Friday, 6 December 2019

Alberto Spadolini - Galeotto fu il lenzuolo review



It is not easy to write about Alberto Spadolini: his archive includes heterogeneous documents, such as articles in different languages (among them French and Flemish) and photographs that it is difficult to place within his career. Marco Travaglini, his nephew and biographer, has uncovered material on his uncle since 1978 and has been studying it at least since 2004. Thanks to him Spadolini’s life has emerged from the fogs of oblivion. Alberto Spadolini - Galeotto fu il lenzuolo. Arte, amore e spionaggio nella Parigi Anni Trenta [Alberto Spadolini – It all started with a sheet. Art, love, espionage in 1930s Paris] is Travaglini’s latest book, a novel mostly based on documents. The title refers to Spadolini’s 1932 debut as a dancer. As he did not have a costume to wear, he chose a sheet which was valued for its originality. In many photographs, included Dora Maar’s refined portrait that has been chosen for the book cover, Spadolini wears various kinds of draped fabric (scarves, cloaks, etc.) as ornament, maybe as a memory of that debut.

Spadolini (1907-1972) was a famous music-hall dancer in 1930s Paris and, after that, an appreciated painter both in France and abroad. He was also decorator, singer, actor, restorer and director.

Travaglini opens the book quoting another novel on Spadolini, Il Gioco di Spadò [Spadò’s Game] by Augusto Scano, published in 2015. Spadolini is dying in a hospital and somebody (Death? A friend?) asks him to dance and invites him to do so as he has never done before. This is a significant introduction because, as I stated in 2007, dance represents a fil rouge in Spadolini’s career, even after he stopped dancing, in that it constantly returns in his paintings.

The narrative is divided into two main threads: one set in 2015 and dedicated to the fictitious character of Dora, an Italian American PhD in Renaissance art who is given the task to write a book about 1930s dance in Paris; the other is centred on Spadolini’s life that spans from the 1920s to the 1970s. Dora’s publishing house asks her to find “a key, a protagonist, something or somebody who can become the subject for a book”. Surprised, Dora discovers the exhistence of an unknown figure who has her same surname, “‘Josephine Baker and...Spadolini?’ But it is my same surname!”. Thus begins her adventure in search of Spadolini that will bring her to Italy and France in the company of archivist Maurizio.

Spadolini’s life flows through the pages thanks to recurrent flash-blacks that move the action to when the artist met Gabriele D’Annunzio and Anton Giulio Bragaglia in 1920s Italy, when he became a famous dancer in 1930s France, when he danced in front of Hitler in 1940, when he performed with Walter Chiari in Italy after the Second World War and so on till his last years.

Many of these flash-backs stand out for their historical interest. For example, the Spadolini-D’Annunzio connection poses some reflexions. On the one hand, historian Giordano Bruno Guerri considers it a possibility, on the other, he highlights the fact that there are no documents about it. In truth there are, but they do not come from the period during which they met, that is the 1920s [1] but from a lot later, 1971, when Philippe Jullian published his biography on the Italian poet. Maybe Guerri refers to the lack of primary sources (precisely those closer to the period of the event) and not to the presence of secondary sources as Jullian’s book is. A debate on sources would imply a long digression, but we can briefly analyse this one.

Jullian thanks Spadolini in the acknowledgment page but does not name him in the episode about his encounter with the poet at the Vittoriale. One wonders why. Did Spadolini explicitly ask for his name to be omitted? Why would he do that? Jullian was not an amateur writer: born as illustrator, he wrote some novels to then focus on art history and biographical studies. His book on Symboism, Esthètes et Magiciens [translated into English as Dreamers of Decadence] contributed to the rediscovery of that art movement. Some of his books, including his biography of D’Annunzio, have been translated into Italian. Jullian dedicates a couple of pages to the encounter between Spadolini and D’Annunzio, pages that do neither represent a fundamental aspect of the poet’s life nor a considerable portion of the book itself: he could have simply taken them away, but did not. Furthermore, as Travaglini has specified, this source has been confirmed by Patrick Oger who knew Spadolini well.

