Around a specific image


Around a specific image
analysis 2/0
This is
because you
don’t know
how to be deceived
because they
don’t pretend
to come out refreshed
these are ugly
things that will be
How fragrant
flowers that
hide litany of
death, this is
the praise of
the talents of
the siren,the
admiration of
an result
make the
around a specific image, 2007-09
Because doesn’t really matter
if the chair – the one loaded
with meanings that go beyond the necessity, beyond
the object, beyond the style
and the wood, and even further – would ready to fall for
its own pride, tired of the millions of eyes that have rested on its thoughts. It doesn’t
matter because the ruins, like
a shapeless equestrian monument, as to homage to the last
gesture that strikes the life of
an artwork: to let it die. The
collapse is a leave in slow
motion, the dull wearing out
of the
final use, the sinking of
a concept, the last one to
abandon its boat - for the
death of an destroyer. We
laugh, I and the unlucky
friend who witnessed the
collapse, ‘cause he couldn’t
sit and yet he enjoyed the
collapse, since the laziness belongs to the viewer.
Right before unveiling the
murderer, the mystery-book
ends, but there’s no need to
tell more, like death inside
bodies, emerges the consciousness of living with
Here is the analysis that needs to
be done: there is
no better place for
Analysis than at
the opposite side
of Imagination, because the possibility of running after
ech others builds
a love relationship
that can’t be beyond Platonism,
and sex and sex,
distant sex, made at
the threshold, similarly to what light
does with the dark,
and life with death.
And traces that One
leaves, not to the
Other but mostly in
the Other: the only
reality within the unconceivable is to be
under the feet when
able to be proud,
behind the shoulders when able to
be haughtiness, and
above the tired minds
when bents watching
the shafts.But then,
by God!, every double is dangerous, and
if one’s increasing
sacrifice involve the
other’s pain, then
the balance assumes an
uniformly accelerated motion
towards the
The direction is
told between the
lines, now is a
chuck-in, 2008
Contextually there
is someone born
weird, foreigner
on a running train,
as if by meeting
the nonsense. Constantly rebuilds the
tail of the meteorite, mustached Penelope, looking for
window (fresh air), 2008
Not because he
is a terrorist, but
because he is addict on the charm
of an energy’s implosion - in which
every part is the
whole like beyond
the possibilities
of its meanings the bomber cannot
go back. It is the
most sincere way
he has to meditate
in awe.
But now a room
is not only what
is within the walls
rather a meantime
in which peoples,
times, objects,
spaces, truths and
falsity collide. The
lacked respect but
they agree: pure
energy, arrogant
and colonial, the
taking of a side, of
an analytical side.
fresh air, 2010
G. Tosi You are not afraid ever to betray, with your research, the trust that
the viewer has in the normal perception
of objects and spaces. You have chosen
to ally with the sound: it is not the first
time that you work with this mean, but
this is the first time it becomes the undisputed star of your production. The
reasons for your choice make me think.
Did you think maybe that the emission of the loudspeakers represents
symbolically, -I think of the ads- and
functionally, -I think of: ‘Marco at pay
desk 4 please!’- as what it makes possible, uniform and homogeneous the
life within that space !?
F. Di Tillo The atmosphere itself has
somehow chosen the SOUND in
Fresh air and not the other way round.
The first time I visited the space dedicated to the exhibition, I had an undefined feeling of forced compresion…
I did not feel at
ease… my work did not feel at ease. I
have therefore decided to observe the
environment, turning my attention
mainly not to the display space, but
rather to the general context.
I felt the need to embrace the whole
in order to generate a short-circuit,
something that, although not visible,
could be omnipresent and amplified.
I noticed how the spread audio was
the most interesting and distinctive
element in a shopping mall. It was
something that, although mainly in
the background, always qualified
and redefined the space. From there,
Fresh air … a perpetual loop of winds
coming from different contexts, shivering and lightening, disorienting the
public and the exhibition space, by
creating a strong widspread sense of
insecurity and irony.
G.T. The audio track confirms that your
research tends to offer experiences of
alienating alterations. It seems as if
we were listening to a distorted mix of
artificial reality, edited with a certain
inclination (perversion) to irrational
F.D.T. Fresh air consists primarily of sound-recordings and sound-samples of gusts of wind, wind, wind from
the sea, wind from the mountains, the city, etc. ... Everything is mixed in an indiscriminate way, thatmeans at
more or less random layers but with the overall intention of creating one long continuous loop, a kind of primordial sound that creates an atmospheric suspension and envelops the entire audience in a fresh and turbulent
air bubble!
We could think of a wind tunnel, as indirect reference to this production, a high-tech equipment used to study
the external gas flows and the resulting aerodynamics of dockages, usually aircrafts, cars and other complex
means of conveyance.
