A nude heart

written by Sergio Gabriele, December 10 2008

(tranlated by Stefania De Donatis)



Olga De Gasperis is not only “nude men” but  this  theme is certainly very important  for her artistic transfiguration  a  bi-dimensional sculpture with its depth which is expressed by its monumental nature or by the glasses streaked by  the horizon on reminiscence drops, liquid colour incrustations, chromatic condensed crossings.
All this reminds us of the aner’s undressing, that is the prototype of the avenging, clairvoyant but superficial and oppressor angel. A kind of “soft tragedy”, this man is portrayed like a “mannequin” not only refined by wings and ephebic feamus but embellished by sordid, just pointed out lacer. This man is simply master of the representation of nothing in a static pseudo remission  of the original sin from which history absolves him.  It is as if from the millennial narration of his incursions, he showed a little more than a rethorical repentance immortalizing himself in his tabernacle of faded arguments: nude.  
Someone  said nude is the first form of disguise, this is the reason why Olga recomposes the sadness of the human being in his fluent hair which conceals clots of blood in female bodies that male hides as a shame, through tired but dignified sexes, as if love was sometimes averse to a showed off power, boasted by a faun proud of himself in tip of hoofs, who hates himself looking  in the mirror, Just like the animal.
First of all Olga directs the mirror, reconverges  the convex fire, so that man has an instinct to withdraw, scared by the idea of his ugliness but he surprisingly sees his nudity conceived again in the refracting game of the second and third personality. A bitter surprise if it is compared to the style of woman who poses in cool academies or in as much cool artists’  studios who are obliged up to madness to portray the hoped returning  forms of something that they have turned out with vi-rulence.
It is not attributable to Olga the rashness of innovation, of overturning  roles that capture the imprudent, superficial being who abundantly feeds on the representation in the attempt to restore the oversights of man’s childhood  and adolescence. Olga simply reveals, by means of layers,  the ambivalent knowledge of the origin that is without winners and defeated, sometimes  with opposed purposes of an anti-litteram prudent revenge, but it is only an instant because painting silences the sibylline love analysis like overturned hate, of hypocrisy as functional defence in the eternal conflict of the genre.  
The colour. Olga’s canvas disorientates because it mimics the mannerism of clothes and ionic capital columns, lively games of hired immobilizations between sacred and profane, renaissance misrepresentations of true reality, through glancer that vanish among ordinary stage backdrops. No, the scene is always blunt, embellished by the measure taken with the brush but it is pitiless. The model has not stage tricks to cling to, “trompe-l’oeil” that make its lightness strained but it is left nude in front of itself not because it is undressed but, at last, gripped by a desperate sense research.
This concept is confirmed by the refusal of instrumental escapes like the abandonment of perspective, the semantic  confusion of colour and Picasso’s  forms, where it would have been easy to dissolve the denied negation, giving the reader  the duty to interpret the new meanings.
Olga moves along the genres, like veils that show themselves, having a preference for the concrete but not formal figurative, respecting  proportions, the neuroplastic chiaroscuros, the soul chromatic movements, without leaving them the time of being painted, or darting away into sulfuric analysis of the refusal. The resulting light game is complex, man is stunned before a never deeply known nudity, even in his more or less occasional partner, the painter becomes confused with the production, refracting the breathing of a never ended work but left to a nearly photographic becoming that is apparent death, and the user finally restores his concerned part, as legitimate heir of the ambitions of both , in a multiform identity game which goes beyond  symbolism or the stage score.
It is a panic liberation from schemes and superstructures, of amniotic or spermatic fluid which flows, painted by the portrait gradation, that is not a portrait, but it is drawn from what magma sometimes makes out to sensitive spirits.
The theme is sad, nude will never be really nude, knots do not free for  pure acquiescence to the interactive analysis, even if mediated by the plot, but Olga actually does not want to free any knots, she does not want to induce, put down or reiterate any conflicts, she does not feed on the bitter  chalice of the solution. Olga simply strips her heart, her body, hidden in the light shadow of her alter-ego, of the dreamed dream and of the absolutely emphasized reality to be present in everybody’s glance.


 
odg copyright  2011 powered by SIG.net

I cookie ci aiutano a fornire i nostri servizi. Utilizzando tali servizi, accetti l'utilizzo dei cookie da parte nostra. Per scoprirne di più sui cookies e come disattivarli, leggi la nostra informativa.

Accetto cookies da questo sito.