On the wrong side of the road: back to Berlin.

I have discovered the joys of traveling early in the morning to catch low cost flights.
Sleeping just a couple of hours, waking up at 3 am and observing the city going to sleep from a cab. Experiencing the sunrise from the train, everything dipped in a golden pond of light. Joining other travellers, single or in groups, everyone silently pondering their thoughts while they are wired in.
It wasn't my first time in Berlin, but it certainly was a first in terms of experiencing the city from another point of view.
Tourists go around by the underground to the main touristy attractions. Special guests who have the luck of having a friend with a spare bike available, go around pedalling and see much more.
I thought London was a bike-friendly city, but I had to reconsider: the broadness of Berlin's roads and liveable traffic allows you to cycle safe and sound. For pedestrians, though, it's another story.

I went to see my artist friend Silvia Iorio and her latest, successful exhibitions, to which I am dedicating a special post. Silvia likes to ride the bike on the pavement and on the wrong side of the road, especially doing the giant slalom among Germans and tourists alike. Moreover, not to squeeze in impossibly narrow passages is not an option. We spent the first half of my arrival day trying hard to find a haven for Ike (pictured), also known as The Travel Companion.
The poor little swallow was trailing along the concrete passageway that links Schonenfeld Airport to the train station, unable to stand or to fly. And then he ran into me and my inability to leave little and plumed things be, because-I-know-they-need-my-help. We left him in the Berlin's Zoo precinct after he vividly expressed his displeasure of being carried around in an unrequested human hand by leaving a pretty big souvenir on my trousers.
Fair enough. Next time I promise I will fight my Saint Francis syndrome, as I call it.
I hope he didn't hit the tigers' cage, though.

Silvia and I crossed the city far and wide, fluttering from an exhibition to the other and from a dinner to the next. From the Indian Embassy to the Jewish Museum, from Spanish paella to the amazing seafood linguine of Italian restaurant Da Papa', on Uhlandestrasse. We explored flea markets, tried to reach Potsdam but were stopped by our own hunger and preferred to visit a cafe', and actually crossed the Sony Centre on the bike during a presentation of The Green Lantern movie, where the red carpet was actually green.

Pictures are bitty and far from satisfactory, but here we go.

 

A special mention goes to the hideaway Tadshikische Teeshube, a beautiful tea house brought in Berlin straight from Tajikistan. In conclusion, there is only one recommendation I can give you about Berlin in summer: mind that cyclist!

As Time Goes By

Alice Anderson's Doll has been in the Bay Window for almost three weeks.
I remember a conversation I had with the artist when we were planning the installation:

sy: You know, I am scared to death by that doll.
AA: I know. She is very strong.

Dolls are tricky, mysterious, sometimes quite frightening objects.

My aunt had a doll once. The doll was dressed in pink, had dark skin, glass eyes, and a frozen smile showing little white teeth. She was seated in a rocking chair, next to a tall dresser with an unnerving ticking grandfather clock on it. When visiting her as a child, I would cross the bedroom at the fastest pace just to avoid looking at her. That grin and those eyes weren’t just fakes: there was something eerie about that lifeless double of a human being, something that didn’t quite fit. It wasn’t just the same old story about it coming to life at night: she always had a sparkle of life of her own.

I saw the same sparkle in Alice's doll, exactly as I have previously written: I remember walking past that doll at one of Alice’s solo shows and, strengthened by my adult condition, almost ignoring her until, out of the corner of my eye, I clearly saw her grinning. It wasn't a kind smile, rather a mischievous one.

And, for The Bay Window Project, the Doll and I were going to stay very close.

I was already imagining horror movies-like scenes, with me wondering at night to go to...that place and finding the Doll in a different position from the one she was supposed to be.
I know: I watch too much TV.

On installation day, Alice came with a different doll and told me her story: she was made from the same mould used for the first one but, nonetheless, came out as an "older" version of it and the artist herself. 

Like a mother. Less mischievous, and perhaps more worried. She, too, is dressed in pink, but is not smiling at all.

In spite of the role of the mother in Alice Anderson's work, where she is the one trying to put an end to her daughter's existence, I am finding the doll's presence strangely reassuring. 

She sits and sits and sits and sits... and sometime I feel for her solitude. She looks at the world, often overlooked, and unable to interact. On the opening day, when Alice was checking the Doll's position looking at the window from the street, some kids saw her and commented: "Oh my God, WTF is that?! A doll! FKN scary, man!" And I can quote another reaction from my friend Wonderland, a mommy blogger, who was in London last week, took a picture of the doll in the window and commented: "Now I can say that I visited this person's house and survived!"

