nos presenta como una suerte de jardinera: un ama de casa que se satisface, se nos dice, en el ordenado crecimiento, en torno suyo, de su familia y de las cosas que conciernen a su familia, en el crecimiento y en el orden, satisfacción que no es, tal como el texto la describe, de un orden enteramente diferente a la de aquella o aquel que, cualquier mañana o cualquier tarde, se enfrenta a su vasto jardin o al pequeño jardín que componen, en su balcón, unas pocas plantas en macetas, y se admira del crecimiento ordenado de las vidas vegetales que sus acciones han facilitado.

"Ella había plantado las semillas que tenía en la mano, no otras, sino esas apenas. Y crecían árboles." Como es fácil adivinarlo, esta empresa está destinada, en "Amor", a la ruina. En este nivel, no hay nada de raro en la historia, que comienza por presentarnos a una buena burguesa apasionada por el orden, de una pasión que un secreto temor alimenta, y que muy rápidamente adivinamos que un gran desorden va a cobrar: nada más común en la narrativa de la época en que el relato se publica (hacia 1960) que esos hombres o mujeres que, como la mujer de "Amor", descubren que no es cierto que en todas las circunstancias "la vida podía ser hecha por la mano del hombre", como ella se dice, que "la necesidad de sentir la raíz firme de las cosas" no puede ser siempre saciada, que todo hogar está habitado por un potencial de derrumbe, todo jardín destinado a ser cobrado por la anárquica maleza. Mil relatos de la época se construyen a partir de este esquema. Mil personajes son concebidos en la época que, como esta figura de Lispector, sienten, de repente, al recorrer sus jardines, que sus corazones "se aprietan un poco de espanto".

Pero todo, en el texto, reside en los detalles. En la afirmación, por ejemplo, de que la naturaleza vegetal es el tipo fundamental de vida en el mundo, de que un modo de vida es un modo de enraizarse (Ana, por su parte, se propone disponer sus cosas de modo de sentir que "forma parte obscuramente de las raíces negras y suaves del mundo"), de que el mundo es un ámbito dominado por la suave naturaleza vegetal. Porque la naturaleza vegetal es suave, ¿no? Quizás, pero bien puede no serlo. Eso es lo que esta mujer, en todo caso, descubre en el Jardín Botánico, donde acabará, sin intención, por detenerse. Lo que terminará de descubrir allí, y que comienza a descubrir ahora, cuando sufre un sorpresivo encuentro. ¿Con quién? Con un ciego. El ómnibus en el que va se ha detenido, y en la acera hay un ciego que masca chicles.

"Entonces lo vió: el ciego mascaba chicles... Un hombre ciego mascaba chicles." Y la visión la derrumba, y todo regresa. ¿Todo qué? ¿Qué cosa experimenta esta mujer a causa de su visión? "La piedad la sofocaba" – dice el texto. ¿Por qué? ¿Qué vé esta mujer en el ciego? Una multitud de cosas, sin duda, pero sobre todo una víctima. El desamparo radical de una víctima, víctima real de violencias pasadas y víctima virtual de violencias futuras. En el mundo en cuyo centro está la figura atónita del ciego, lo que Ana ve es una escena que de repente se reparte entre victimarios y víctimas, y a cada uno de ellos a punto de convertirse en su contrario: víctimas en victimarios, victimarios en víctimas. El mundo que el ciego, por su mera presencia, descubre, desentierra, es un espacio de victimaciones, espacio intensísimo, tenso de avidez, espacio donde se despliega un "oscuro sufrimiento" pero también una loca alegría: porque en él todo sufrimiento es la ocasión del goce de alguien (lo que alegra a la mujer y, a la vez, la descompone, tanto que el texto dice que "a través de la piedad le aparecía a Ana una vida llena de náusea dulce, hasta la boca").