Considering Jullian from another perspective, we could look at what he actually does not say. In fact, when he thanks Spadolini, he calls him “the famous dancer” without saying anything about his paintings. Why? Exhibitions on Spadolini’s work had been organised since the 1940s, why did he omit this aspect? At present it is not clear, but we know that Spadolini had been deeply attached to his paintings since the 1920s, when he was studying art in Rome.

One of his first notable paintings was a San Francis he completed in 1925. At that time he could not keep it safe at his place in Rome and left it in Ancona, at his parents’ house. Unfortunately, his father Angelo, who had refused to join the Fascist Party, lost his job and decided to sell it. When he discovered it, Spadolini became very angry. He tried to recover his work and discovered that it had been sold to a church in Bradford, New York, USA. When he went on tour to the States, he hired a photographer to have a picture taken of his painting and this is all we have of it today. His attachment also emerges from his decision to join the Third Order of San Francis, probably after the Second World War. Travaglini dedicates an intense page to his uncle’s devotion for the saint, quoting his own words: “Francis has taught me to give for the joy of giving, to be happy with what I have, to consider the rich as the real poor because they are often poor in their spirit and soul”.

Spadolini’s words return in other parts of the book, as in his 1935 article, “Impressions of America”, that Travaglini published also in his 2012 book, Spadò – Il danzatore nudo. Spadolini talks about the United States after coming back from a tour there, “an American city shows itself as a continuous example of human velocity”. He compares the Parisian music-halls with those in the States, highlighting the fame of the French capital, “in general, when the production shows a French label, it is skyrocketing”. He then criticises North American racism, after noticing its “unspeakable repulsion towards the yellow and black races” while dining with black artist Alma Smith.

Dora and Maurizio discover information on Spadolini thanks to this and other documents, commenting them and formulating questions on his life. In this sense, Travaglini’s book is as much about Spadolini as it is abut the complex act of writing a book on him. Connected with this aspect, there is another character, a blogger who publishes superficial articles on Spadolini. His work, inspired by an exhisting book, Ignazio Gori’s Alberto Spadolini – Danzatore, pittore, agente segreto [Alberto Spadolini – Dancer, painter, secret agent], shows the great difference between a fourteen years (and counting) long study, as Travaglini’s book is, and Gori’s work, where Travaglini’s findings are mentioned (beginning with the 1978 box of documents) but never acknowledged. One could recognise its unprofessional approach even only from the book cover, where a beautiful photograph of Spadolini is turned upside down (what are possible readers supposed to think of it? That Spadolini danced that way?). Worse still, the book is described as the ‘study’ that gives back “its right weight” to Spadolini’s work , creating a false idea in those who do not know anything about either Spadolini or his nephew, a very grave and disrespectful act. Through the blogger character, Travaglini questions and deconstructs Gori’s book, reclaiming the respect that his own work and his uncle deserve, “‘Your blogger – vehemently said Dora - ‘alludes to something, but what proofs does he offer?’. ‘None!’, replied Maurizio”.


NOTE

[1] There is an indirect source from that period that attests Duilio Cambellotti’s presence at the Vittoriale. According to Pierfranco Andreani, who wrote a brief biographical introduction on Spadolini in the brochure of his Roman 1967 exhibition, Spadolini became Cambellotti’s apprentice while studying at the Art Academy in Rome. It is therefore plausible to think that Spadolini went with him to the Vittoriale.

Saturday, 26 October 2019

Martha Graham's choreosophy - talk



On October 12, 2019, I delivered a talk titled "La coreosofia di Martha Graham" [Martha Graham's choreosophy] at B-Nario in Montecosaro (Macerata), Italy, as part of Sostantivo femminile, a series of events and exhibitions dedicated to women artists. There were some technical problems and an unforseen delay in my talk, but I had some very intersting feed-back from the audience.
On the term 'choreosophy' I have already written about in this blog, see here and in my book on Graham's Letter to the World [the link leads to a detailed synopsis in English, but the actual book is in Italian]. I would like to thank Marco Di Pasquale who organised the event, for having invited me and for his help.

