The
silence of mermaids
Marco
Alfano
Francesca
Poto has been working very hard and bravely on the idea of "figure"
and on the hidden and mystical meaning of "composition". The
artist goes further on experimenting and enriching chalcography
techniques. She combines the sharp and carved signs of burin
and drypoint with the weightlessness of aquatint, so creating
a "short circuit" between the heaviness of tools and the pursuit
of lightness.
During
her training at the Academy for Fine Arts in Naples in the mid-seventies
she was faced with either recovering the idea, felt as dominant
at the time, of drawing as shown by photography or the need
of getting closer to a sort of international style as the "informal
art". Conversely, Armando De Stefano, one of her maestros, was
combining the figurative art with a strictly ethical consistency,
recovering the nineteenth century tradition of realism together
with a new imaginative tension, without integrating it but leaving
it cultured and difficult and basically still misunderstood.
At
that time, as Francesca tells me, she loved the austere analysis
and the slow technique of the etching procedure which allowed
her to study, in a detached but mindful way, some faces discovering
the signs of aging (with a quite raw physiognomic appearance
and sharp lines). Her drawings became a testimony of a sensitive
but mastered observation from a distance, during years in which
nobody was resisting to being more modern even when that modernity
had already been overcome as for the informal art. The idea
of "modernity" was then there and didn't leave any space to
the existence of a heartfelt imagination in the field of art.
The
uncertainty and hastiness in her production in that world felt
by the artist as very much different from her nature, gave her
the possibility to turn continually back during a precious and
fruitful time in which she went on teaching young people. At
the beginning of the new millennium, in difficult and conventional
years, when the feeling of trust in an indefinite progress was
changing into recovering "fundamental values", the artist's
reserved nature led her to investigate the potentials of imagination
resting more than on the mystery of an indecipherable modernity,
on the deepness and beauty of ancient myths that her mind had
already foreseen and will then reveal.
That
was what I observed in her engravings in the summer of 2006
during a visit to her home-studio: an imagination freed from
fashions, exemplifying how it proceeds and expresses itself.
In the meantime she had chosen some techniques as etching and
aquatint with the strong belief that they better express the
feeling of lightness and delicacy, but also watercolours and
oil painting, this last one meant as overcoming the natural
opaqueness of the background. She had, in so doing, recovered
the glazing technique, using a means which is itself a contemplative
exercise and therefore provocatively out of fashion. Such a
choice made her discard other solutions such as the ones of
the painting "a corpo" originated from the nineteenth century
realism and then used also by the informal art generation.
That
research appeared immediately to me as an important evidence
of an artist who today works out the ideologies and plans of
a generation, which grew so much as to suffocate the inspiration
and warmth of imagination. Such a trend caused in art schools
and academies the decrease of teaching drawing techniques in
favour of a "free" development of creativity. The imperative
is still today to be "updated" and "not provincial", to a compulsory
and orthodox adaptation to contemporary art trends. This is
a tragedy which has generated a devastating imaginative and
sentimental poverty in an art which measures its value according
to chance and material intrusiveness. Conversely, Francesca
is convinced of the potentials that drawing and figures keep
in their fundamental "language", a necessary journal to write
down one's own thoughts with frankness.
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The
first etching titled Baìa inutil (burin, drypoint and aquatint),
belonging to the beautiful series devoted to Mermaids, reveals
the precious meaning of one of the classical fundamental myths.
The stony rock is slowly shaped with black or sepia ink profiles
and there the artist seems to have meditated for a long time on
Klinger's rocky landscapes, without being objective or trying
an attentive transcription of "reality" but deeply understanding
its high value of mental concentration. I found these same aspects
of intellectual clearness and spiritual purity in the flamed and
elated colours of the sky, the destructive fall in the precipice
of the winged creature, half woman and half bird, who, defeated
by Odysseus, throws herself on the rocks. As for the techniques,
Francesca explained how hard it was to carry on the experiment
of assembling three engraved matrices, confiding for the printing
in Vittorio Avella and Tonino Sgambati's long lasting experience.
The final result was obtained through the setting of successive
printings of the zinc plates on the same sheet of paper.
A
sequence of other two etchings, titled Antarctica, follows this
first one marked by a solemn and gloomy flavour. Here the Mermaid
is outlined with the background of a sky lightened by a dazzling
dawn with pink, red and orange colours. She looks motionless on
an icy bank before her devastating flight; in another image she
is reached by the deathly precognition of black birds. These were
art works in which the artist had found the troubled mystery of
the Mermaids' chanting. This could be also turned, according to
Kafka's famous posthumous passage, into their silence. Ulysses
had been condemned to Hell by Dante because his unwise hybris
didn't appear to be based on any spiritual value; the deceiving
hero had convinced his mates after the siege of Troy to go on
towards an indefinite destination, to go for the "foolish flight".
Ulysses' love for knowledge was not addressed to "learning" but
moved by curiosity for the world, from a secular, horizontal perspective
which inevitably leads man to wreckage.
That
image of the Mermaid sounded like an upsetting metaphor of contemporary
art, devoured by the devil of techne, of our bewilderment at its
vain proposals without any sincerity. And if it was silence what
Odysseus pretended not to hear when he met the Mermaids, or if
he didn't understand their "poetic words" sounding like a "vertical"
crescendo, is not such an absence similar to the anguish of an
art which is retreated in itself trying to ingeniously combine
scattered elements?
In
the last sequence, titled Baires, the Mermaid falls towards a
desert city (which could be any metropolis in the word), devoid
of history and identity. This is the image of a civilization which
killed all the myths, forgot the Mermaid's feminine power of imagination
which here appears again drawn on the paper with a sanguine trait
and merges itself in the last image with the dark and terrible
appearing of the birds.
In
Canto, a series of two large engravings resulting from assembling
thirty zinc matrices, combines the burin and drypoint carved lines
with the evanescent fluidity of aquatint plates. Some images evoke
a feeling of nostalgia for a beauty which seems to vanish and
recall Mediterranean myths like the ones pictured with bright
purity by Herbert List's Hellas photographs, with naked young
men, in modern features, among white marble ruins. The hypothesis
that it could be a surrealistic assembly of images and letters
- a sound title by Erik Satie says ironically avec étonnement
- immediately disappears to give place to the composition of different
imageries referring to silence as guardian of chanting, to the
pursuit of a truth of the heart more than visual. Finally a smile
appears, Edith Piaf's moving farewell to the audience still full
of her aching and sentimental voice and the astonishment of those
ones who still see the Mermaid who fills with her shadow the narrow
sky of our age.
In
other and more recent engravings, the troubling and awkward appearance
of Molpo's sinuous profile gives place to slowness, a suspended
time, a more serene form in Argot, in the smooth bronze of the
Pompei athletes' bodies. Lastly the daring coming back of the
Mermaid in Sounion on a temple in ruin whose foundations seem
to be shaken by the dark intense black of the carborundum. These
are images which reveal Francesca Poto's unceasing aspiration
to a form evoking ancient beauty and, at the same time, to the
daring and fascinating possibilities offered by signs.
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