Sto­ries.

1. THE LOOK, THE FA­CE, THE SOUL.

AD (Italy) - - Storie. -

AN EX­HI­BI­TION PRESENTS 200 IMA­GES FROM MA­RIA MU­LAS’ BOUNDLESS ARCHIVES.

words ELE­NA DALLORSO

Em­pa­thy is a mat­ter of ge­nes, and gen­der. The por­trai­ts of Ma­ria Mu­las might ju­st be scien­ti­fic proof. Un­til 6 Sep­tem­ber 2017, Pa­laz­zo Mo­ran­do in Mi­lan hosts “Obiet­ti­vo Mi­la­no. 200 por­trai­ts from the archives of Ma­ria Mu­las” (cu­ra­ted by Ma­ria Ca­nel­la and Andrea To­ma­se­tig wi­th Antonella Sca­ra­muz­zi­no and Cla­ra Mel­chior­re), an ex­hi­bi­tion wi­th an ac­cent on em­pa­thy. The un­der­stan­ding bet­ween Mu­las and her su­b­jec­ts is clear, whe­ther the pic­tu­res are po­sed or can­did: rea­li­sm, iro­ny, na­tu­ral ea­se, ar­ti­fi­ce, the or­di­na­ry and the ex­cep­tio­nal. Por­trai­ts ma­de du­ring the han­ging of ex­hi­bi­tions, at the Ve­ni­ce Bien­na­le or in New York, at ope­nings, or in the stu­dio. Ar­tists, in fact, we­re the fir­st to no­ti­ce the ta­lent of Ma­ria Mu­las for re­vea­ling tru­th. The show is di­vi­ded into se­ven sec­tions: the fir­st, “Co­da ros­sa con mac­chi­na fo­to­gra­fi­ca”, fea­tu­res self-por­trai­ts and ima­ges of Ma­ria’s bro­thers, Ugo and Ma­rio Mu­las, as well as the pain­ter and wri­ter Emi­lio Ta­di­ni. Next co­me the “Ar­ti­st friends”, “The ci­ty of de­si­gn”, “The fa­shion world”, “The per­for­ming arts”, “The others are bour­geois” and “Wri­ters, jour­na­lists, pu­bli­shers”. And then dra­wings, post­cards, wri­tings, do­cu­men­ting the re­la­tion­ship bet­ween the pho­to­gra­pher and her su­b­jec­ts. Achil­le Ca­sti­glio­ni at his win­dow on Piaz­za Ca­stel­lo, Ma­gi­stret­ti in a quiet mo­ment wi­th his chairs, Max Vi­gnel­li wi­th the who­le fa­mi­ly. The sec­tion “The others are bour­geois”

presents vi­sa­ges and so­cial ri­tuals of the ci­ty, in­ter­cep­ted wi­th great iro­ny: Lo sceic­co bian­co in 1971, Cap­pel­lo con

si­gno­ra in 1970, Mi­la­ne­se la­dies in the gar­den, at the thea­ter, at the buf­fet. «Pho­to­gra­phy is my way of thin­king», Ma­ria Mu­las said. And the red th­read is Mi­lan, wi­th all of its in­tel­lec­tual and ar­ti­stic fau­na. The li­st of ce­le­bri­ties is end­less, in an ar­chi­ve of over 20,000 sho­ts: Ma­ri­na Abra­mo­vic, Ch­ri­sto, Kei­th Ha­ring, An­dy Wa­rhol, Gae Au­len­ti, Gior­gio Armani, Gian­ni Ver­sa­ce, Miuc­cia Pra­da, Gior­gio Stre­hler, Liz Tay­lor, Jor­ge Luis Bor­ges, Gün­ter Grass, Nan­da Pi­va­no, and Gio Pon­ti.

THE FIAT 500 TURNS 60. OR MAYBE 10, IF WE CONSIDER ON­LY THE LATEST VER­SION. A TIMELESS ICON OF STY­LE AND A SYM­BOL OF DE­SI­GN MA­DE IN ITA­LY.

words PAO­LO MAT­TEO COZZI

The 4th of Ju­ly. The day of the de­but of the fir­st Fiat 500 as well as its mo­dern coun­ter­part, in 2007, whi­ch ca­me exac­tly 50 years af­ter the ori­gi­nal. Wi­th 60 years of history and al­mo­st 6 mil­lion uni­ts sold sin­ce 1957, the Fiat 500 is mu­ch mo­re than ju­st a car: it is an au­then­tic pop icon, a sym­bol of Ita­lian sty­le that ne­ver goes out of fa­shion. It all be­gan in the 1950s, when the au­to­mo­bi­le coin­ci­ded wi­th dreams of a new li­fe­sty­le for Ita­lians. Ju­st af­ter the war the two-whee­lers of the Lam­bret­ta by Ce­sa­re Pal­la­vi­ci­no and the

