ARTE FIERA OBSERVATORY

Elena Re, art critic and independent curator, works with public and private institutions in Italy and abroad. She studies and promotes Italian art by means of cultural projects, exhibitions, and publications, focussing especially on the thought that precedes the work and on a transdisciplinary approach to art. Her studies range from conceptual photography to radical architecture to multiples. On the subject of multiples, she presented the exhibition Arte Povera and “Multipli”, Torino 1970-1975 at the Sprüth Magers Gallery (Berlin, 2014) and at the ICA Foundation (Milan, 2019–2020). She is the scientific director of the Giorgio Ciam Archive, follows the career of many artists, and has contributed to the international recognition of Luigi Ghirri’s work. She co-curated the exhibition Tutto. Prospettive sull’arte italiana at Museion (Bolzano, 2018–2019) and at Sammlung Goetz (Munich, 2019–2020) with a catalogue published by Hatje Cantz. Her books include Luigi Ghirri – Project Prints. An Adventure in Thinking and Looking (JRP|Ringier, Zürich 2012), published for the exhibition held at the Castello di Rivoli Museum of Contemporary Art. Since 2003, she has curated the Jacobacci Arte e Progetto collection.

I’m from Alessandria, in Piedmont, a city near several borders. So the people here are a bit Ligurian, a bit Lombard and a bit Emilian - all of course mixed with Piedmontese. I adore Emilia-Romagna: I have fond memories of my friends, especially Pasquale Ribuffo, as well as of the first art fair I attended as a young curator. I was thrilled and felt somewhat lost: it was, of course, Arte Fiera. Over the years, I’ve carried out some projects for the fair, and it’s an enormous pleasure to share new experiences with Simone and Gloria, collaborating with fantastic people who work hard and believe in what they do! But I have to confess that my strongest bond with this region was forged by Luigi Ghirri and his work: very special emotions, because I lived in the Ghirri home-atelier-archive for many, many years, working alongside Paola, Adele and Maria. And sleeping upstairs in the same room as Paola’s mother Vittorina, who did the laundry every Monday, just like my mother. This delightful place is in Roncocesi, a suburb of Reggio Emilia, where the fragrance of gnocco fritto (fried, puffed-up bread) often wafts in the air, and where, just steps away, Diamante, the grandmother of the Italian pop singer Zucchero, also lived. It’s always marvellous to go back – I feel right at home. 

Paola Borgonzoni, Luigi Ghirri’s wife and Adele’s mother, passed away in November 2011 and left us all bereft. Exactly one year later, Fin dove può arrivare l’infinito,? dedicated to Luigi and Paola, was issued by Skira, a small but precious book containing the thoughts of numerous friends. Each of us chose a photo by Luigi and wrote a short, often intimist text. I chose a photo from 1970, the famous “carta di stelle” (starry paper) that I’m especially fond of, because the wonder of Ghirri’s image reminds me of something that happened when I was a child: a fire. It went like this…

We made a Christmas crib in our house every year. My grandmother did it, and I helped her. It was up on the first floor, in the guest room, which we used only occasionally. We had some beautiful painted plaster statues, the hut, mountains made with wrapping paper, moss, and flour that suggested a heavy snowfall. In the background we had a large, dark-blue sheet of paper that created a magnificent starry sky. I loved making the crib, and the wonders of that repeated ritual mixed with the excited wait for Christmas. Back then, my grandmother didn’t use traditional coloured lights, but instead placed tall white candles between the statues - imposing “presences” whose glow made everything pure magic. It was late afternoon on Christmas Eve. Everything was ready. I remember that it was dark outside, but everything seemed to sparkle. My parents’ pharmacy was on the ground floor of our house, and from upstairs I heard people say “Merry Christmas” as they left. I was looking out the window, and then suddenly there was complete silence, followed by my grandmother’s scream: FIRE!! I remember the voices, everyone running up to the first floor, the fire spreading from the crib. I can still see my father, breathless, in his white coat, as he put out the flames with a cover. My crib was gone, but not my Christmas spirit! Some of the statues were saved, some were broken, and some were blackened by smoke. Drying my tears, I rebuilt everything, using a cardboard box for the hut. In the background, a creased bit of starry paper was my horizon, my sky: I stared at it and understood its mysterious immensity. And now that you know the story, here is my thought for Paola and Luigi:

The crib caught fire on Christmas eve.
My father, in his white coat, put out the flames with a cover.
Little was left for that night.
But creased starry paper showed me infinity.
And so I was happy.
 

LUIGI GHIRRI, Modena, 1970, from the series Early photographs, colour photograph, 25 x 20 cm
Courtesy of the Luigi Ghirri Archive