Ida Panicelli

  • Joyce Kozloff, Uncivil Wars: Battle of Appomattox Court House, 2021, acrylic on canvas, 34 × 42 1⁄2".

    Joyce Kozloff

    In September 2018, while working on Memory and Time, her public project at the Carroll A. Campbell Jr. Federal Courthouse in Greenville, South Carolina—unveiled this past summer—Joyce Kozloff was bewildered to find new Confederate flags decorating each gravestone in the local cemetery, dedicated to the hundreds of soldiers from that area who died during the American Civil War. Kozloff realized how deeply that conflict was ingrained in the Southern identity, and recognized the divisive power of that flag, those famous words by Mississippi-born novelist William Faulkner seeming tragically real:

  • Frederic Tuten, Sunday Morning for the Sombrero Family, 2020, pastel pencil and ink on cardboard, 16 x 12”.
    picks July 06, 2021

    Frederic Tuten

    Most famous for his ebullient 2019 memoir, My Young Life, the octogenarian author and art critic Frederic Tuten, encouraged by his lifelong friend Roy Lichtenstein, returned to painting and drawing while in his sixties after a decades-long break. In 2013, he began working on a series of pictures—intimate scenes of cozy interiors featuring elegant lamps, flowerpots, teacups, and kitchen tables—which he would regularly post to his Instagram.

    But, recently, he left the confines of this small domestic world and with ink, crayon, pastel, and oil paint on cardboard, started making more complex and

  • View of “Nuti.Scarpa: È questa la prima o l’ultima notte sul nostro pianeta?” (Nuti.Scarpa: Is This the First or the Last Night on Our Planet?), 2021. From left: Lulù Nuti, Mari (Seas), 2020–21; Delfina Scarpa, Motore, remoto (Motor, Remote), 2020. Photo: Simon d’Exéa.

    Lulù Nuti and Delfina Scarpa

    In this exhibition, “Nuti.Scarpa: È questa la prima o l’ultima notte sul nostro pianeta?” (Nuti.Scarpa: Is This the First or the Last Night on Our Planet?), Lulù Nuti and Delfina Scarpa embarked on the discovery of geographies and fragments of a world in transformation. The two young Roman artists’ explorations took them from the sky to the ocean depths as they passed through almost fairytale gardens between day and night. Nuti (born 1988), the more nomadic of the two, works in Rome and Paris and is a passionate ocean traveler who once spent a monthlong residency on a cargo ship. Scarpa (born

  • Monica Carocci, NuvoleAlte, 2021, inkjet print, 23 1/2 x 15 3/4".
    picks May 17, 2021

    Monica Carocci

    Since the 1990s, Monica Carocci’s medium has been analog black-and-white photography. But during the Italy’s March 2020 lockdown, she was unable to go to her studio to continue the series she was working on. Stuck at home, she started using a digital infrared Nikon, which rendered the “domestic” nature of fresh-cut tulips, calla lilies, and poppies in absurd cyan, gray, and pink tones. Later, when Italy shut down again last winter, she wandered alone through an empty Turin, thermally imaging its overgrown parks and the banks of the Po. The resulting landscapes describe a postapocalyptic world

  • Alberto Savinio, Les Dioscures (The Dioscuri), 1929, oil on canvas, 25 5⁄8 × 21 1⁄4".

    Alberto Savinio

    An eclectic artist with many talents—music, writing, painting—Alberto Savinio fully inhaled the avant-garde climate of the early twentieth century. Born Andrea de Chirico in Athens in 1891, he studied music in Munich, then arrived in Paris in 1910. Adopting the name Alberto Savinio, he made his debut in 1914 with Les chants de la mi-mort (Songs of the Half-Dead), a dramatic poem and a suite for piano. For Guillaume Apollinaire, he was a “poet, painter, and playwright, similar to the versatile geniuses of the Renaissance.” One of Savinio’s most intimate paintings, Le rêve du poète (The Poet’s

  • Domenico Bianchi, Untitled, 2020, oil and wax on fiberglass, 55 × 43 1/2".

