Massimo Carboni

  • Marco Bagnoli

    At the Prato museum Marco Bagnoli exhibited a selection of works from his decade-long career, along with several pieces that were commissioned specifically for the occasion. The most dramatic aspect of this show was his intervention within the space of the museum itself. The building’s structure requires visitors to traverse the museum in a single direction and then double back in order to exit. Bagnoli disrupted this pattern so that one could also enter through the emergency exit, located at the back of the museum, opposite the “official” entrance. However, both of the routes that he created

  • Maurizio Mochetti

    In a departure from his usual practice, Maurizio Mochetti omitted lasers from his most recent exhibition, foregoing the spectacular fascination of the technological in favor of displaying four rarefied pieces in the gallery’s ample spaces. The installation was a product of subtraction rather than accumulation. The most convincing example of Mochetti’s effective utilization of available space was the room in which a hunting arrow swung in midair at eye level, attached to the ceiling by a wire so thin it was all but invisible. The effect was both magical and alienating, and the arrow—fixed in a

  • Stefano Di Stasio

    Stefano Di Stasio’s painting affirms “the presence of the past.” His ideal models range from Raphael to the 16th century to the metaphysical surrealism of Giorgio de Chirico. It is no accident that since the ’70s, Maurizio Calvesi—the critic and art historian who selected Di Stasio for the next Venice Biennale—has called the artist’s work “anachronistic.” This alone lets us understand the mental and conceptual thrust of his work, which it would be a mistake to reduce to simple, traditional “figurative painting.”

    One painting here more than any other exemplified this conceptual tension. Although

  • Renato Ranaldi

    In the case of Renato Ranaldi—a Florentine artist who began his career in the mid ’60s—the usual difficulties in attempting to describe the visual verbally are intensified to the point that this becomes the critical challenge, especially given the conceptual nature and working process of his art. The key to Ranaldi’s work seems to be the concept of mobility, the perpetual transformation of images, of the idea, the archaic dynamism of the sign.

    Traditionally, one uses the phrase “painted sculpture” but not “sculpted painting,” but certain of Ranaldi’s works bring together the languages of both

  • Niele Toroni

    For the reopening of his gallery, Ferranti chose the same artist whose show inaugurated the gallery twenty years ago. Faithful to his pictorial practice, which now spans several decades, Niele Toroni left his number 50 brushstrokes at regular intervals of 30 centimeters on the wall of the gallery. Toroni is truly a pure painter; he leaves the literal mark of his work on any surface, “phenomenizing” his gesture and making it visible. It is a regularly repeated gesture, anonymous and yet individualized, since no brushstroke can be completely identical to any other. The act of covering a surface,

  • Roberto Barni

    Disegni e sculture” (Drawings and sculpture) brought together some one hundred of Roberto Barni’s pieces dating from 1980 to the present. This title is less minimal, less banal than one might think. It refers to the duality of drawing and sculpture, which, since the Renaissance, has been one of the fundamental premises of the theory and practice of the plastic arts. However, Barni places this relationship within a surrealist and metaphysical context by disordering the cards, leaving only ruins, fragments of the unitary, exalted aspiration of Classical totality. In his work from the ’80s, the

  • John Baldessari

    John Baldessari has always played with the enormous capacity of images to free meaning; that is, stylistically (and thus ideologically) to communicate their representational contents to an observer whose relationship to the image is, perceptually, one of stimulus-response, or, psychologically, more probing than usual.

    In this exhibition, Baldessari showed three pieces; seven other pieces were shown simultaneously at the Klemens Gasser gallery in Bolzano. All the work consisted of photomontages in which a pragmatic, direct relationship to the observer is developed. Large object (orange) in water

  • Eberhard Bosslet

    Eberhard Bosslet’s works evoke extremely strong emotions. Here, his works were installed in spaces wrested from an architectural complex where construction had been interrupted in the ’30s, and which had been intended to accommodate the faithful visiting the adjacent Scala Santa, or holy staircase, one of the most popular Christian sites in Rome. The extremely high, powerful walls were left unplastered, the stones and bricks clearly visible. This naked architectural structure surrounding Bosslet’s technological objects almost neutralized their dangerous, disturbing aspect. But then one realized

  • “Inside Out”

    This first exhibition organized by Ida Panicelli—the new director—was based on an unwillingness to celebrate this “new beginning” with a gigantic, uselessly spectacular show, and from a desire for reappraisal. The show was composed of three sections: the first, “Museo” (Museum), contained works by Karen Knorr and Giulio Paolini; the second, “Città” (City), consisted of installations by Barbara Kruger and by the Japanese artist Tadashi Kawamata; and the third section, “Eventi” (Events), was comprised of a concert and four performances.

    Knorr’s and Paolini’s work plays with the idea of the museum

  • Marco Lodola

    In this show Marco Lodola presented figures cut out of Plexiglas—a completely artificial, mass-produced material—and then painted in enamel. His silhouettes are generated from a rigorous, clear design that tends to make the outline, the profile of the image, stand out. Lodola draws his inspiration from the world of popular performance; his small figures refer to Hollywood music-halls, to interlocked dancing couples, and to doll-like figures arrayed along the stage. And while he emphasizes the figures’ outlines, their silhouettes, they seem uncircumscribed, without borders. In fact,

  • Graham Gussin

    That Graham Gussin is intent on developing certain of Conceptualism’s original premises became clear in one work here, entitled I love you. I’ve dreamt of this. Sound drawing 10.1.93, 1993. This was a sort of graphic grid, very similar to a landscape of frozen mountains, stylized and bare, painted in blue acrylic directly on the wall. But what was important was the process that led up to this piece. Gussin fed 15 seconds of the soundtrack from a pornographic film through a computer. The computer visualized these sounds, and the result was what the viewer confronted, drawn on the wall. With the

  • Anne Marie Jugnet

    A ray of light was projected from the interior of the gallery towards the exterior. Whoever stopped at the entrance, at the threshold that divided the urban space from the gallery space, soon became aware that the ray consisted of luminous writing projecting the following words on the bodies of those entering: “da sempre qua” (here, from time immemorial). It was like an introduction to the poetic world of Anne Marie Jugnet, one of the most interesting young artists in France.

    Upon entering the gallery, the space first appeared completely hare. The long walls were almost blank; finally, an artist