Travel anywhere in Italy and you are likely to be bombarded with Catholic iconography of all sorts. Icons can be found on street corners, in front of apartment buildings, in advertisements and free flyers for music and aperitif events...anywhere really. I love a good spin on the classics, especially when things are done with tongue in cheek. As someone who grew up outside of Italy, I have a sense of detatchment about the iconography and the church. I studied art history at university and can marvel at the beauty of art and architecture which was created in line with religious purposes and idealogy, but that is where I draw the line. In Italy, Italians aren't as religious as the world would have you believe. It's just that the ubiquity of imagery, centuries of tradition and the looming influence of the Vatican continue to hold what is ostensibly a political hold over the country. A recent furore here erupted with the widely publicised ''news'' that the Vatican, even during these times of financial crisis, receives tax breaks and benefits that estimates amount to up to 3 billion euro per year. This is largely because as a ''non commercial'' entity it is free from taxation. Sounds good in principle, but the non commercial business activities go far and beyond what one might expect from a religious organisation; beyond the schools, churches and clinics, a little searching will reveal that the Vatican's fortune comes largely from revenue deriven from commercial leases of its extensive real estate portfolio; retail stores, apartment complexes, hotels...all of which are done tax free. There is a resentment that the Vatican profits from a portion of what taxes Italians actually do pay, especially when the Vatican is seen to use its economic and social might to help control and steer government policy in the same way that Conservative groups do throughout the Western World. How this will turn out, no one knows. A rather brilliant editorial piece in recent days spelt out the machinations of the government's current approach to its economic woes. When commerce and spirituality meet, things usually get ugly, same for when they collide with government. Thank God (sorry), that we always have the stand alone nature of icononography to fall back on.
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I have been known to really struggle with certain aspects of Rome, and I often wear my complaints on my sleeve, especially in relation to the way in which people comport themselves in this city. But on the other hand, one thing that continually captivates me about this city is not so much its glorious history, but more its extremely layered and complicated history, the physical manifestations of which are often stacked one layer atop the other. It's mesmerising and inspiring to find yourself living in a city where medieval sits side by side with classical and contemporary, giving the city its unique identity. In a way, its like living at an archeological dig site, where you are constantly considering the people who were here before you, the fleeting nature of human life and the legacies that we leave to future generations. I know that sounds a little corny, but I can't think of any other city in the world where this sensation is so evident, as if every street has an older story under its wobbly surface in contrast to its present day existence. One of the inspiring things about Rome 2011, is that you can see that it is a city that, with a fair bit of punching and screaming, is trying to push its way forward, out of the shadows of other European cities who are seemingly more at ease with the 21st century. New layers are constantly being added to the city; some complex, some monumental, and others, subtle, a little hidden and a welcome surprise. Last year, Space Invader, supported by a gallery in my hood, the WunderkammernWunderkammern, carried out a residency in Rome, adding his little touches to some of the city's oldest (and, occasionally, ugliest) parts. One of my joys was, heading home along the Casalina (lets just call it a brutal thoroughfare) on my scooter and zooming by one of his hard to spot works. Imagine my utter sadness when I noticed it had 'disappeared'. :( Space Invader's plaques were at a certain point ubiquitous throughout the city. In fact, a google map created by his supporters locates not only his little mosaic masterpieces that continue to stick to their old and crumbling supports and those that are no longer with us, but those that were also put up in imitation. The list on the official website, is reasonally up to date, and, worldwide, but oddly enough doesn't seem to incorporate his Roman stay. That said, Australians in particular might be interested to hunt down the old stock image on the map to see how utterly brilliant his initiative can often be. For the more photographically minded, head to Flickr instead to see just how widespread the infestation has been. As for the disappearing act that seems to be becoming more and more widespread in Rome, I expect to see some of these little masterpieces springing up soon at Porta Portese or some of the other black markets. Unfortunately, this is one