In a certain way Fresh air follows this process. It runs through the flows of a shopping mall and it creates an
‘artificial’ and ‘natural’ space. It creates a mixture of artificial context, -however of daily experience like that
of a shopping mall-, and of suspended nature artificially produced, but very often unknown to normal lifestyle.
We are more easily accustomed to urban nuisances than to the sounds of nature. It will have the effect of a
mass disturbance, of an ironic and “light” disorder, of a widespread instability floating in the atmosphere and
in the ears of the passer-by.
G.T. In your exhibition “Born on the Moon” as well as
here the viewer gets in contact with your work in a direct
and abrupt way. Since this is not always a feature of your
research (which usually appreciates the camouflage and
the progressive approach), I wonder what circumstances
led you to make this choice?
F.D.T. In my artistic research the user is the instrument for success. In Fresh air the atmosphere itself
defines the approach to the public, the natural consequence of a space that exists in order to receive
and disperse, where the flow of people and the perceiving of inputs is already widely and differently
Fresh air does nothing but follows the general flow
of a shopping mall and takes advantages of it, of devising a sound diffusion that displaces and disrupts
the viewer and ‘intimidate’ the inattentive public.
G.T. One last question: apart from one obvious disbelief, you can not expect obvious reactions to this kind
of intervention. Is people feedback, in situations that
seem difficult to conceive as normal, a relevant part of
your investigation?
F.D.T. I measure my work first of all with myself.
The first time my work is at odds with the enjoyment of the public, matches exactly with the first
time that I am able to see my intervention. This timing allows me to keep detached from the work and
to understand its effectiveness, only to be amazed
by its success. This is precisely to trigger those processes of consciousness that then go far beyond the
enjoyment of the work, expand and take on new
forms, originate images that produce other images
In this meantime
the artwork becomes viral and the
art becomes bad
manner. Most of the
people try to hide
the arrogance of defining yourself as
an artist, yet this interpreter gets better
results through ostentation. There is
no warrant to enter
those closed brains.
That’s why we get
offended enough,
until the sense of
guilt. As if the rude
ones has received
too much attention,
as if hospitality was
miserable and embarassing.
N. Ciaccia In allowing an ambulatory to emerge in the space of the gallery, you take a step back in
the story of the place. This all, however, is invalidated by that fact what we have is not a real medical
laboratory, but an accumulation of objects that suggest an identity of place, but that do not characterize
it as verisimilar. In your initial intentions, was the result that you hoped to reach that of presenting the
“historical fact” that the gallery was in the past a clinic? Or did you want to present an array of objects
that lead the viewer to an idea that might permit the decoding of the signifier?
F.Di Tillo For each of my works I try to give a development of the continuous manipulation of reality,
of those things of note and of those that are taken for granted – with the help of a strong imaginative
In the case of “Analisi 1” I went through three phases. The first was of the “impossible-real” in
which there existed only one certainty: the historical fact, as you called it, namely, the gallery as the
supposed clinic A.S.L. This information reached me “sottovoce,” talking with the organizers of the
event and with some of the inhabitants of the area. This led me to imagine a strong link between the
place of belonging and the possible consumers of my work who know the building well. Through
them I would have allowed myself the reconstruction of familiar environs that could bring back on the
surface the original functionality and fluid valence of the space.
In reality this idea, however urgent, never convinced me completely. This was because too many
external and elusive factors came into play. There was the risk of completely altering an approach that
was unconditional and aesthetic, entering instead a sphere of collective memory too articulated and
out of proportion. This bind of consciousness was followed by a second phase, that of the “possibleprobable,” during which I began to optimize the contents recover the imagination. The historical fact
lost its anthropological fascination and in its blurring I began to delineate gradations. The clinic in
this light was a specific place, it was a collective context, but it was also a generic attribute without
substance, arisen by chance and therefore a place open to any interpretation. The clinic was only a
trace. At this point I began the research related to the objects that could be placed in the gallery and I
contacted and visited various health care institutes focusing on objects and recurrent aspects: a wheel
chair, a cot, a screen. The third phase was one you could call the “real- impossible.” Here I was
confronted with various logistical problems. After numerous attempts I realized there was nothing
more efficacious than suggesting the possibility of a clinic, placing instruments that had the capacity
to distract from the specificity of their functions. The more they were identifiable at first glance, the
more they generated, when arranged in a disconnected manner, a familiar confusion. The clinic, not
so much as a scientific environ, but as a space of a possible taxonomy of the “probable.” From here
the objects could commence a reciprocal communication and stimulate the public to recognize them
and recognize themselves in the obects, refuting and by-passing them comfortably, without anything
analysis 1, 2008
seeming to happen, but with a familiar, sustained shiver.