Ve­spa by Cor­ra­di­no D’Asca­nio gran­ted mo­bi­li­ty to an en­ti­re ge­ne­ra­tion. One de­ca­de la­ter, peo­ple we­re rea­dy to swit­ch to ve­hi­cles wi­th four wheels. The eco­no­mic boom swept away the tra­gic pa­st: on Sun­days mo­to­rists left to­wn, hea­ded for the la­kes or the sea­si­de. The fir­st na­tio­nal mo­tor­way, the A1, con­nec­ted nor­th and sou­th, Mi­lan and Na­ples. Bet­ween 1957 and the cul­tu­ral re­vo­lu­tion of 1968 the bir­th ra­te ro­se from 850,000 to 1,050,000 be­fo­re being re­du­ced by half in the am­bi­tious 1980s. Tho­se we­re the years of the Ita­lian vic­to­ry at the World Cup in Spain (1982), of yup­pies and “Rea­ga­ni­te he­do­ni­sm”, the Fall of the Wall and the de­mi­se of the old ideo­lo­gies. The 500 was still a fa­mi­ly ve­hi­cle, the car for the kids. The fir­st car, the pla­ce where peo­ple did things for the fir­st ti­me. It didn’t chan­ge its look un­til the 1990s, and from 1991 to 1998 the se­cond ge­ne­ra­tion was cal­led Cin­que­cen­to, prior to the re­vi­val in the midd­le of the 2000s, wi­th the third ge­ne­ra­tion. In 2006 Ita­ly was again vic­to­rious, this ti­me in Ber­lin, The De­vil wo­re Pra­da, and in Tu­rin La­po El­kann ga­ve the green light to the pro­ject of a new Fiat 500 de­si­gned by Ro­ber­to Gio­li­to. The new mo­del was rea­dy for its de­but on 4 Ju­ly 2007, in the year of the fir­st iP­ho­ne. Con­ver­ti­ble, elec­tric, sty­led by big na­mes of Ita­lian fa­shion: it was an im­me­dia­te pla­ne­ta­ry suc­cess, wi­th 75% of pro­duc­tion ex­por­ted to 83 coun­tries, where Ma­de in Ita­ly con­ti­nues to spread its ap­peal in food, fa­shion, lu­xu­ry, and wi­th an ini­mi­ta­ble ci­ty car. The Fiat 500.

3. THE BE­ST LOVED.

NOT EX­CLU­SI­VE, LI­KE A SMALL VIL­LA, NOR AS DEMOCRATIC AS A LAR­GE APART­MENT HOU­SE, THE PA­LAZ­ZI­NA IS THE FA­VO­RI­TE HOU­SING MO­DEL OF THE RO­MAN BOURGEOISIE. OFF­SPRING OF A MA­STER PLAN OF EXPANSION, THEME OF EXPERIMENTATION OF GREAT ARCHITECTS, BUT AL­SO A HUNTING GROUND FOR UNSCRUPULOUS SPECULATORS, IT IS NOW THE PROTAGONIST OF A NEW BOOK.

words ELE­NA DALLORSO

If the­re is a year ze­ro in the history of the Ro­man pa­laz­zi­na, or the smal­ler and so­me­ti­mes lu­xu­rious va­rie­ty of the apart­ment hou­se, it might be 1909, the da­te of the fir­st ma­ster plan si­gned by Ed­mon­do Sa­n­ju­st di Teu­la­da (un­der the en­lighte­ned mayor Er­ne­sto Na­than), whi­ch di­vi­ded hou­sing in the new areas of expansion of the ca­pi­tal into apart­ment blocks and vil­las. This for­mu­la didn’t mat­ch the am­bi­tions of the bur­geo­ning bourgeoisie: vil­las we­re too ari­sto­cra­tic, apart­ment blocks too hum­ble. So a lo­cal com­pro­mi­se was born, the pa­laz­zi­na, so chri­ste­ned by Mar­cel­lo Pia­cen­ti­ni: th­ree or at mo­st four le­vels, 9 to 12 fla­ts, no need for too mu­ch so­cial in­te­rac­tion (whi­le in Mi­lan the con­do buil­ding was all the ra­ge, a spa­ce of ci­vil coe­xi­sten­ce of ma­ny te­nan­ts). The history of this ty­po­lo­gy, its glo­ry and de­cli­ne, is nar­ra­ted by Al­fre­do Pas­se­ri, a pro­fes­sor of Ap­prai­sal at the De­part­ment of Architecture Ro­ma Tre, in La pa­laz­zi­na ro­ma­na… ir­ruen­te e sba­da­ta (Me­ran­go­li Edi­tri­ce). «This ty­pe mar­ked the be­gin­ning of the mo­st ex­traor­di­na­ry ad­ven­tu­res of edi­fi­ca­tion of whi­ch Ro­me can boa­st, among the architectural op­por­tu­ni­ties of its ur­ban history», Pas­se­ri wri­tes. But it al­so led to the bir­th and spread of an un­sa­vo­ry pro­fes­sio­nal fi­gu­re, that of the pa­laz­zi­na­ro (spe­cu­la­tor). Al­ber­to Sta­te­ra, al­mo­st 40 years ago, pro­vi­ded a per­fect pro­fi­le: «Men un­fa­mi­liar to the pu­blic and the tax col­lec­tors, al­ways he­si­tant about their gram­mar, but con­ser­va­ti­ve­ly esti­ma­ted by Ban­co di Ro­ma to ha­ve ac­cu­mu­la­ted 500 bil­lion, maybe a tril­lion. They we­re the pa­laz­zi­na­ri, a rug­ged Ro­man ra­ce of igno­rant bu­si­ness­men, well-ver­sed in com­plaint and com­pro­mi­se, but al­so ca­pa­ble of re­mar­ka­ble ru­thles­sness; in­cli­ned to of­fer bri­bes, and abo­ve all skill­ful prac­ti­tio­ners of real estate ex­tor­tion». They crea­ted ugly di­stric­ts of ce­ment, de­fa­cing the ou­tskirts of the ca­pi­tal. But they al­so ma­de the ha­bi­tat dreams of Ro­mans co­me true. «The pa­laz­zi­na went th­rou­gh its be­st pha­se af­ter World War II», Pas­se­ri ex­plains. «It be­ca­me a ter­rain of pu­re architectural experimentation, rea­ching an apex of qua­li­ta­ti­ve com­ple­xi­ty in the se­cond half of the 1950s, thanks to de­si­gners li­ke Li­be­ra, Mo­ret­ti, Luc­ci­chen­ti».

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