of the selfish behaviors of locals that from time to time make me want to throw my hands up in the air and moan about. :( On the weekend I made a return trip to Tivoli, which, these days, has almost become part of the conurbation of Rome. It's a relatively easy place to reach being just 30km or so away from Rome, and as such, is home to many of Rome's foreign workers given the proximity to the city and its lower cost of living in comparison to Rome's. If you make it past the sulphuric quarries at the city's entry, you'll quickly realise that Tivoli is also home to two UNESCO World Heritage sites, the Villa Adriana (pictured) and Villa d'Este. With 47 listings, Italy is the most represented country on the UNESCO listing, which should stand as a reminder that there are copius amounts of culturally significant sites to visit in Italy with or without UNESCO status. Culture is big business in Italy; the culture sector accounts for around 12% of the entire economy, but with Italy's stalled economy, there is never enough money to manage the upkeep of Italy's many monuments and cultural sites. Increasingly, Italy is catching up with other nations and seeking corporate support in the management and upkeep of its heritage. Newsweek spelled out their own figures, pointing out that heritage sites are not just struggling to stay afloat, but that they are literally crumbling. In January 2011, Tods made headlines with their agreement to fund restoration works of Rome's Colosseum and Milan's La Scala theatre, and in recent days talk has been circulating that Diesel plan to fund the restoration of Venice's Rialto Bridge. Which brings us to the case of Tivoli. Although the town and its villas are significant, and indeed, quite spectacular, increasingly dwindling visitor numbers attest to the competition in this country for the visitor's dollar. Tivoli's two villas, one located at the foot of the town, and the other, Villa D'este, in its centre, are operated seperately. A entry ticket during the summer forVilla d'Este is currently 11 euro, whilst a similar price is also asked at Villa Adriana. The latter, an outdoor site which is currently one of many throughout Italy which is not in full operation (areas are cordoned off due to their unsafety), has seen its ongoing requests for maintenance funding only being partially granted by the Ministry of Culture. A recent article suggested that Villa Adriana in particular, despite its grave needs for restoration works, is not considered a priority site, particularly in the face of an increasingly shrinking national culture budget. The question then, is it the responsibility of a site of international significance (as recognised by UNESCO) to find alternate forms of funding from the private sector. Or, could a joint ticket scheme between the villas improve patronage and boost their spending pots? Firstly I want to say that there are a lot of architects in Italy. Official figures suggest there are close to 100,000 of them here. Basically, that's a figure that accounts for 25% of all architects in Europe, conveying just how competitive and widespread the profession is in this country. As for those in Rome, I feel like every second person I meet is either an architect, or someone in the process of completing their architectural degree. That said, being an architect in Italy can be a bit of a dog's life, so I don't envy them at all. Endless tales of customers (both private and government) who don't pay (until years after the fact if ever), having to deal with organised crime and corruption in a bid to secure lucrative tenders, and a society that often balks at new, challenging or experimental architecture makes it an environment where one often has to look further afield for job satisfaction and paying clientele (think elsewhere in Europe, the Middle East, and increasingly, China). So much of what is written about Italian architecture focuses on the romantic, classical architecture that dominate its cities, particularly those traditional Grand Tour cities like Florence, Rome and Venice. But occasionally, domestic architecture in this country has allowed architects to indulge their sense of daring, imagination and utopian ideaology (including the Coppedè quarter of Rome). A population boom in the post war period Rome (1950s-1960s) saw the city grow haphazardly, with a range of unplanned suburbs sprawling out, particularly to the city's east and west; 'suburbs' or makeshift urban environments whose lack of planning added great strain to the city's infrastructure and overcrowding issues. Millenia old Rome was simply not prepared for so many people. and the problems that surfaced as Rome's population boomed, continue today. Interestingly, one of the approaches to the overcrowding that was already taking place in the 1960s was to build an epic, 'self contained' community, capable of housing some 8,000 inhabitants on the city's outskirts. The Corviale was built with the aspiration that the complex would be something of a utopian ideal, where residents could live in a community which had all of its services at the ready. The interesting part of this approach was not so much the idea of