Hasta la boca. Este es un mundo de devoraciones, y por lo tanto, de bocas (el ciego ha aparecido, desde el comienzo, como si estuviera entre mandíbulas a punto de cerrarse). En el primer plano, la boca. En el primer plano de este mundo, hay cierto ambiguo combate entre victimarios y víctimas que de inmediato, en el Jardín Botánico, habrá comenzado a desplegarse en todo su raro esplendor. Es que la mujer ha perdido su rumbo, y se ha bajado del ómnibus, y se encuentra, vertiginosamente, en su puerta, y entra y contempla el Jardín que aparece entre las mandíbulas de la tarde que se escapa, el jardín victimado por la tarde ("todo el Jardín triturado por los instantes ya más apresados de la tarde"), el jardín colmado de victimarios y víctimas ("se hacía en el Jardín un trabajo secreto que comenzaba a percibir"). La mujer entra, llega a un banco, se sienta y se le impone esta visión: En los árboles las frutas eran negras, dulces como la miel. Había en el suelo carozos secos llenos de circunvoluciones, como pequeños cerebros podridos. El banco estaba manchado de jugos rojos. Con suavidad intensa rumoreaban las aguas. En el tronco del árbol se adherían las patas lujosas de una araña.

La crudeza del mundo era tranquila. El asesinato era profundo. Y la muerte no era lo que pensábamos. A la vez que imaginario, era un mundo para ser comido con los dientes, un mundo de voluminosas dalias y tulipas. Los troncos eran recorridos por parásitas hojosas, el abrazo era blando, adherido. Este jardín no es solamente, no es pricipalmente para ser mirado, no es en tanto observador que de mejor manera se lo aborda, no es en tanto simple vidente que se aprehende el trabajo que, en cada momento, lo erige, lo suspende, lo vuelca sobre el mundo, sino en tanto sujeto devorante. Se ve el jardín, se lo ve propiamente, solamente cuando ya se lo aprehendido como susceptible de ser incorporado. El aparece en el borde de los labios; y cuando lo ha hecho, cuando ha acabado de imponer su presencia, no se mantiene en la distancia, sino que se precipita y se adhiere, y priva a quien sea de lugar para la errancia libre, y destituye al sujeto como sujeto de una iniciativa (antes del sujeto de la acción, hay, en su sitio, el objeto de un abrazo). De ese modo, no sólo propone otro orden de apariencias, sino otra moral: La moral del Jardín era otra. Ahora que el ciego la había guiado hasta él, se estremecía en los primeros pasos de un mundo escintilante, sombrío, donde victorias-regias flotaban monstruosas.

Las pequeñas flores esparcidas en la hierba no le parecían amarillas o rosadas, sino del color de mal oro y escarlata. La descomposición era profunda, perfumada... Pero a todas las pesadas cosas ella las veía con las cabeza rodeada por un enjambre de insectos enviados por la vida más fina del mundo. La brisa se insinuaba entre las flores. Ana más bien adivinaba que sentía su olor endulzado... El Jardín era tan bonito que tuvo miedo del Infierno. Era casi de noche ahora y todo parecía lleno, pesado, una ardilla voló en la sombra. Bajo los pies la tierra estaba fofa. Ana la aspiraba con delicia. Era fascinante, y ella sentía asco. Jardín, entonces, de victimaciones. De confrontaciones a muerte (toda confrontación, aquí, lo es) entre los seres, y donde cada uno se convierte en víctima de sí: pues es a una victimación a propias manos que los seres se entregan al descomponerse, al placer de ser víctimas de sí, al profundo asesinato de sí mismos, cuya tentación la mujer experimenta en la aspiración deliciosa del olor de una tierra fofa.