Wednesday, 2 October 2019

Afrofuturist Degas essay


My essay, "Afrofuturist Degas" has been published on the visual arts magazine Roots - Routes. It is an Afrofuturist analysis of Ken Browar and Deborah Ory' photographs of Misty Copeland posing as Degas's ballerinas, photographs that were published on Harper's Bazaar in 2016.
I had been wanting to write about those photographs for a long time and am very grateful to Roots - Routes for having allowed me to do that. I cover different topics throughout the essay, such as the absence (until fairly recently) of black ballerinas in ballet history, blackface and the notion of both ballet and photography as technologies. I wish I could have explored these aspects a bit further but I could not due to reasons of space.
The essay is available online here.


Monday, 16 September 2019

Presentation of Spadolini documentary


On Tuesday 27, August 2019, in the Pinacoteca in Jesi (An), I presented an evening dedicated to dancer painter Alberto Spadolini where Riccardo De Angelis and Romeo Marconi' documentary, Spadò - Il danzatore nudo (2019) was showed, followed by a chat with the directors and Spadolini's nephew, Marco Travaglini. Here is my review of the documentary.
The Pinacoteca is becoming a reference point for the rediscovery of Spadolini as, thanks to my collaboration with them (mainly thanks to Simona Cardinali) on November 10, 2012, I organised and presented another event to celebrate Spadolini, Dalla tela al palco - Vita, pittura e danza di Alberto Spadolini, which consisted in a lecture performance done in collaboration with dj Nooz and dancer and choreographer Roberto Lori, and an interview with Travaglini and sculptor Massimo Ippoliti.
In February 2017, the directors shot the video interview they made with me in the Pinacoteca as well.
I therefore thank them for their help and kindness.



Martha Graham's Letter as a dance adaptation essay


My essay, "Martha Graham's Letter to the World: A dance adaptation of Emily Dickinson" has been published last June on the Journal of Adaptation in Film & Performance, Vol 12, Ns 1-2, 1 June 2019, pp. 33-48. 
In it I analyse Graham's Letter as a dance adaptation, to show how she converted Dickinson's poetic (and not just poetic) material into dance. I also briefly focus on the notion of dance adaptation itself.

Thursday, 20 June 2019

Spadò – Il danzatore nudo: a documentary on Alberto Spadolini


 Official trailer of the documentary.

Attics sometimes reveal entire worlds, dusty and long forgotten. Spadò – Il danzatore nudo [Spadò: the nude dancer] opens in an attic, with a dusty, somewhat vintage atmosphere and a double bell alarm clock. Because this is a journey through time, the time when Alberto Spadolini, (1907-1972), a young boy from Ancona, Marche, went to live in Rome in the 1920s, where he studied painting and then moved again to France, where he became a famous music-hall dancer in 1932.

Spadolini’s rediscovery began in 1978 precisely in an attic, where his nephew, MarcoTravaglini found a box filled with documents of all sorts (photographs, articles, posters etc.) about his uncle’s life in France. Spadolini did not really talk of his role as dancer and Travglini was surprised at what he discovered. He went back to this material in 2004 when he methodically started to search for his uncle’s secret past. The documentary creates an evocative atmosphere as Travaglini speaks in the attic, “every now and then our particularly mysterious uncle would come (…) he was very loved and would come to visit us once or twice a year. He would come in a big enormous American car" with presents for his nephews.

Riccardo De Angelis and Romeo Marconi have directed the first documentary on this little known artist, in collaboration with Marco Travaglini, who is also the director of Atelier Spadolini. Spadò was the nickname with which Spadolini was called by his friends and sometimes by the press. The title also refers to the fact that he often danced almost nude and should not be confused with Travaglini’s homonymous 2012 book title. This documentary is a fascinating journey divided into three intertwined planes: one centred on material on and by Spadolini, another represented by people who either knew him (his nephews and a friend) or know about him (a journalist, a writer, an art historian, myself as dance historian etc.), and the third one made by the Nicoletta Fabbri Quartet’s Paris-inspired music (one member of the Quartet is Stefano Travaglini, Marco's brother).  

Journalist and writer Alberto Bignami brings us to Spadolini’s birth as a love child: his mother, Ida, was working as a maid in the house of an aristocratic family, had an affair with her master, got pregnant and was fired because of that. She was about to leave Ancona, when railway worker Angelo Spadolini, earned her trust and welcomed her and her baby in his house.