relocating 8,000 people to an unserviced peripheral area, as this was happening throughout the western world at the time, but more importantly, into one building which ran almost one kilometre in length. Yes. The Corviale runs almost a full kilometre in length. That would be something like the equivalent of a 250 storey building if it was standing upright. B-type cities around the world commonly compete for the temporary honor of hosting the World's Tallest Buildings, but few I imagine would be keen to challenge on length. What's mistifying is how the architects and planners (chiefly Mario Fiorentino) could have thought such a project would contribute anything positive other than a roof and some walls to the lives of its inhabitants. The truth probably lies more in the idea that this was a social experiment, rather than a true desire to meet the needs of such a huge chunck of residents. Public housing projects, especially those that are built on strata prototypes have traditionally been socially challenging places, the obvious consequence of stacking so many people on top of each other. Europe is home to a handful of these elongated buildings; in Vienna, the 1920-1930s built Karl Marx-Hof stretches a full kilometre, but rarely rises above 6 floors in height, but more commonly other buildings adopt the brutalist approach into which the Corviale seemingly sits, including Faloweic in Gdansk and Park Hill in Sheffield in the UK. These conurbations are as infamous to locals as the Corviale. The Corviale, a set of twin buildings that span almost a kilometre a piece, are eleven floors high, home to some 7,000 inhabitants, who, enclosed in this building, remain shut off from the surrounding areas of the city, on whose periphery they remain. Elements of the building are reportedly unfinished, despite having been built in the 1970s, but these are not the complex's only failings. The absurdity is that people are also squatting in the unfinished parts of the building. On paper and in theory I can see how the idea, as flawed as it was, was a concession to the imagination and daring of architecture. However, as cities around the world revisit their ideas of social housing, moving away from the failed brutalism concept towards a more resident friendly model, it surprises me that in 2011, not enough is being done to remedy past failures. As you pass by the building, there is a sense of amazement that overcomes you, in a kind of creepy and foreboding kind of way. Imagine living in that kind of battery hen environment. Suburbs are often made up of long stretches of individual buldings, blocks, houses that are attached or semi attached, but generally they have their own entries, their own boundaries, something which the monolithic Corviale doesn't have. Instead, The Corviale, is relentlessly repetitive, color coded in part, but for the most part, its a seemingly endless labyrinth. Transitioning of the Corviale's residents into more suitable living quarters should be a key priority for the city of Rome, as should the preservation of the building, both for aesthetic and cautionary reasons. The preservation and re-use of the building shouldn't be too challenging... But the movement of at least 6000 people into something more appropriate will be a huge undertaking in a city like this. Rome is a city where rentals, even in the city's peripheral areas are often prohibitive, forcing people not only to share apartments, but commonly to share bedrooms in a system of posto-letto, in which, you pay a few hundred euro each month for a bed in a a room with at least one other room mate. With a number of proposals already floating around for the transition, and 100,000 professionals at the ready to take on a meaty project, it will be interesting to see what happens to the Corviale and its residents. In the current political and economic climate, much has been said of the erosion of the quality of life in Italy. It's probably safe to say that in this respect, Italy is not alone in the EU, as people generally lament the direction Europe is heading in, particularly with substantial obstacles in the way of currency, migration, employment and perceived distances between political representation and daily realities. That said, many of Europe's metropoli continue to forge ahead, even in the face of severe social funding cuts. Rome is a seasonal city, where climate and seasons play a large role in defining the social calendar. But although it can be expensive for visitors, its a city that by necessity is marked by thriftiness. Though the official population of Rome is listed as four million, it is widely believed that the real number is somewhere closer to six million. The disparancy is attributed to a huge transient population, mostly believed to be made up of people without official papers, permissions and residency, who although invisible, often bear the brunt of the frustrations of legalresidents. When you consider the amount of people who exist but don't exist, the picture of the economic realities of the city come sharply into focus. Italy, has the fourth largest economy in the EU, and yet its salaries are amongst the lowest in the