The quiet, teeming mass of the land of Virgilio, in that indescribable atmosphere of misty vapours and motionless summer humidity, suddenly comes alive in some parts of the city where life seems to vibrate more quickly and with greater intensity. Having passed piazza Sordello and left behind us the triumph of the Gonzagas and the Volto di San Pietro we come to via Accademia of Hapsburgian memory. We can already see the Teatro Scientifico, inaugurated by the young Mozart, as well as the small piazza dedicated to Dante, nearby the documents stored in the State Archives, the Accademia Virgiliana and the entrance to the Biblioteca which was built on the instructions of Empress Maria Teresa. The notes of the students at the music academy , the voices of the passers-by, the chatter coming from the bars, the clicking of high heels and the post-concert buzz of theatre-goers leaving the Bibiena… all this is out but all this is also in … because Andrea Jori’s studio is a place within the city that breathes with the city. Having passed the inter-space of a bronze door (the artist’s “welcome”) we find ourselves inside his workshop. A concentrated look, dishevelled hair (Scapigliato?), his hands so agile when modelling the clay but also a pause for reflection and the time for an exchange of jokes. This is how our conversation with the artist begins, naturally and pleasantly.
Every square inch of your workshop is lined with notes, drawings, graphs, sketches – large ones, too – and finished works… I feel it would be restrictive to define you merely as a sculptor: I would say that you are an eclectic artist…
Yes, you could interpret my artistic itinerary like that. I started at the end of the 60s with a series of engravings and starting from graphics I gradually moved on to sculpting, to terra-cottas, bronzes and now to works made using different materials.
Did you perhaps feel you had to reject everything that had characterised you up to that moment?
I wouldn’t call it a “rejection”; I’d prefer to talk of elaboration, a slow transition. I like to look for new artistic expressions; I also try to avoid keeping up obsolete stylistic connotations. I’m sure that if they told me I had reached the highest achievable peak in my work I’d feel a kind of intolerance… as I said this motive behind my research led me to move from graphics to sculpture as well as to various interdisciplinary projects, all serving to enrich my work. On certain occasions my exhibitions have been integrated by specially composed music and set designs derived from the theatre.
You talk about on-going research but it’s clear that this work ethic could end up clashing with the precise requests of your clients, or collectors …
Of course… that’s why I don’t let my clients dictate to me, if I can avoid it. I believe that one of the problems affecting art today is its excessive commercialization. In a society where everything has an intrinsic economic value artists also risk commercialization. I’m convinced these are mechanisms that detract from pure research and that market pressure is a “brake” on artists’ creativity.
The answer to any type of connection is expressed in your testimony about life: you chose to be an artist as well as an artisan. Do you feel this co-existence of such situations more as a constraint or as a resource?
As far as the technical aspect of my work is concerned it is certainly a resource. A solid professional preparation is useful when creating art and today, as in the past, the work of artisans represents the start, the basis. I must say that the fact of having a workshop which is open to the public has guaranteed a continuous contact with people and with daily life, thus helping me to avoid isolation. The fact, too, of being an artisan means ongoing manual training and practise. As with musicians, sculptors must also train their sensitivity continuously: this is the only way that hands can really become one with the material to be worked. Continuous work, study and a constant cultural confrontation all form an integral part of my life style, a component of my daily life.
Do you admit to being something of a “loose dog” and a free spirit? Doesn’t it worry you that this could also mean becoming dangerously isolated from contacts and certain situations of progression?
Luckily these days one can also contact virtually many artistic realities that are not conveniently close to us so we are never completely detached from the most significant events. As far as I am concerned I don’t have any real sense of isolation and I can only emphasize once again my daily commitment. I think this is a tangible way of drawing on the reality of our times.
From the choices you have made it’s clear how deeply you feel a part of the reality that surrounds you. How do you live your relationship with your city? Are you able to express yourself completely or do you think it’s an inadequate scenario?
I believe I could express myself and create anywhere: I don’t think I suffer from any geographic restrictions. I should add that as far as my research is concerned our city does present one favourable aspect; it has calmer, less stressful rhythms which allow one to carry out all kinds of in-depth research in optimum mode.
External stimulus and contact with those people you mentioned aside, what are your sources of inspiration?
Roughly I would say that my path as a man and an artist draws its inspiration from the spaces of life that intersect one another in the complexity of our times. I’m convinced that my assertion, since it’s individual, is, all things considered, relatively important. Rather, I hope that when my time comes I will have left behind a corpus of stimulating works that will have some cultural influence, setting a path for others to follow.
So saying you put yourself into a dimension that goes beyond the “here and now” and that challenges time and space towards the future. On the contrary, how do you compare yourself in relation to the past and the testimonies of those who have preceded you?
The relationship between past and present is a complex question that is not at all easy to interpret.