The only thing that the Doll wins over is, in fact, time. She will stay the same, whereas everything around her changes. Like a vampire or Dorian Gray's portrait in reverse.
Now, you may be wondering why I chose this conclusion and perhaps that's easy to guess: the post was initiated on the 20th of November, my birthday. As the day passes, I change slightly, a little bit more, with no one noticing.

The Viewing Cabinet: Silvia Iorio strikes again

Oh yes, she does.

Perhaps you remember this post and all its implication of difficulties in the organisation of The Bay Window Project's sixth show. I'd like to throw myself in the account of what can be rechristen as The Chronicles of Silvia, but I have just realised that this whole blog is all about the organisational part of being a curator, whereas I want now to delve more into art theory...OK, maybe just one bit or two, because I think I can see you rolling your eyes in front of the screen.

Let me just tell you, then, that the pictures you see below were taken at the opening (by Fabio-God-Bless-Him-Lattanzi Antinori) and the artist arrived from Berlin, by bus, on the morning of the very same day (she doesn't fly. Even if she had a solo show in New York, she would go there by boat). Want to know what happened the day before? After having successfully delivered the work for The Bay Window, whose great impact and delightful humour I am going to describe in a minute, poor Silvia had to cross Berlin in all its length to get the essential UV lamp because I, the undersigned, was way too busy with another show to search for it in London and, moreover, couldn't find any in the few electrical shops I managed to go to.

SMS exchange on 13 October around 3 pm, with Silvia's Bus scheduled at 6:30 pm:

Si: My friend lost the dog,I had to take bus,no ticket,escaped the fine,have to prepare suitcase,retrieve my work from gallery and return house keys.CAN'T DO LAMP!

sy: Really Sorry.Can't do lamp either.They don't have it here! :( YOU HAVE to get it. No lamp,no party.

> Learning to say NO: Curator's Stuff

Against all odds, Silvia and the lamp were on the bus on time and the day after she triumphantly assembled everything in the window with the help of good Maddalena, transforming it in a glowing cabinet of modern prints.

As her subjects, she has chosen Museums: the place where most of the artists aspire to enter, sooner or later. The institution, the place that recognizes someone's efforts and, as she puts it, sanctions his or her contribution to the History of Art.

"Are you really interested in making history?" I once asked her.

"Indeed", was the reply.

Every building's picture was turned into an etching, in a dialogue between past and contemporary techniques of reproduction. I was mystified by the quantity (and shapes!) of Museums she managed to track down from all over the world. Some are pretty recognisable, some others...aren't. This prompted us to think about organising a competition on Facebook, coming soon.

Guess the Museum in Silvia Iorio's Viewing Cabinet: name and location.

After all, being familiar with most of the institutions around the world it's not only curator's, but also artist's, stuff.

Silvia Iorio entered every single Museum, virtually speaking, and stares at the viewer through a binocular. The viewer, in turn, needs the binocular to look at the installation properly, otherwise, what would be perceived as an effort to make something private public, is turned into private again. As the background for each museum, she chose the universe, a space nebula with stars and cloudy explosions of molecular mass, in her undying homage to Chaos and Chance. The UV lamp makes the whites glow, transporting everything in a surreal dimension; there is, indeed, much of the Surrealism inheritance in this work: Magritte immediately jumps to mind but, at the same time, you do realise that the way in which Silvia Iorio works is totally original, her own, and unexplored.

This work is an invitation to explore. The Universe of art, why not, but in the first place to explore a private window offering a cabinet of prints, curiosities, where the display itself almost institutionalises everything, transforming the space in a sort of Museum.

As you already know, not many people come to The Bay Window openings: we are not a gallery, we do not offer alcohol, we don't have an indoor space and this compels people to stand outside in the - now - cold evenings. English people very rarely come. Nonetheless, I was very pleased to see the small group who came to see this one: artists, curators and press editors.

All friends, all Italians. It was like being home for a while.

Behind the scenes

It is a customary complaint nowadays to say that we are continuously bombarded by images. 

This can be a valid example...

...watching TV with The Bay Window on can become quite interesting.

Mario (a post for connoisseurs)

22 July 2010.

The Bay Window is officially turned into a light projection box. Meaning: if you happen to stroll by Cleveland street, you will bump into Luana Perilli's magnificent video.


No picture can give it justice (especially if made by me and my antediluvian camera), therefore you will need to wait that my confidence in using Final Cut increases just that tiny little bit in order to edit another video, possibly in a better way than this.