…like the Moon,
which is not on the
Moon but here, and
it is so only thanks to
those who believe not
to have ever seen it,
and, as with overturned
eyes, sees it inside itself. The unveiled trick
remains the same even
in the inability: the absurdity of the artwork
is overturned like an
athlete who is performing on the parallel bars,
and it doesn’t appear to
be less legitimate than
the credibility of being.
Exhausting, because
the tiredness of listening leads to a hearing race – a race that
must be done using the
eyes, because the effort blur the sense of
steam-glasses. It could
be possible to be brave
enough to say that the
eyes are still overturning, and the insidemoon is now outside
the eyes and is now
sick of realty...
born on the moon, 2009
mom, 2009
moonscapes, 2010
…it is possible to have the
courage to claim
to be born elsewhere is
better than to be
born elsewhere,
you can claim
even the suicide,
but only as long
as it seeks the
power to change
the game: stop
having fun of
suicide and start
death brokering/wall street project, 2011
Sunday, 2011
Around a specific image: not
vain laps but in a void create for be occupied: 45 laps
or 600 laps of conquers. You
could even assign categories, you can even force each
one of our diseases within
well-defined walls, in locked
drawers. I believe that the
knife with which I kill should
be locked in every drawer
of my table, and the drawers’ key should be the same
knife that I have locked inside. Hope in the drawers’
crumbling, in their continuous modification and move
everithing, of us all, losing
the destination because it is
already gone. The light gets
fainter, almost moonlight, on
past works’ flashes, on the
certainties of a choice that
is worth less than the talking on it. On a necessity to
document and to tell no one.
We can escape but only for
re-start beating on the same
pole. There isn’t even a moral
disturb in all this, it could be
said it is a malevolent activity, and instead the very fact
of saying that an object’s being (still objective complement) is a product of the being’s having, still subject,
makes me free until tomorrow. I’m thirsty, it is a glass
of water, I got lost…
around a specific image
variable dimensions
drill in continuous motion, gears, power cable, wall painting
one, one and crack
treadmill, pvc tent , electric motor, window sill
window (fresh air)
architectural exteriors elements, masonry, shutters, wood, audio devices
fresh air
audio diffusion (sounds of winds and storms) in a public space
analysis 1
variable dimensions
solo show: medical instrumentation, 2 videos, various object
born on the moon
environmental dimension
parachute, neon lights, sound, incubator
lambda print on d-bond
lambda print on d-bond
death brokering/wall street project
variable dimensions
funeral posters on paper
variable dimensions
Bouquet of Chrysanthemus flowers, audio device
Un nome da filastrocca per attirar fanciulli, perché l’originale (campo minato) è cruento: le bambine non sarebbero qui.
Perché non si sappia come esser raggirati, perché non si pretenda di uscirne rinfrancati, questo si dichiara: si tratta di cose
brutte, saranno belle tutte.
Come fiori profumati che celano litanie di morte questo è l’elogio dei talenti canori della sirena, è l’ammirazione di una
fine che rende i mezzi irresistibili.
Perché poco importa che la sedia - quella carica di significati, prima oltre l’esigenza, poi oltre l’oggetto, poi oltre lo stile
e il legno e poi ancora oltre - fosse pronta a crollare d’orgoglio, stanca delle migliaia di paia di occhi che hanno riposto
su di lei pensieri epuloni. Poco importa giacché stanno i detriti: informe monumento equestre; come a rendere onore
all’ultimo gesto che percuote la vita di un’opera: il favorire la sua morte; e il crollo è un congedo al rallentatore, lento
esaurirsi dell’utilità ultima. Il concetto naufraga eppure è l’ultimo ad abbandonare la sua liscia chiatta, in morte di un
distruttore. Ridiamo, io e lo sfortunato amico sperimentatore del crollo, ché mai ha potuto sedersi ma si è divertito nel
collasso, siccome la pigrizia appartiene a chi guarda. Appena prima di leggere l’assassino il giallo s’interrompe, ma nel
pasticciaccio brutto tutto è ormai chiaro, non dirò oltre: come con la morte dentro i corpi affiora la consapevolezza del
convivere con la paura.