Impregnada del jardín (antes de la potencia de ver, hay la potencia de ser impregnada), la mujer se ha impregnado de sí. Hay adherencia perfecta entre esta mujer y el jardín en el instante preciso en que ella parece estar a punto de entregarse cruelmente a la euforia en la descomposición que el sitio, al desplegarse, le propone. O, más bien, habría adherencia perfecta si no fuera por cierta visita que ocurre en el centro del párrafo: la de ese "enjambre de insectos enviados por la vida más fina del mundo", ese rápido intervalo cristalino, ágil, ese moviente desenlace del fluido lento, pesado, de los seres del jardín, esa nube, rumor, velo. Se suspende el profundo asesinato, y por encima, por debajo, por fuera del desfile de los victimarios y las víctimas, una pululación finísima se cierne. Una pululación. Un enjambre.

Una pululación –me dije– es lo que hay, después de todo, en el centro de "El jardín de senderos que se bifurcan" , el cuento de Borges que me extrañaba que no me hubiera venido a la mente en primer lugar cuando Giancarlo Norese me pidió un texto sobre jardines, y cuyas imágenes me parecieron, entonces, advenirle a mi recuerdo del texto de Lispector. ¿Dónde se encuentra, en el texto, esa pululación? Recordemos la historia. Yu Tsun, "antiguo catedrático de inglés en la Hochschule de Tsingtao", está por ser apresado. Yu Tsun, espía chino a las órdenes de Alemania durante la primera guerra mundial y poseedor del secreto del lugar donde un parque de artillería inglesa se encuentra, está a punto de ser apresado por el capitán Richard Madden, y se propone, antes de que eso suceda, comunicarle a su jefe alemán, como sea (e incluso sabiendo que una comunicación directa es imposible), el nombre del lugar en cuestión.

Concibe un plan extraño: matar a un hombre de apellido Albert, a un Albert cualquiera, porque el parque de artillería se encuentra en Albert, y su jefe comprenderá el mensaje tan pronto como llegue a sus oídos la noticia. Agitadamente, Yu Tsun abandona su refugio y, en tren, se dirige al suburbio donde se encuentra la casa de cierto Stephen Albert que encuentra en la guía de teléfonos. Ashgrove es el nombre del suburbio. Yu Tsun desciende de su tren en Ashgrove. Curiosamente, la casa de Stephen Albert se encuentra al final de una serie de senderos en laberinto. Curioso también –piensa Yu Tsun– que sea justamente él el destinado a encaminarse, ahora, a esa casa. Es que su linaje no es ajeno a los laberintos: "Algo entiendo de laberintos; no en vano soy bisnieto de aquel Ts'ui Pen, que fue gobernador de Yunnan y que renunció al poder temporal para escribir una novela que fuera todavía más populosa que el Hung Lu Meng y para edificar un laberinto en el que se perdieran todos los hombres. Trece años dedicó a esas heterogéneas fatigas, pero la mano de un forastero lo asesinó y su novela era insensata y nadie encontró el laberinto." "Su novela era insensata."

¿Por qué? Porque en ella todo es, en apariencia, caos: un personaje que muere en el tercer capítulo reaparece en el cuarto perfectamente vivo, los tiempos se confunden, el orden de los sucesos es inextricable. ¿El título de la novela de Ts'ui Pen? El jardín de senderos que se bifurcan. Como se bifurcan los senderos del vasto jardín por el cual su descendiente, ahora, en la tarde que cae, va caminando, mientras medita en el perdido laberinto que ya debemos comenzar a sospechar que no es diferente, quizás, al espacio en que se encuentra: Bajo árboles ingleses medité en ese laberinto perdido: lo imaginé inviolado y perfecto en la cumbre secreta de una montaña, lo imaginé borrado por arrozales o debajo del agua, lo imaginé infinito, no ya de quioscos ochavados y de sendas que vuelven, sino de ríos y provincias y reinos...