I’ve been thinking about something that Walter Benjamin wrote: «…the past doesn’t throw its light on the present nor does the present throw its light on the past, but image is that in which what has been unites with lightning speed with the present in a constellation…». Few great artists have worked without a deep knowledge of the preceding culture and today, if one doesn’t reflect on this aspect, he risks reaching misleading conclusions. This doesn’t mean one needs to be tied anachronistically to the past; on the contrary, in my case knowledge of the artistic expressions of ancient epochs has spurred me on: I study the past and the present as equidistant aspects in my daily artistic exploration. I want to be an artist of my times. I read art texts from different epochs, I linger over rock paintings in the same way that I study installations at the Biennale di Venezia, I keep in mind each and every experience so that I can deepen and widen my cultural horizons.
It’s curious to hear such comments from someone who graduated from D.A.M.S. in 1977, during the years when figuration was declared dead and buried…
Those were years when art galleries were often exclusive, closed clubs and culture gravitated around certain forms of power. Today (as then) I consider it limiting to talk about art in this sense. I’ve worked hard for the privilege of not having a label, of evolving without restrictions. With regard to figuration I’ve never believed that it really is dead, likewise I have always been interested in current informal artistic expressions. I’m convinced that the human form emanates a timeless fascination. Today there’s less rigidity of thought and quite a few stylistic realities can co-exist and produce interesting debates.
Your independence of ideas and expressions seems very strong to me, even (or better, above all) when you tackle sacredness and spirituality. Do you think there is still space for themes of this type and do you think there is an actuality of language suited to our times?
I must make a necessary distinction when referring to the relationship between the Catholic Church and spirituality in a broad sense. The official church normally tends to be partially conservative and when iconographic innovations are proposed one runs the risk of some misunderstandings arising. The problem that comes immediately to mind regards placing contemporary art in ancient churches, plus the fact that sacred environments have always been contaminated places, subject to superimpositions and stratifications of artistic expressions. I believe that, following this line of thought, it would be interesting to evaluate new proposals, too; a quality contemporary work can be set within an ancient context.
Concerning the theme of spirituality meant as a way of placing oneself towards the idea of living, the situation is even more complex. I have this feeling that everything that surrounds us is intersected by an identical, mysterious, transcendent dimension. This great mystery has always fascinated and enthralled artists.
Is this how we should read the fractures that break the lines of your drawings, your terra-cottas and bronzes?
Those fractures are the breath, the osmosis that is created between the object and the surrounding reality. I’m referring to the dilation of sense that can be liberated from even the most insignificant object. I might even say that all things are a part of sculpture and sculpture is a part of everything.
…Can the poetics of the not-finished be interpreted like this, too?
In the not-finished I interpret the sense of life, i.e., its continual transformation, time that doesn’t fossilize and death which is not an end in an absolute sense. That’s why mine are works in “becoming”. Ours is the epoch of social complexities… I think that being without certainties can lead to reflection and experimentation. I look at my work with a most critical eye and never feel completely satisfied. My aspiration is to give life to the spirit of our times.
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Every square inch of your workshop is lined with notes, drawings, graphs, sketches – large ones, too – and finished works… I feel it would be restrictive to define you merely as a sculptor: I would say that you are an eclectic artist…
Yes, you could interpret my artistic itinerary like that. I started at the end of the 60s with a series of engravings and starting from graphics I gradually moved on to sculpting, to terra-cottas, bronzes and now to works made using different materials.
Did you perhaps feel you had to reject everything that had characterised you up to that moment?
I wouldn’t call it a “rejection”; I’d prefer to talk of elaboration, a slow transition. I like to look for new artistic expressions; I also try to avoid keeping up obsolete stylistic connotations. I’m sure that if they told me I had reached the highest achievable peak in my work I’d feel a kind of intolerance… as I said this motive behind my research led me to move from graphics to sculpture as well as to various interdisciplinary projects, all serving to enrich my work. On certain occasions my exhibitions have been integrated by specially composed music and set designs derived from the theatre.
You talk about on-going research but it’s clear that this work ethic could end up clashing with the precise requests of your clients, or collectors …
Of course… that’s why I don’t let my clients dictate to me, if I can avoid it. I believe that one of the problems affecting art today is its excessive commercialization. In a society where everything has an intrinsic economic value artists also risk commercialization. I’m convinced these are mechanisms that detract from pure research and that market pressure is a “brake” on artists’ creativity.
The answer to any type of connection is expressed in your testimony about life: you chose to be an artist as well as an artisan. Do you feel this co-existence of such situations more as a constraint or as a resource?