OECD. The Economist recently reported that its GDP growth in the last decade was lower than all other countries bar Zimbabwe and Haiti. As in most western economies, there is a deep gulf between the haves and have nots, and those who don't have money contribute to the two tiered pereception of Italians; those who are highly visible, living the lavish dolce vita; and those who continue to personify the stereotype of a tight, cunning people who are out to save a euro at any cost. Being without official papers and permissions usually relegates you into the second category. But its a category filled with good company and from this perspective, a long held summer tradition was born. Estate Romana, now a broad term referring to a huge array of events that take place in the city throughout the summer months, was originally envisaged as a means to provide locals with entertainment and the possibility of recreation when their finances wouldn't allow them to head to the seaside or mountains as those who have the means do en masse every July-August. Museums opened their doors free of charge, transport was free and temporary outdoor cinemas sprung up throughout the many districts of Rome to occupy its citizens on the warm, balmy summer nights. This program eventually evolved into a city wide institution, augmented by summer concerts (that now attract headline acts) and other cultural events, that take place nightly throughout the city. The idea of Summertime Rome as being shuttered and closed works in favor of the Summer program, as the idea of deserted, traffic less streets adds additional appeal to residents who take great pleasure in enjoying the events in all manner of sites, ranging from local schoolyards through to the show stopping Roman landmarks that dot the city (this year sites that are hosting events include the Roman Forum, the Baths of Caracalla and Villa Ada). For a city which often seems to crumble under the lack of its infrastructure, this is a thoughtful and well executed program which is played out in all of its suburbs. In many respects, the Estate Romana offers a viable alternative that some residents actively look forward to in the same way others look forward to seaside vacations. In the spirit of the Roman Summer, I tagged along with a group of friends on Sunday night to a free event in one of the city's many burbs. Near Porta Furba, practically under one of Rome's sensational aqueducts, we, along with almost 200 other young Romans watched two DJs unfold their sets of ambient electronica, all played out on someone's rooftop. The host didn't ask for any money, just that we quietly and respectfully watched the performances, brought our own aperitifs and snacks, and that we cleaned up after ourselves at the end of the night. Both our host and the DJ's offered themselves up free of charge, out of passion for what they do, and what they believe in, and although the DJ set won't be found on any of the Estate Romana programs, it's an example of how a metropolis can very easily placate and satiate its inhabitants without a huge amount of effort, expense and fanfare. Happy summer! I spent the beginning of this week in a shitty mood.
There was a story circulating around Rome that there would be an earthquake on the 11th of May. So naturally, it pissed me off. Not because I was worried about the shoddy buildings all falling to ruins, and collapsing on top of me (I don't need an earthquake to make me feel that in Rome), but because I was embroiled in my own righteousness about how irresponsible it was for the media to be reporting these ideas, knowing that one can't predict a natural catastrophe. There was a lot of media hype about the city being deserted etc etc, but I will tell you, it was pretty much business as usual...maybe an iota less of the usual traffic. So, when May 11 passed with no earthquake in Rome, I got talking to some friends and I asked who it was that announced that there was going to be an earthquake in the first place. I wanted to vent and take my frustration out on whichever scientist or ministry office had made such a foolish statement. And then, it was revealed to me that in fact, it was a century old prediction, made by an old fogue (Raffaele Bendandi) who apparently had rightly predicted past catastrophes that eventually befell the country. So, I laughed it off, feeling like a fool, because I wasn't across all of the situation, and then I also felt quietly chuffed because I realised that not having a TV in this country is better than having one, as I wouldn't fall into the trap of believing what was said to me etc etc. The following day, the consensus was that the prediction had in fact rung true. There had been an earthquake in Spain on May 11. It seemed that some of the people who had taken the prediction into their hearts had found some consolation that the fogue's prediction had indeed come true...a couple of hundred kilometres away, and, well, not exactly in Italy at all, but whoops, there you go. Before taking on an international persona of their own, the works of Keith Haring were once indelibly linked with the evolving graf inspired street culture of early eighties NYC.
