Just make a bit of silence and, with humility, look through the eyes of the heart those materials that nobody wants anymore. Maybe we would understand so much more about us and this indecipherable and confusing world.
Reflecting on several occasions on the work of Annalisa Iuri, I have always considered her investigation in the direction of an achievement of “material substance”- in a cognitive sense. A substance that is living our lives and dominates it, of which we are composed in a sensitive and over-sensitive way, in the hypothesis (not thesis) that the spirit is another subtle atomic matter, indestructible.
Everything turns on and rather arouses the omnivorous curiosity of Iuri. Industrial residues with advertising slogan, so much pop, pieces of cardboard to recycle, textiles, cans, foil and anything else forgotten by man, no longer “faber” but “economicus”, tickle her environmental conscience, or simply the sense of life. In the subject’s analysis, there is no discrimination, there is no trial.
Each object gets a role, a possible dignity, if not functional, at least aesthetic, symbolic, in a time that swallows everything that is crushed and branded as useless or not productive.
The artist works in a well-defined field. She feels she has in the hands the tools of the artist’s craft and she began a research to assemble it all to a meaning that reflects an inner horizon, a need to order and, why not, a strong opposition to the concept of waste.
Is there really something so pointless to be forgotten forever? In the path of her life, which often coincides with the art, the curtain rises on Iuri fantastic worlds, that would be reductive defining “formless”. There is form but, it doesn’t show formalities or placement for rational force.
Materials unprecedented and unexpected take on unexpected functions, as protagonists, inventions polimateric that overlap the Painting with phantasmagoric effects that amaze us, like flashes of light in the darkness of our mind dazed by consumerism, that exchanges the unnecessary for the necessary, as a perverted game. I don’t know if in the artist’s work the ecological complaint prevails on the curiosity of working with unusual patterns.
Maybe the truth is hidden in the inner essence of things, everything -even the last- tells us a vibration, an epidermal feeling.
Just make a bit of silence and, with humility, look through the eyes of the heart those materials that nobody wants anymore. Maybe we would understand so much more about us and this indecipherable and confusing world.
Giancarlo Bonomo
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