Pensé en un laberinto de laberintos, en un sinuoso laberinto creciente que abarcara el pasado y el porvenir y abarcara de algún modo los astros. Absorto en esas ilusorias imágenes, olvidé mi destino de perseguido. Me sentí, por un tiempo indeterminado, percibidor abstracto del mundo. El vago y vivo campo, la luna, los restos de la tarde, obraron en mí; asimismo el declive que eliminaba cualquier posibilidad de cansancio. La tarde era íntima, infinita. El camino bajaba y se bifurcaba, entre las confusas praderas. Muy diferentes son los dos jardines, el espacio de victimaciones que se expone para cierta mujer en el Jardín Botánico de Rio de Janeiro y los atisbos de un espacio laberíntico en las "confusas praderas" que son ya el jardín de Stephen Albert, pero en el centro de ambos, en los relatos que nos los comunican, hay alguien que, en la tarde que cae como rompiéndose, se precipita en espacios de la hipnosis; hay alguien, en los dos textos, a quien se impone, en esos raros sitios, la experiencia de una desintegración y, con ella, de un abrumador crecimiento.

"Intima" es la tarde para Yu Tsun como para Ana (inmediata, adherida); e "infinita" (extendiéndose, desplegándose a pérdida de vista). Es preciso pensar a la vez, en el mismo movimiento de la imaginación, los dos atributos de la tarde: "íntima, infinita". Yu Tsun alcanza su destino, la casa de este Stephen Albert que, en el portón de ingreso, lo recibe, que parece conocerlo, y que sin demora le promete comunicarle el secreto del jardín de senderos que se bifurcan. Han entrado, de repente, a la casa, han transpuesto juntos cierto "húmedo sendero" que "zigzagueaba como los de mi infancia", han llegado "a una biblioteca de libros orientales y occidentales"; Albert le dice a Yu Tsun, como si tuviera acceso al corazón de sus deseos, que no es que Ts'ui Pen, su antepasado, el objeto de sus sonámbulas cavilaciones, quisiera escribir un libro y construir un laberinto –como todos, y Yu Tsun entre todos, han creído– sino que su plan fue, desde siempre, escribir/construir un libro que fuera un laberinto, alojar un laberinto entre las cubiertas de un libro.

De la ejecución de ese plan ha resultado la insensata, la caótica novela que lleva el título de El jardín de senderos que se bifurcan: la insensata, la caótica novela cuyo orden, contra toda apariencia, es implacable. Orden que se deja, sin embargo, descifrar solamente cuando se sabe que Ts'ui Pen profesaba una curiosa creencia: la de que los mundos se bifurcan en el tiempo. ¿Qué quiere decir esto? Pongamos un caso muy simple (no es el que pone Borges). Levanto la mano para oprimir una tecla de mi computadora; antes de hacerlo, me detengo. El movimiento, como es natural, podría haber continuado, la tecla podría haber sido oprimida, una palabra podría haberse formado en la pantalla, la clave para una continuación de este texto que estoy destinado ahora a no conocer.

En el universo de Ts'ui Pen, en el momento en que, en el mundo que será el mío, el movimiento se suspende, otro mundo se engendra en el cual el movimiento se completa, y oprimo, allí, la tecla, y una palabra se forma en la pantalla, la clave para una continuación de este (de otro) texto que estoy escribiendo ahora mismo (si la expresión tiene, en este universo, algún sentido), yo que allí, en esa otra dimensión, soy también otro, ahora y para siempre, y he escrito para siempre esa palabra. Todos los presentes "crean... diferentes porvenires, diversos tiempos, que también proliferan y se bifurcan". Todas las posibilidades se realizan, en enjambre, a la vez, cada evento da lugar a una infinidad de mundos. Desde cada uno de ellos (en uno, se ha suspendido el movimiento de mi mano; en otro, continúa) los demás son, en principio, inaccesibles. Pero, ¿no puede concebirse una situación en que se exponga para alguien la pululación de mundos en cada presente, y todos los presentes bifurcándose? Que sí, que es posible sería la respuesta de Yu Tsun.

