Daniele Milvio

Downs & Ross | 55 Chrystie Street
55 Chrystie Street, Suite 203
April 30, 2017–May 28, 2017

Downs & Ross | 106 Eldridge Street
106 Eldridge Street
April 30–May 28

View of “Daniele Milvio,” 2017.

Daniele Milvio’s recent works feel like an unholy amalgamation of Cy Twombly’s beautifully loopy imagery and Anselme Bellegarrigue’s Anarchist Manifesto (1850). A number of Milvio’s smaller pieces, dark and ethereal things, are covered with swirling, barely legible script on linden wood supports. A snippet of text in Mastro Titta (all works cited, 2017)—the nickname for Giovanni Battista Bugatti, the Papal States’ head executioner from 1796 to 1865—reveals that they are menus for a spezzatino, or stew, of neoliberals, among other sorts of folk. Nearby, two larger paintings (Teresa! Senti Quanto Pesa! [Teresa! How Heavy It Is!] and Sire, Il Cicalaro [Sire, the Gabber]) anchor the show. In both pictures, rows of party people are violently murdered, via decapitation or throat-slitting. As the menu paintings suggest, they’ll be the main ingredients for a tasty cannibalistic repast. A sculptural trio of bloody heads, all untitled, sit on pikes—they’d make Salome proud. And metal chains, fixed to the walls by grotesque little creatures, recall Renaissance door knockers or accoutrements for an s/m dungeon.

Milvio’s fusion of madness, human-flesh-eating, and dark humor is political theater la Grand Guignol. His destruction is gleeful, satanic—rich with vengeance, loaded with spite. Such a purgative bacchanal would be useful to many a contemporary appetite in this age of evil power-grabbing and demagoguery. Of course, you can’t take Milvio’s exhibition as an act of capitalist and social critique too seriously, but you certainly don’t want to undermine the liberating schadenfreude such a nasty vision has to offer.

— Nicholas Chittenden Morgan