Ecco dunque analisi da fare: non c’è luogo migliore per Analisi che all’angolo opposto di Immaginazione, perché sulla
sola possibilità del rincorrere si fonda una relazione d’amore che non può essere oltre il platonismo, e si fa sesso e ancora
sesso a distanza sulla soglia, come la luce con il buio, come la vita con la morte; e si segnano le tracce che l’uno lascia non
tanto all’altro quanto nell’altro: cosa ci sia di reale nell’inconcepibile è nei giorni di orgoglio a testa alta sotto ai talloni,
al di là delle spalle quando sono dritte per boria e poi ancora sopra le stanche menti quando sono chine verso i pozzi. Ma
poi, vivaddio, ogni dualismo è pericoloso: se all’aumentare del sacrificio dell’uno corrisponde lo sconvolgersi dell’altro
allora l’equilibrio, carrozza in discesa, è un moto uniformemente accelerato verso l’eccesso. La direzione è fra le righe
ma ora si fa verbo: autodistruzione.
In questo c’è chi nasce strano, straniero su un treno in viaggio, incontrando quel che non ha senso. Ricostruisce incessantemente, Penelope baffuta, la coda del meteorite; cerca coinquilini per i bunker antinucleari.
Non perché ammalato di terrore ma piuttosto perché inerme al fascino dell’energia di un’implosione - ove ogni parte è
tutto come oltre le finitudini dei significati - il bombarolo non può più tornare indietro: e’ il modo più sincero, per maledizione di sé, che ha per meditare meraviglia. Ecco che una stanza non è più solo il dentro delle sue mura, piuttosto un frattempo ove collidono genti, tempi, oggetti, spazi, verità e falsità. Forse i metafisici peccarono di rispetto ma probabilmente
concordavano: energia pura, arrogante e coloniale, presa di posizione, posizione analitica.
Nel frattempo l’opera si fa virale e l’arte si fa maleducata. Alcuni si nascondono dall’arroganza del definirsi artisti,
quest’interprete ottiene migliori risultati con l’ostentazione, ne seguono screzi ed effrazioni. Non c’è mandato per entrare
in quelle case chiuse che sono i cervelli, e perciò che ci si offende fino a provare il senso di colpa, come se le maleducate
ricevessero troppo riguardo, come se ospitalità fosse misera e imbarazzante. Come la luna, che non è sulla luna ma è qui,
e lo è solo con il favore di chi non crede di averla mai vista, e come con gli occhi capovolti la vede dentro di sé. Il trucco
svelato resta tale nell’incapacità: l’assurdità dell’opera si ribalta come l’atleta tra le parallele e non appare meno legittima
della credibilità dell’essere. Estenuante quando la stanchezza di ascoltare induce alla corsa dell’udito, da fare con gli occhi perchè la fatica bruci ad appannare i sensi come occhiali al vapore. Ora si potrà avere il coraggio di dire che gli occhi
si sono ancora ribaltati e la luna di dentro è ora fuori dall’impressione delle retine (ammalata di realtà), si potrà avere il
coraggio di sostenere che nascere altrove è meglio che nascere altrove, si potrà avere il coraggio di sostenere tutto, perfino
il suicidio, ma solo con la forza di cambiare gioco: smettere di scherzare il suicidio e giocare alla morte.
Around a specific image: giri non a vuoto ma nel vuoto creato per essere occupato, 45 o 600 giri di conquiste. Siamo
finiti a dare categorie costringendo ognuna delle nostre pazzie in mura ben definite, in cassetti ben chiusi. Il coltello col
quale uccido dovrei chiuderlo in ogni cassetto del mio tavolo, chiuderlo a chiave e le chiave dovrebbe essere il coltello
che ci ho chiuso dentro. Speriamo nello sbriciolarsi dei cassetti, nel loro perpetuo modificarsi e spostarci tutti, come a
perdere la destinazione siccome l’emissione è troppo distante. La luce è fioca, quasi lunare, sui bagliori dei lavori passati,
sulle sicurezze di una scelta che non ha la stessa valenza di quell’abbraccio fetale del parlarsi addosso, su una necessità
di documentare e raccontarlo a nessuno; possiamo scappare ma solo per tornare a batter la testa sullo stesso palo. Non c’è
nemmeno uno schifo di morale in tutto questo, si direbbe che è attività bieca eppure il fatto di dire ora che l’essere di un
oggetto (ancora complemento) è figlio dell’avere dell’essere (ancora soggetto) mi rende libero fino a domani. Ho sete, è
un bicchiere d’acqua, mi sono perso…
Analysis is an artistic project by Francesco Di Tillo. This publication Analysis 2/0 is a part of this
project. It consists in a journey through the artist’s previous work answering the necessity of understand the possibilities of an artistic path. The project consider the role of variables and the contingencies in this kind of work. This is the reason why book’s author will make an annual check of
their contribution. Each update will be consider as a new and indipendent book and will be avalable
like the previous version.
Artworks by Francesco Di Tillo
Minesweeper by Gabriele Tosi
April 2011
Francesco Di Tillo ©
Gabriele Tosi ©
ANALYSIS 3/0 (expected) April 2012