Ondulato, piatto, selvatico: proprio in fondo allo stradello si erige una specie di uniforme monumento di tufo, rotondo, corroso da chi sa che alluvioni. E, man mano che avanza, dietro siepi compatte e verdi come il fondo del mare, dietro distese di umili pungicarelli. si aprono le grotte tutte foderate di pungitopo, con delle piccole voragini nere come pozzi, e sormontate da ponticelli naturali vividi di erbetta: grotte complicate ariostesche.
Pier Paolo Pasolini
by N. Nadini. “Pasolini, una vita.” – Einaudi
It’s always like a slow settling, when a work takes shape. This cycle has taken on its appearance, as if the lightness comprises signs, spaces and colors, linked to the natural state of elements. Everything becomes glance, glow, sequence: a point of view, a monad. This vital moment, enclosing sets of infinite moments, animates life itself. It’s easier to let your hair blow in the wind, to leave your thoughts behind. Not to give out yourself. But change is in detachment.
I first saw a painting by Barbara Duran in a gallery on Via Margutta, in Rome at the group exhibition curated by Michele Von Buren. I had been attracted by a figure of a little girl in large dimensions, a little girl who was running. The painting immediately took me back to Buenos Aires, where a dear friend of mine Diana Aisemberg has also been painting little girls for years. And I later learned that Barbara Duran once lived and worked in Buenos Aires. in my memory, my childhood in Argentina.
Today I saw more of Barbara’s work in Rome, images in motion, as if they were seen from a speeding train, blurred horizontal lines and a few resistant vertical lines, as if they resisted speed; trees perhaps, rooted to the ground but flexible. A rigid reed breaks, a flexible reed bends in the wind and then returns to its feet. Here is the secret.
Luogo Segreto | Galleria il Gabbiano | Studio Urbana | Rome 2012