ITA

Forse facevano meglio a mettere dieci suonatori di più in orchestra e a risparmiare qualche decina di comparse in palcoscenico: appena cominciano a entrare, si vede subito l'ambizione di fare l'Arena di Verona in poco spazio; e del resto, ogni gruppo che vien dentro, si vede che arriva da un'opera diversa. Qualcuno, anzi, da un film. Ci sono troiani dell'Iliade e gladiatori del Quo Vadis, marinai fenici, reziari del Circo, 'verdi' e 'blu' di Costantinopoli, guerrieri egizi dell'Aida; il gruppo della Figlia di Iorio, con le sue prefiche ululanti in scialle nero; e quello della Gioconda, che fa anche un po' Fornaretto di Venezia, perché Oroveso e i suoi sono puro Tintoretto, i dogi cattivi della Sala del Maggior Consiglio, con barbe finte, mantelli bizantini, e in testa corone da Re Magi, Re del Lohengrin, Re delle carte da gioco, l'Amore dei Tre Re.

Alberto Arbasino, Grazie per le magnifiche rose. Una scelta, Adelphi Edizioni; pagine 121-122

ENG

It would've been better to add ten more musicians to the orchestra rather than have a few dozen extras on stage: as soon as they enter, you immediately see their ambition to turn the small space of the theatre in the Arena di Verona; after all, the different groups all come from different operas. Some come from the movie industry, even. There are Trojans from the Iliad and gladiators from Quo Vadis, Phoenician sailors, retiarii from the Circus, 'greens' and 'blues' of Constantinople, Egyptian warriors from Aida; the group from The Daughter of Iorio, with its wailing mourners in black shawls; and the group from La Gioconda, which is also giving Fornaretto of Venice vibes, because Oroveso and his men are somewhat Tintorettoish—the wicked doges of the Sala del Maggior Consiglio, with their fake beards, Byzantine cloaks, and Magi crowns, King of Lohengrin, kings from playing cards, The Love of the Three Kings.

Alberto Arbasino, Grazie per le magnifiche rose. Una scelta, Adelphi Edizioni; pages 121-122

Giorgia Garzilli presents a new body of oil on canvas paintings where she uses the world of opera and classical music instruments as a cinematic ‘MacGuffin’ to compose an ‘orchestrated scream’. The artist’s work is a romantic taxonomy of the material and intellectual affectations of the Italian bourgeoisie: its rituals, ideology and aesthetics are employed as a conceptual substratum to reflect on the nature of painting as a cognitive device for re-making the visibile. In her work visual references from concrete poetry as well as from the lesser known filmography of Federico Fellini ('Prova d'orchestra') imbue the works with a nostalgia for the intellectualism of the past, casting a latent critique to the ‘commodification of culture’. At the same time the focus on wind instruments relates to a deeper interest in breath as a metaphor for the soul and music as wordless communication, much like painting, where one thinks with the body and feels with the brain.