Easy like Sunday morning
I had just been to Gino’s and I had added a major work by Maurizio Cattelan to my own meagre collection. On the A1, the questions buzzing round my head all concerned my actual degree of clear-mindedness, doubting the very stability of my rational brain. What had I done? Yes, of course, I had been saving up over the previous months so that I might even think about affording one of his major works. I was quite beside myself with joy, but there was still a niggling doubt – perhaps I had gone a little too far.
Gino, however, had picked out that work for me. A work long sought after by real (serious) collectors: as marvellous as it was, it had been waiting for an encounter that was in actual fact more like a coinciding of objectives.
At the Galleria Neon, the urgencies (by this meaning an imaginary classification of human needs) defined the importance of the choices made.
Sometimes the urgency itself, nonetheless, was just that of not having any at all.
Andrea Pazienza left us with a resistant and poetical trace behind him, but not before having carefully stowed away his stuff in gardens that were, I might say, rather Landolfian.
While in Turin during the same period, when San Bruno Zanichelli was staging his own personal and universally human battle against fleeting and all-consuming time, Gino Gianuizzi was nurturing a similar interest in the human through apparently more aggregative artistic experiences.
Making room for a sort of relational randomness – fostering it and laying down the bases for something to take shape – seems to me to be one of the fundamental characteristics of the project.
At the Neon, a description of man was emerging that I was really keen on. An attempt to imagine and accept the evolution of an anthropic scenario in time and space might be freely contaminated by the unforeseen. As if. Sometimes during opening hours, the gallery was not in fact open, and so I would wait (it didn’t happen very often, and it’s perfectly understandable) for Gino. At the Neon, I saw many memorable exhibitions. Which I would go to for the pleasure and enthusiasm of seeing them, nothing more. Which is not something that can be taken for granted, if I think of the reasons why people go and visit a gallery, a museum or a foundation.
Plasmoniana by Eva Marisaldi.
Rivolta by Italo Zuffi.
The level would rise and fall, but the important thing was to follow the rapid succession of shows that GG staged, one after the next.
The quality of the work and of the visions of the artists were variable, very variable.
The continuous poetic flow of the display sequence was the real reason behind the project, I think. Besides the quality, which at times, was quite exceptional.
Maurizio Cattelan, Eva Marisaldi, Alessandro Pessoli, Cuoghi Corsello, Maurizio Mercuri, Alessandra Tesi… (to name but a few of the artists who were working with the gallery at the time).
Refined thoughts and disenchanted gazes (but not angry, I would say) conjured up stories that were paradoxically shaped by the lack of overly concrete demands or even banally exploitative ones. The present experienced with tolerance and curiosity in its poetic unforeseeability was the very hub of the spacetime dimension.
Artistic experiences of the highest level and almost always of very humble formal impact.
The performative dimension, in a tautological, literal sense, was the formal structure around which apparently random forms would collide. As if.
But when I saw Estate by Eva or Rivolta by Italo, things began to take on a certain meaning.
While waiting for the next source of input, the following step, the sequence of events that led to the sedimentation of the story behind Neon is first and foremost a poetic process which must be evaluated in its entirety, setting its moments of greatest success aside. Gino Gianuizzi is the most evanescent of my points of reference, the most distant from a certain point of view. It’s like setting off without a destination in mind, aware that the construction of this itinerary is determined by variables which, what’s more, we are interested in up to a certain point yet which may frankly be illuminating.
As if, in fact, the search for approval were an extremely stupid thing, if compared to the force of the experience itself and the revelations that may emerge along the way. Without too much fear.