Often bright, sparse and almost childlike in their urgency, there was something about their appeal which seemed to transcend the limitations of their basic line structures. Eventually, they would go on to enjoy mass universal appeal, on the basis of the accessible way in which the images seemed to reduce the major stages of life down into decodable and distinctly Haring shapes, such as the Radiant baby. Haring's characters were affectionate and powerful drawings that appealed to the eye whilst also addressing major life themes of love and sex, birth and death, and to a lesser extent, social warfare. Haring, to my mind, was one of the first public faces of the AIDS epidemic that seemed to otherwise haunt the atmosphere of popular culture in the eighties and nineties. Diagnosed in 1988, he never shied away from the opportunity to raise awareness and to educate the fear out of the younger generations, despite being in the front line of one of modern life's most horrific syndromes. He founded the Keith Haring Foundation only in 1989, but by the time of his untimely death in 1990 from complications arising from AIDS, his imagery was already becoming synonymous with AIDS and HIV related charities due to the work of his foundation. His artwork also graced record covers, including the 1987 compilation 'A Very Special Christmas' which benefitted the Special Olympics, on which we saw the Madonna and child in trademark Haring style. His imagery was also licensed to the Red Hot organisation, who used Haring's images on their 'Red Hot and Dance' compilation of 1992, featuring George Michael and Madonna. His journey towards fame and success seemed to coincide with that of Madonna's, a friend for whom he sometimes produced work, and who in turn dedicated a fund raising show to him during the NYC leg of her Blond Ambition tour in 1990, subsequently documented in her Truth Or Dare/In Bed With Madonna movie of 1991. Starting out as a tagger, even from the earliest periods of his career he never let mediums constrain him, working on small and large scales and in both 2D and 3D media. The fun, irreverency and urgency of Haring's images seemed to change significance over time, more and more coming to represent modern day images of compassion, especially after the passing of his life. Even before his death he was considered a significant contemporary artist, and to some of us, was as important to contemporary art as Warhol had been to the pop art movement. His significance led to him being commissioned to produce public art pieces in various parts of the world as Italy and Australia. In Australia, a visit in the mid 1980s resulted in a mural being produced for the now former Collingwood Technical College building in Melbourne, an image of which is located here: (http://images.smh.com.au/2010/01/14/1038843/wbTOTEwall-600x400.jpg). Unfortunately, the momentum which led to Haring's production of the mural with the aid of Collingwood Tech students was lost soon after, and the mural has been left to deteriorate since being produced in 1984. Now, a growing movement (for which a Facebook page has been created: (http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=117064188315110&v=wall&ref=ss#!/group.php?gid=117064188315110&v=info&ref=ss) is seeking to redress this, raising questions along the way as to the best way in which to conserve the mural for future generations, in addition to seeking public and financial support to facilitate any conservation work. The mural in its current state is in such a state that it needs restoration, an idea which some supporters find disturbing. To my mind, leaving and merely preserving the mural in its currently faded state is disrespectful to the legacy of Keith Haring, and also speaks of a problem that many countries have in maintaining their public art. In Australia it seems, little is done in the way of preserving public art works for future generations. That the Keith Haring Foundation is on hand to offer guidance in addition to the technical skill set available in Melbourne seems like a no-brainer to me, however it doesn't seem that straightforward in Melbourne at the moment (http://www.abc.net.au/local/photos/2010/04/28/2884980.htm), where support is still being garnered and media coverage of the issue still sparse. Its amazing to consider that an artwork produced for the public by an artist of Haring's calibre, in a country as unpopulated as Australia would have been left to deteriorate in the way it has been, particularly with its location in the nexus of Melbourne's artworld. Even more distubring still, is the debate as to how and if to proceed in its restoration. But, in many ways, Melbourne has a hit and miss, and occasionally, disgraceful track record with public art, which is surprising given how much cultural capital contributes to the city's identity (not to say its economy). There have been too many instances recorded where public pieces have been collected and left to deteriorate in council storage yards, occassionally re-sold to other municipalities, but mostly left to weather outdoors. Perhaps, my being in central Italy these days, with its abundance of public buildings, artworks and areas, most of which have been well restored and maintained, has made me cynical towards the reasons behind the travesty of this situation that has befallen Haring's Melbourne mural. In recent days, I've seen the Sistine Chapel (restored in the face of great controversy in the 1990s), the now-UNESCO listed medieval city of Siena, the Colosseum (which potentially will be partially obscured by scaffolding this year in its upteenth clean up) and lesser known structures and artworks such as that in the attached image, located in Rome, near my work, which is currently undergoing repair and restoration. The reason I name check all of