The second Bay Window Project taught me a couple of important things that other budding curators might find useful:

The first: if you are projecting a video outdoor, in London, in the month of July, check the sunset's precise time before sending the press release out. This will avoid you panicking because at 7:30 pm you can't see anything and start hoping, wishing and praying that people will arrive the usual late. Which, in fact, for once doesn't happen.

The second: no matter how big the problem is, there is always a Plan B concealed as an ingenious idea. In our case, a little monitor with the video on in the lower part of the window solved the trouble of the poor visibility and became quite performative.

Finally, the third is Mario.
Mario is the famous art critic you must know and have to have at your openings. As reserved and uncatchable as Charles Saatchi, this eminent intellectual rounds on exhibitions undisturbed and has the power to launch or demolish whoever at glance. From where his words will fall upon you, is not for you to know. If he reviews a show, no one who attended is really sure they have seen him there. Most of all, Mario is so ineffable and so incredibly famous at the same time, that there is the tendency to forget his name.

A - You know, I know that famous art critic...
B - Do you?
A - Yes, you know...he's a very famous one...you must know him! Oh God, what was his name again?
B - (encouraging) Mario?

That's it! Mario.
Mario is everywhere, and there is always a Mario for every opening. In the end, aren't we all waiting for Mario?

I would like to thank the artist, G2, my G, curator Francesca Cavallo from cosmicmegabrain, Alessia, Tati and all the others who attended the opening, making it a very nice and funny evening.

Coffee and TV: the next Bay Window Project

Tuesday 20 July.

Italian artist Luana Perilli (pictured) is in London for the first time for her solo show in The Bay Window Project. She's been traveling a lot lately between Rome, Milan and Naples, where she is having a residency at the PAN Museum.

We talk a lot about Naples' ill famed Spanish Areas, where she is actually living: after 9 pm there is a sort of curfew and you see no one around. After a shameless questioning (who are you, what you are doing here, how long are you staying for, who do you know), the owner of the bar where she goes everyday for a coffee decided that she is "not bothering anyone. Yet."

She likes London. The first impression is what it counts: I warn her that you may love it or hate it, it seems to be a very immediate reaction for every European. Black or white, no halfway house.

Before throwing ourselves into the setting up of the next Bay Window Project, I take her around the area to do some very essential tasks: grocery shopping. Very intellectual, but my opinion is: to learn something about a new country, you must start from the food. Then, after having made sure that we weren't going to starve in the following days, we go gallery spotting, straight into London's evening life.

Our Habda is opening a show at Medcalf: Alex Heaton, with Abyssal Worpeltinger. 

After a two-weeks break from the art world, it's nice to find the soft hubbub of an opening again, seasoned with smelling-good hamburgers that are being cooked outside. We exchange impressions on the show and are quite impressed by the huge paintings representing imaginary mountain landscapes covered in snow.

Back home, we wait for our men to arrive: they have the same name, and they both are late. My G. went to a congress and the following drinks, Luana's G2 is arriving from Heathrow: "I still have 18 stops ahead!" an SMS she receives complain. We try the video on the window: tracing paper is stuck on the glass, the size adjusted, the decision to blacken the lower part of the window and to project just on the upper part made. Si Dolce e' il Tormento, the tune that accompanies and gives the title to the video, fills the room in loop. So sweet is the torment, but I would listen to it over and over again (and so will the public on the opening day, because we are leaving the sound on just for that night!) The moving objects reflect themselves in the windows of the building in front of us. Luana peeks at it from behind the tracing paper, and is happy about the effect.

People already have started to look up from the street, intrigued.

(art) Community Matters

 It's frustrating.

When you are on a very expensive Master, you have to keep a job to carry on; and, if that job is art-related and you do like it, things get even more complicated for your studies.

In short: when I am at work I can't be around to help for the show, and so are some other curators. Fran and Will, our handy ones, are doing their best to get everything ready for the two days installation next week (and I will definitely keep you posted on that), but the truth is that there aren't enough technicians around to build, saw, glue, cut, staple, etc. because they are all busy for the upcoming show the Fine Arts students will have at the end of the academic year, meaning June. When you are organising a show, you feel like you're the only one on earth doing so. In this case, waking up and DIY are essential.

Well, I guess we were in trouble. Silvia's work was due to be ready yesterday, with the panel glued and ready to be sprayed together with onehundredandsixty switches. Instead, we're running a little late on schedule, which never is a good thing because I am dead sure we'll have more issues during installation. Then, what? 

Ah, let me tell you about the small art world: a willing extra hand is always there. 

Yesterday, Silvia and I were having this conversation:

Si - We would really need an extra hand...

sy - I know... Actually, a friend of mine sent me an email the other day recommending someone who just moved to London...