    Domenico Bianchi

    Domenico Bianchi is a secular alchemist. His research is conceptual, anchored to tutelary forefathers, all of them Italian: Gino De Dominicis, Jannis Kounellis, Mario Merz. He is especially indebted to Alighiero Boetti, from whom he has absorbed the ability to work within a given set of rules. When Bianchi started out in the Roman milieu of the early 1980s, the most pronounced trait of that post-Transavanguardia generation was what he calls “arrogance,” an excessive and bombastic attitude related to their reliance on certain colors, forms, and gestures. Bianchi takes inspiration from elsewhere—from

  • View of “Altri Venti - Ostro,” 2020–21.
    picks February 01, 2021

    Bruna Esposito

    Having previously explored the dangers of climate change through sound, odor, and taste, here Bruna Esposito turns her attention to an increasingly ubiquitous contraption once largely shunned in Italy, an object of both luxury and distrust: the air conditioner. The first installment in a cycle of exhibitions about sustainability, “Altri Venti - Ostro” raises questions about this appliance’s excessive energy consumption and the pollution wrought by the gases it emits (the show’s title borrows a word for the warm Mediterranean wind, and is to be followed by “Altri Venti - Scirocco,” “Altri Venti

  • Corinna Gosmaro, CHUTZPAH!, 2020, mountain-climbing ropes, wire brushes, 118 1/8 × 35 1/2".

    Corinna Gosmaro

    In a 1966 interview on French television, Pier Paolo Pasolini speaks of a phrase from Provençal poetry. “The nightingale sings “ab joy,” for joy. But ‘joy,’ in the Provençal language of that time, had a particular significance, one of poetic raptus, of exaltation and poetic intoxication. Now this expression, ab joy, is perhaps the key expression of my entire production,” he says, since it represents “this sort of nostalgia for life, this sense of exclusion that, however, does not diminish the love of life but increases it.” Pasolini’s statement inspired Corinna Gosmaro’s series “Ab Joy” (all

  • Marzia Migliora, Lo Spettro di Malthus (The Spectre of Malthus), 2020, horse box, straw, leather earmuffs, lenses, five glass collages, LED light, engraved salt block, horseshoe, ponytail, brass supports, dimensions variable.
    interviews November 06, 2020

    Marzia Migliora

    Titled after English economist and demographer Thomas Malthus (1766–1834)—whose contentious prediction that the world’s population would grow more rapidly than its means of subsistence pointed to the limits of anthropogenic activity on our planet while also influencing social Darwinism and eugenics—Marzia Migliora’s “The Spectre of Malthus,” curated by Matteo Lucchetti at the Museo Arte Gallarate and on through December 13, explores the risks posed by the production system of industrial agriculture. This minimal installation makes its visual richness a secret: Nothing is revealed until the viewer

  • Tendai Mupita, SaNdawatya, 2020, ink, acrylic, and gold leaf on paper, 68 1⁄2 × 60 1⁄2". 

    Tendai Mupita

    I can obsess over obsessive artists. And in Tendai Mupita’s exhibition “Kuedza Mudzimu nesengere” (whose title means something like “those who are willing to take dangerous risks”), I let myself wander among the labyrinthine lines of his large-scale drawings, inspecting his curvilinear ink webs as closely as I would Agnes Martin’s geometric pencil marks—though the work of the two artists could hardly be more different.

    Mupita, born in Harare, Zimbabwe, in 1990, studied fine art some seventy miles away from his hometown at Chinhoyi University of Technology, where he did research on fractals,

  • Paolo Canevari, Mamma, 2000, rubber tubing, dimensions variable.
    picks August 13, 2020

    Paolo Canevari

    The “materia oscura” that gives this show its title is Paolo Canevari’s medium itself: inner tubes and tires for tractors and trucks, cars, Vespas, and go-carts. The material, inert and poor, rough and dirty, is in his hands transformed into pliable sculptures of bitter, enigmatic beauty. In his three-decade exploration of the formal and affective properties of rubber, Canevari has created tanks and bombs, monoliths and Colosseums, revealing himself to be a worthy heir to a generation of Roman artists from the ’60s who worked between nature and artifice, such as Pino Pascali and Gino Marotta.

  • Germano Celant, 1984. Photo: Robert Mapplethorpe.


    PARIS, JUNE 1981. Germano Celant and I are drinking at a bar after the opening of his exhibition “Identité italienne. L’art en Italie depuis 1959” (Italian Identity. Art in Italy Since 1959) at the Centre Pompidou. He points to a young woman on a banquette, engaged in intense conversation. “That’s Ingrid Sischy, the new editor of Artforum,” he said. “I’ll introduce you.” That introduction transformed my life.

    Germano and Ingrid changed the magazine forever. They were perfect partners, truly phenomenal, each bringing out the best in the other. She: street-smart, a voracious consumer of the present