Writer and philosopher Antonio Luccarini tells us that young Alberto showed a gift for drawing and started studying painting with local artist Armando Bandinelli. He then moved to Rome to study with Vatican painter Giambattista Conti. In the capital he attended Anton Giulio Bragaglia’s Teatro degli Indipendenti where many avant-garde artists were. According to art historian, Stefano Papetti, Spadolini “surely deserves (...) to be better investigated”. There is a dynamism pervading his painted figures that may come from his contact with the futurist painters that he probably met at the Teatro.

A good part of the documentary is devoted to the supposed friendship betweeen Spadolini and Gabriele D’Annunzio, about which Travaglini has talked since his first book on his uncle, Bolero-Spadò: Alberto Spadolini, una vita di tutti i colori (2007). Art historian, biographer, illustrator Philippe Jullian thanks Spadolini in the acknowledgment page of his 1971 book on Gabriele D’Annunzio, “Spadolini, the famous dancer, has told me about the trip he made to the Vittoriale when he was very young”. The Vittoriale degli Italiani is a set of constructions promoted by D’Annunzio in Gardone Riviera in the North of Italy. There he spent the last part of his life and there he apparently met Spadolini in 1924. Jullian does not explicitly name him, in the book, but when we read of a young decorator who becomes D’Annunzio’s friend and then goes to France, we can easily make the connection with the reference the author has previously made in the acknowledgment page. This connection has been corroborated by one of Spadolini’s friends, Patrick Oger who has confirmed to Travaglini that the young decorator in Jullian’s book is Spadolini. In the documentary, historian and biographer Giordano Bruno Guerri, who has written on D’Annunzio, highlights the possibility of this encounter even though the sources are not consistent enough.

Poster of the documentary.
Another aspect of Spadolini’s life which lacks consistent sources is his possible role as secret agent. Writer and essayst Fabio Filippetti, states that when one talks about the secret service “it is difficult to gain information”. However, Spadolini was a known artist and could move in different places without arousing suspects. And the intersting thing is that “we find him (…) in strategic cities in particular during the [Second] World War”. Travaglini explains his view on the matter quoting, among other elements, the friendship between Spadolini and codex enthusiast Ives Gilden. It is possible that further material will emerge with time.

I had the task of speaking of the role of Spadolini as dancer. I was quite nervous during the interview and did not say as much as I wanted. I called Spadolini a primitivist dancer as he performed in various acts inspired by those cultures that at the time were seen as primitivist. Primitivism is a complex, colonial and controversial notion that invests various fields such as art and literature. At the turn of the twentieth century it had to do with Westerns’ fascination for the Others whose works began to be considered as art and inspired many Westerners’ artistic forms. Pablo Picasso’s Les demoiselles d’Avignon is the recurrent example, in this sense. I did not refer to these aspects in my interview, but De Angelis and Marconi focused on one of Spadolini’s few recorded primitivist performances, his solo in 1936 Pierre Caron’s film, Marinella. There Spadolini moves nearly nude on a small stage in the shape of a drum, recalling perhaps a primitivist culture ritual and mingling diverse dance techniques such as classical dance and flamenco. Spadolini was also famous for his Bolero that he probably presented in 1933 and that was set to Maurice Ravel’s music and was noted for his interpretation in Gigue to Bach’s music, the same year.

In the documentary Luccarini emphasises how Spadolini became a dancer “without any technical knowledge” and before that I quote Jenny Josane’s 1941 article where Spadolini himself confirms that. However, there are other sources that state otherwise and it is very likely that he studied dance during his Roman period. Furthermore, after his 1932 debut at the Casino de Paris, he also started taking classes from two ballet teachers, Alexandre Volinine and Blanche D’Alessandri.

Of particular interest is Sergio Sadotti’s testimony. He knew Spadolini in the years 1957 and 1958 when the artist would go to Porto Sant’Elpidio to visit his sister who lived under his flat, “Alberto immediately stood out for his personality, a great personality and elegance (…). I saw him paint paintings that he would quickly roll and send to his gallerist in Paris.”