Si - Oh, yeah?

sy - And I made contact with him: he was very kind and said to call him if we ever needed an hand.

Si - Ah, maybe we can try... Otherwise, a friend of mine, too, wanted to introduce me to a friend of his who can be of help here... His name was... can't remember. What's your guy's name?

sy - D.V.

Si - (stares)

sy - What??

Si - (laughs hysterically) That's him!

sy - No way!

Si - Yes!

They say London is a big, alienating metropoli. I don't quite agree.

It is actually difficult to see friends unless you make an early appointment but, in the end, you can just bump into people by chance. The strong network in the often-neglected-by-the-system art world has always amazed me, there always is a friend of a friend knowing another friend who has met a friend who knows a friend of yours. And it is nice to get someone helping and solving problems because of that.

Thank you, D.V.!

The Odyssey and other journeys

We are a week away from the opening.

When I think about how quick all that time passed, I can go nuts. From now on, I will commit myself and put one post per day, just to keep everyone up to date. Thank you for following us so far.

Now, just before collapsing on the bed, let's talk about the Odyssey. 

I am referring to Silvia's work title, which is the product of how the piece was born and why. I am not going to tell you all about it at once, though...better coming to the show to appreciate it in full! Today, we experienced the actual making of and saw it unfold and live before our eyes, at least in pieces. A big THANK YOU to the technicians at London Met wood workshop, Stuart and Jennyve in particular, for all their help today: we couldn't have made it without you guys and your patience. If you remember this post, you'll know now that we found a way to have this incredible piece on show.

When I left Silvia dealing with saws and messy measurements and entered our office, I was delighted to find Nathalie's work delivered: two collages, a big and a small one, very different from each other and therefore absolutely interesting. One in fact looks like a proper environment, almost another space with round elements floating in it regardless of perspective or gravity rules. The first word that came to my mind was: pop. And then, equilibrium. Peace.

Francesca is working on the screen for the projection of Guszstav and Katja's video. Today the built frame was delivered and we also have the black out material. The idea is, for the screen, to be perpendicular to the wall, like a floating canvas and work like a door, with hinges on the wall that allow it to be open or close, according to necessities.

We mustn't forget that Unit 2 will host also the talk and performances by, respectively, Cesare and Sophie, therefore we will need space. Literally. There's always a negotiation with the space.

We sorted out who's delivering what work and when for this and next week, and learned that Dylan is going neon. At the beginning I misunderstood and imagined a structure made of light, whereas what Habs was talking about is the colour of the structure. This activated Silvia and an interaction between artists begun: which colours shall she paint her switches in order not to clash with neon orange?
We'll know the answer to this question quite soon-ish.

Activities (and Inactivities)

The picture here is a little homage to Jannis Kounellis

Hello. Minus eleven.

Things have been sorted before this forthcoming bank holiday, so we are ready to take what is coming next week.

Silvia Iorio has arrived and, with her, arrived the switches. That is just one in a hundred and something, still to be painted. It is quite exciting to see bits and pieces of a work before it is set into place, which should happen at some point next week.

We've been talking to technicians for a big plywood panel to host them in the final installation, arranging dimensions and even granted a studio for Silvia where she will be able to assemble the work.
Can't wait to see it finally in place. Check.

Not only the mailer, but also the lovely catalogue and postcards have been sent off last Wednesday via post. People should receive it just after May Bank holiday. Time Out has been alerted about the show on Tuesday night, just one day before the deadline for the listings.
Check.

Charlotte's work is on the way. Really looking forward to seeing it as it is very small and intimate. We'll probably find it in our office when we go back to work on Wednesday. Check.

Martina and Nathalie should have their work ready too and will bring it in next week at some point, very close to the opening. We have a nice scale model of Unit 2 in our office made by our Francesca and had spent the latest weeks arranging mini-artworks mock up around. We seem to have very straightforward ideas about the hanging. Check.

Some very nice vinyls of the show's title and dates are being ordered by Habda for the door. Not in England, because they're too pricy, but from abroad. They should arrive just on time, unless another volcano blows up. Check.

Russel is probably buying the white wash paint for the window in this very moment, whereas Silvia is hunting for spray paint and varnish around Soho, with a map in one hand and some more switches in the other. Check.

Dylan and Sophie have been in touch, too. Their work will be a nice surprise. Katja and Gusztav are coming from Berlin for the opening with all their family: thanks again to the Goethe Institut for their support. Check.

Cesare didn't let me know if he needs a projector for his talk. Eeek!