As far as the technical aspect of my work is concerned it is certainly a resource. A solid professional preparation is useful when creating art and today, as in the past, the work of artisans represents the start, the basis. I must say that the fact of having a workshop which is open to the public has guaranteed a continuous contact with people and with daily life, thus helping me to avoid isolation. The fact, too, of being an artisan means ongoing manual training and practise. As with musicians, sculptors must also train their sensitivity continuously: this is the only way that hands can really become one with the material to be worked. Continuous work, study and a constant cultural confrontation all form an integral part of my life style, a component of my daily life.
Do you admit to being something of a “loose dog” and a free spirit? Doesn’t it worry you that this could also mean becoming dangerously isolated from contacts and certain situations of progression?
Luckily these days one can also contact virtually many artistic realities that are not conveniently close to us so we are never completely detached from the most significant events. As far as I am concerned I don’t have any real sense of isolation and I can only emphasize once again my daily commitment. I think this is a tangible way of drawing on the reality of our times.
From the choices you have made it’s clear how deeply you feel a part of the reality that surrounds you. How do you live your relationship with your city? Are you able to express yourself completely or do you think it’s an inadequate scenario?
I believe I could express myself and create anywhere: I don’t think I suffer from any geographic restrictions. I should add that as far as my research is concerned our city does present one favourable aspect; it has calmer, less stressful rhythms which allow one to carry out all kinds of in-depth research in optimum mode.
External stimulus and contact with those people you mentioned aside, what are your sources of inspiration?
Roughly I would say that my path as a man and an artist draws its inspiration from the spaces of life that intersect one another in the complexity of our times. I’m convinced that my assertion, since it’s individual, is, all things considered, relatively important. Rather, I hope that when my time comes I will have left behind a corpus of stimulating works that will have some cultural influence, setting a path for others to follow.
So saying you put yourself into a dimension that goes beyond the “here and now” and that challenges time and space towards the future. On the contrary, how do you compare yourself in relation to the past and the testimonies of those who have preceded you?
The relationship between past and present is a complex question that is not at all easy to interpret.
I’ve been thinking about something that Walter Benjamin wrote: «…the past doesn’t throw its light on the present nor does the present throw its light on the past, but image is that in which what has been unites with lightning speed with the present in a constellation…». Few great artists have worked without a deep knowledge of the preceding culture and today, if one doesn’t reflect on this aspect, he risks reaching misleading conclusions. This doesn’t mean one needs to be tied anachronistically to the past; on the contrary, in my case knowledge of the artistic expressions of ancient epochs has spurred me on: I study the past and the present as equidistant aspects in my daily artistic exploration. I want to be an artist of my times. I read art texts from different epochs, I linger over rock paintings in the same way that I study installations at the Biennale di Venezia, I keep in mind each and every experience so that I can deepen and widen my cultural horizons.
It’s curious to hear such comments from someone who graduated from D.A.M.S. in 1977, during the years when figuration was declared dead and buried…
Those were years when art galleries were often exclusive, closed clubs and culture gravitated around certain forms of power. Today (as then) I consider it limiting to talk about art in this sense. I’ve worked hard for the privilege of not having a label, of evolving without restrictions. With regard to figuration I’ve never believed that it really is dead, likewise I have always been interested in current informal artistic expressions. I’m convinced that the human form emanates a timeless fascination. Today there’s less rigidity of thought and quite a few stylistic realities can co-exist and produce interesting debates.
Your independence of ideas and expressions seems very strong to me, even (or better, above all) when you tackle sacredness and spirituality. Do you think there is still space for themes of this type and do you think there is an actuality of language suited to our times?
I must make a necessary distinction when referring to the relationship between the Catholic Church and spirituality in a broad sense. The official church normally tends to be partially conservative and when iconographic innovations are proposed one runs the risk of some misunderstandings arising. The problem that comes immediately to mind regards placing contemporary art in ancient churches, plus the fact that sacred environments have always been contaminated places, subject to superimpositions and stratifications of artistic expressions. I believe that, following this line of thought, it would be interesting to evaluate new proposals, too; a quality contemporary work can be set within an ancient context.
Concerning the theme of spirituality meant as a way of placing oneself towards the idea of living, the situation is even more complex. I have this feeling that everything that surrounds us is intersected by an identical, mysterious, transcendent dimension. This great mystery has always fascinated and enthralled artists.
Is this how we should read the fractures that break the lines of your drawings, your terra-cottas and bronzes?
Those fractures are the breath, the osmosis that is created between the object and the surrounding reality. I’m referring to the dilation of sense that can be liberated from even the most insignificant object. I might even say that all things are a part of sculpture and sculpture is a part of everything.
…Can the poetics of the not-finished be interpreted like this, too?
In the not-finished I interpret the sense of life, i.e., its continual transformation, time that doesn’t fossilize and death which is not an end in an absolute sense. That’s why mine are works in “becoming”. Ours is the epoch of social complexities… I think that being without certainties can lead to reflection and experimentation. I look at my work with a most critical eye and never feel completely satisfied. My aspiration is to give life to the spirit of our times.