these places is not to brag at how fortunate I am to be in proximity to these things, and in the position to visit them at my leisure, but instead to point out that even if the original paint pigments are no longer always visible; even if the original structural material is now augmented by modern day techniques and matters, the spirit of the originals is still most definitely present, and leaves the viewer not with a wistful sadness as to not having been able to truly witness the original, but instead a feeling of wonderment that in the most powerful pieces of art, the divine and the physical are right there for our taking. In turn, this continues the cycle of an artwork or monument which, was theoretically, once wanted because it had been commissioned, and is still loved because it has been diligently cared for. Keeping art alive is the responsibility of everyone, and in the case of Haring's mural, his trademark vibrancy, and lively approach to line need to be resurrected for the longterm, not merely mismanaged until there is no point of return. For all the protestations that it is not the case, the reality is that in many areas, Italy remains a deeply conservative nation. When it comes to contemporary art, and modes of thinking, it can seem as if the tremendous legacy of Italy's artistic past simply dwarfs the desire of the current generation to be progressive and challenge the visual aesthetics that are considered the norm. Case in point is Rome. Rome has a charm all of its own; a product of almost three thousands years of refinements, reincarnations and stagnation. Where other burgeoning European cities such as Berlin, Barcelona and Madrid can recall their pasts with one hand, and look forward to their futures with the other, Rome is a place where so much of its identity is carved from its past. In fact, much of its self identity and international standing trades and relies on the legacies of its occasionally glittering past. For a visitor, its an intoxicating idea; that the Eternal City still bears the hallmarks of its past, yet for those who are here for the longer term, the idea is one which can be oft infuriating. It's a complicated scenario, but one where change still plays a part, albeit on a much smaller scale. When it comes to street art and contemporary art, its unlikely that Rome will ever compete with its Northern neighbors, but slowly, the interest in urban art is growing, and may well eventually reach a level of acceptance, if not appreciation, that would be considered the norm in other major metropolises. A recent New York times blog article (http://intransit.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/04/16/street-art-goes-mainstream-in-rome) pointed out that there is a growing visibility to street art in Rome. On a comparative scale, the quality of work currently lining public (and exterior private) spaces is inconsistent and occasionally juvenile, but, in keeping with tradition. Graffiti has always been a vital, immediate and spontaneous element in urban life. In Rome, this stretched back to ancient times when graffiti took the form of political, irreverent and humorous scrawlings on walls (http://www.explore-italian-culture.com/ancient-roman-daily-life.html). But it's the graphic form of street art that interests cultural buffs and citysiders these days. For every well conceived and executed design are countless rudimentary tags scrawled across surfaces. In Rome, the ratio between finely tuned and clumsily scrawn works is still disproportionately in favor of the neanderthal like tags. The Roman street art scene it seems, is only just starting to evolve, carving its own identity out of the shadow of the monolithic influence of Rome's cultural past; and seems to be slowly moving towards pre-planned and thoughtful stencils. As in any other city, the best examples of these works can have the same effect that the humorous scrawlings of ancient Rome did; which is to bring a smile or a wry acknowledgment from passersby. In particular, it is the work being created by the NUfactory collective (http://www.nufactory.it) which is encouraging local artists to reclaim public spaces as art spaces. The 'All You Need is Wall' series which in recent years seems to have left its mark in some of Rome's most interesting Quarters, is an elevation of the more commonly seen level of practice, and sits in company with the Sten and Hogre series which are decorating all types of surfaces in the eternal city in engaging ways. A particular favorite, located on a suitably textured surface in Piazza Verbano, one of Rome's well to do areas, offers a fresh take on the ubiquitous religious iconography that we tend to associate with the home of Roman Catholicism and the Papal Seat (okay, yes I know the Vatican is an entity of its own, but let's not split hairs here). Compare the inset image All You Need is God to the below image of a stain glass mural located right around the corner from the stencil piece, (I spotted it outside the shop of a local stain glass artisan) and it becomes apparent how potentially powerful the interplay between old and new could be for a city like Rome, which does not embrace change readily (more on that later). That artisans are still producing these more conventional images alongside the hopefully burgeoning scene of urban artists gives me hope that the underground art scene in Rome will flourish, not just as an idea, but perhaps with a momentum that will see it grow to the level of acceptance and appreciation that is already the case in urban centres such as London, Melbourne and NYC. |
Dave
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Dave Di Vito is a writer, teacher and former curator.He's also the author of the Vinyl Tiger series and Replace The Sky.
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