Destructuralist Arte, Della Vecchia Editore, 2020.
Destructuralist Art, catalogue, Della Vecchia 2020© has just been published, 51 pages, languages: Italian and English.
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From the Preface by Mary Blindflowers©
Translator Mariano Grossi©
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Destructuralist Art does not soothe, it is a wound
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Destructuralism’s target is the search of a meaning going against common sense and playfully destructuring in order to rebuild freedom’s and complaint’s new spaces which can breach into “the unrepeatable further”. One must proceed with sense’s unstraightforwardness because of two reasons, the former, the sense we are mentally used to, normality, is an aleatory and inexistent concept, ad hoc built for antireflection; the latter, sense is not a monolith, but a polysemantic aspect of existence, faceted, multifunctional, adaptable, manipulatable, never apodictic, deconstructable, dismountable, never indefectible and perfect, given that perfection does not exist.
Therefore the sense, in the way it is understood in common language, is not essential, and its structural weakness with regard to the non-sense of the ones who think by themselves and not by someone else’s head, words, books, can be safely highlighted by an artistic motion seeking its particular sense neither lifted nor liftable to a universally wise law, not approachable to that imprinting held by the ditzes who like all that they recognize as familiar. And destructuralist thought’s movement’s sense is not the sense in itself, given that everybody has got its own, but the space itself of seeking, that art becoming art in creative experimentation’s art and holding as its unique goal the destructuring awareness reality should be always dismounted to be rebuilt, understood and not destroyed, but dismounted by literature’s, poetry’s and visual art’s dialectics. Its reconstruction, obviously, would be always aleatory, susceptible of criticism, and never would it act as a milestone, but as an element which can drive to further reflections. Therefore no answers are given.
So writing and art become really and happily unable to give answers. They refuse to give them. Their task is cultivating doubt and opening new questions as fractures, wounds able to engrave reality deeply. In a world where the unique fixed rule is the discovery, the experimentation never equal to itself or serial or commercial, it is normal the utilized engraving tool that is the style can change depending on the author.
Just in the moment when creativity takes up the target of pandering to the market, it ceases its artistic function, loses its goal completely, in order to suit, just like water inside a glass, a shape which was imposed by others. Then it destructures, dismounts, reflects no more, it parrots back, mass-produces for a certain kind of mass, for users who cannot care less either literature or poetry or visual arts, opting for a stereotyped choice convincing because it is a familiar one and arises from a sort of primitive and animal-like imprinting. Snapping reality, leaving it as it is, setting up your easel on the bank of a river and reproduce the landscape just like in a picture, writing happenings’ aseptic chronicle, following the track of way of thinking saying to you: “You go like this!”, means to waive “the further”.
Never is experimentation too popular, if it becomes that way, it happens because of a certain economic investment, if the investment, in terms of money, is loss-making, you are at risk of invisibility. Experimentation with a total waiver of seriality, mere reproduction of what déjà vu is, refusal of the idea that everything was already told, written and done (that is impossible since the world is in continuous transformation and constant evolution), is consequently risky. Never is an act of convenience exiting out of the railway tracks drawn by others. There is a risk of being disregarded as not homologated, rebuffed by the ones who do not recognize a familiar mark in what we do and familiarity, recognition, for a mass that is used to understanding only what is publicized by media’s bleats, become essential.
The flower inside a flowerpot is understood by everyone, if you draw landscapes which are all equal and multi-coloured, you sell, if you write with a flat realistic and chronicle style, pretending to be a writer, trivializing reality in elementary plots and then running to the television with your party, people feel involved, because it is not a question of a production of hard interpretation and they see and recognize your face. There is no point to thinking. It takes hard work to think, the ones who make you think are ostracized and banned.
But who are these people who do not want to think and are defined mass?
Are they readers, are they art’s lovers?
No, they are customers, numbers, viewing public paying licence fees to put up with name’s vindication. Numbers buy what is told them to buy and applaud official truths.
Though art should not be consumed, applauded, bought, it should be lived, analyzed, loved. You must understand something if you want to love it.
Who is the one who does not love flowers?
Everyone loves flowers even though not everyone reflects about the fact that a flowerpot which is for its own sake is just a mere style exercise without any meaning in the days of photographs.
The same happens for books, a book which tells just what it writes, tells nothing, does not pierce the surface, is a useless book.
Under ice’s surface it is cold, it is comfortable thinking there are writers who write without writing, artists who paint without meaning, but comfort is not art. Art is not comfort or a drug, it is a disease reporting other diseases, a wound ever-changing and shifting meanings gush from, just like blood, just like in an authentic wound; and those meanings make you stop and say: “Now I want to think, suffer, make me good and evil, understand my sense by myself, judging unessential the one that is imposed”.
Thinking takes a toll not everyone is willing to deal with, because it is easy to buy something pretty and availably ornamental by money, but the skill of reflecting is priceless, marketless.
The ones destructuring think and make think, maybe that is thin in a world towered by money and mass brisk opinionism, but it is a thin I do not feel like renouncing because it is just the essence of every creative act.
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