These and other interviews are all blended in with beautiful images of Spadolini’s statuesque presence and of Paris. More specifically, video fragments from his own black and white 1950 documentary, Rivage de Paris, flow and reveal monuments of the city such as the Eiffel tower as well as its musicians, like an accordion player whose image is elegantly juxtaposed to that of the Nicoletta Fabbri Quartet. One of the songs the Quartet plays is Josephine Baker’s 1930 “J’ai deux amours”, which is apt for Spadolini too, as it recites, “I have two loves, my country and Paris”.

De Angelis and Marconi have done a really significant and at times superlative job thanks also to Travaglini’s archival support. Spadò – Il danzatore nudo, which is also available with English subtitles, is an important work, another step towards a better comprehension of Spadolini’s enigmatic figure.

Sunday, 21 April 2019

"Not I": Autobiography by Wayne McGregor

A scene from Autobiography, photo Andrej Uspenski.


“What does it mean to write one’s own story?” recites the programme of Autobiography (2017) by contemporary dance Company Wayne McGregor. It is a complex question and dancers and choreographers have responded to it in different manners. Modern dance pioneer, Isadora Duncan, introducing her 1927 autobiography, remarked on the difficulty of writing, “it has taken me years of struggle, hard work, and research to learn to make one simple gesture, and I know enough about the Art of writing to realise that it would take me again just so many years of concentrated effort to write one simple, beautiful sentence”. More recently, ballet dancer and choreographer Carlos Acosta has dealt with the question of autobiography in various ways, that span from his semi-autobiographical 2003 work, Tocororo, to his 2008 book No Way Home to the weeks-old release of a film about his story, Yuli, where autobiographical elements intertwne with the film narrative.

McGregor has opted for another path, that of science, technology, fluid kinetism and some ‘seeds’ from his past. The genesis for this choreography, as David Jays from The Guardian has pointed out, began with his fascination for artificial intelligence and with what role could it have in his work. This brought McGregor to focus on his genetic code and on how he could transform it into another form. He also took some personal aspects from his life, “family things, photographs, poetry I have written” and turned them into what he calls ‘volumes’, sections that are assembled at every performance according to an algorithm created by Nick Rothwell. In this way, every performance has a different sequence.

The one presented at the Ponchielli Theatre in Cremona, Italy, on Saturday 13th of April, began with “1 avatar”, where a bare-chested male dancer moves across space, articulating his arms up and down, kicking one leg backwards, extending his legs and then going down in deep second. It is an intense solo that seems to create a sharp contrast with the geometric structure above him. Designed by Ben Cullen Williams, it covers the whole stage ceiling and it consists of metal poles in the shape of pyramids pointing downwards. It is a huge structure that will move down and up during the performance. As in “6 sleep”, when it dramatically moves down almost touching the stage floor and ‘forcing’ the dancers to assume a horizontal position (the one we take when we sleep).

The dancers are all exceptional. I remember watching McGregor’s work years ago (probably around 2008) in London. I think the choreography was Entity (2008). His company at the time was called Random Dance and was again made of great dancers. However, I noticed a kind of unsmooth quality in their movement, something that disappeared when I saw his Infra (2008) performed by the Royal Ballet. In Autobiography, the dancers command both the grammar of classical dance and that of more torso-oriented techniques. The arms, for exmple, cut the space in numerous directions, taking the shapes of balletic port de bras or magnetic and quick unfolding and retracting lines. It is a real pleasure to watch this fluid approach to movement.

The other aspect that stroke me is the masterful light design by McGregor’s long time collaborator, Lucy Carter. In some moments one can only say “Wow!” to what she has elaborated. Like in volume “19 ageing”, when a pink-haired female dancer, arms in second, is enveloped by a beautiful red light or in “8 nurture” when blinding lights from the back of the stage are repeatedly turned on dirupting the audience’s sight.

Autobiography is and is not about McGregor. It is about his genetic code, fragments from his life transmuted into movement, lights, music, set, dramaturgy and so on. One of the volumes is called “13 not I” and is paradigmatic of his approach. It is not about his own individual self in traditional narrative terms. In the programme note he talks about the body as archive, a notion that has been under scrutiny by dance scholars for some time now. One of them, André Lepecki, has analysed it in relation to some examples of re-enactment, stating that it is “a system of transforming simultaneously past, present, and future”. And McGregor considers it along these lines, “not as a nostalgia-fest but as an idea of speculative future. Each cell carries in it the whole blueprint of your life.”