Stephen Albert acaba de explicarle que El jardín de senderos que se bifurcan ha sido compuesta como una imagen de ese universo, que por eso sus personajes mueren y renacen, y las cosas en él suceden y no suceden, los actos se postulan y no se postulan, y es por eso que un mismo ejército pasa, en capítulos sucesivos pero al mismo tiempo, por una montaña desierta y una fiesta en un palacio, y vence y, a la vez, es derrotado. Albert lee los capítulos que corresponden a este escindido ejército, y Yu Tsun hace una rara experiencia: "Desde ese instante, sentí a mi alrededor y en mi oscuro cuerpo una invisible, intangible pululación. No la pululación de los divergentes, paralelos y finalmente coalescentes ejércitos, sino una agitación más inaccesible, más íntima y que ellos de algún modo prefiguraban." La demostración de Albert progresa, la tarde se profundiza en la noche, se especula sobre el lenguaje y el tiempo. Habla Albert: "A diferencia de Newton y de Schopenhauer, su antepasado no creía en un tiempo uniforme, absoluto. Creía en infinitas series de tiempos, en una red creciente y vertiginosa de tiempos divergentes, convergentes y paralelos. Esa trama de tiempos que se aproximan, se bifurcan, se cortan o que secularmente se ignoran, abarca toda las posibilidades. No existimos en la mayoría de esos tiempos; en algunos existe usted y no yo; en otros, yo, no usted; en otros, los dos. En éste, que un favorable azar me depara, usted ha llegado a mi casa; en otro, usted, al atravesar el jardín, me ha encontrado muerto; en otro, yo digo estas mismas palabras, pero soy un error, un fantasma."

Todo, mientras tanto, se bifurca, los mundos dan lugar a mundos, y Yu Tsun vuelve "a sentir esa pululación de que hablé. Me pareció que el húmedo jardín que rodeaba la casa estaba saturado hasta lo infinito de invisibles personas. Esas personas eran Albert y yo, secretos, atareados y multiformes en otras dimensiones de tiempo." Los que conozcan el texto de Borges saben que en él la impresión de Yu Tsun se disipa, que asesina rápidamente a Albert, que ve a su capturador atravesar el jardín, que comprende que va a ser capturado. Que, luego de su rápida aprehensión de un laberinto extendiéndose, como si fuera una grieta, en torno suyo y disolviendo, como un fluido corrosivo, la solidez de las apariciones, la compacidad vuelve a su universo, y se reanuda el despliegue de la cadena de victimadores y victimados, la diminuta cadena que el cuento de Borges reconstruye. Pero dejemos de lado estos desarrollos, y quedémonos con la imagen del personaje en el húmedo jardín, experimentando el presente que, siempre ya astillado, se bifurca, y multiplicidades de mundos abriéndose, a cada frágil paso, en el uno compacto del presente, rompiendo en su despliegue cauteloso el frente de "pesadas cosas".

Retengamos estas dos grandes escenas de jardines, una junto a la otra, como si, en cierto mundo posible, los dos textos, el de Lispector y el de Borges, pertenecieran al mismo escritor, y los alojara el mismo libro. ¿No es extraordinario que estos dos relatos capitales, relatos en que las obras de los dos escritores se deciden, tengan jardines, experiencias de jardines, en su centro? ¿Experiencias donde el fondo de las cosas se revela, se abre y se despliega, en jardines? ¿Donde el mundo, porque sí, por nada, expone algo así como su memoria? Narraciones de experiencias de un fracturamiento del presente, de una sigilosa agitación que habita todo, de la presentación de una nada, una nube, un rumor atópico, un fenómeno en enjambre que satura a la vida en su despliegue, y que distancia a un sujeto de sí mismo, hasta que, en la distancia así inducida, en el mundo que se pulveriza, su perfil se le aparece como un momentáneo contorno que se recorta apenas en un campo de pululaciones. ¿Es un jardín un espacio particularmente favorable a esa clase de experiencia? Dejemos suspendida la pregunta, y a nuestros personajes absortos en sus momentáneos éxtasis.

Reinaldo Laddaga, 2000