"Chiesa di San Domenico, Bologna" (Postal - Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).
"Là, tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté,Luxe, calme et volupté."
Charles Baudelaire. L' Invitation au voyage, 1857.1
Charles Baudelaire. L' Invitation au voyage, 1857.1
Una vez en París en la rue d'Assas, visitando la casa de unos amigos arquitectos, me topé con un artefacto, especie de esperpento de hierro, muy cercano formalmente al Egouttoir de Marcel Duchamp: un gran Porta-postales. Estaba repleto de postales de ciudades. Y de postales, lógicamente, de arquitectura. Era por lo tanto un monumento a la memoria urbana. Un itinerario personal. Y un viaje.
El singular tótem reunía cartas postales de muchos sitios y edificios de la historia que aunque me eran familiares, allí lucían distintos. Se notaba que las postales habían sido recibidas efectivamente, o que habían sido escogidas con afecto en otro egouttoir más callejero. Tomar una infundía respeto: era una invitation au voyage. Ello, y la tentación a meterse la postal en el bolsillo, resultaban sencillamente terribles. Fue allí que me volví coleccionista empedernida, ¡yo también!
Besos y abrazos. Ricordi. Souvenirs. No me olvides jamás. Wish You Were Here. Esta es la vista más bella, aquí está la clave del paisaje. Este es el edificio más emblemático. Desde aquí, el mejor crepúsculo de la Riviera. En ésta, las plazas de Italia. Sincere auguri. La escalinata, la rada, el balcón, el panorama. Forget Me Not. La estampa es del tamaño justo: calza en una mano. Le doy la vuelta, y dejo mi registro. De mi puño y letra, la clave de mi caligrafía: mi prisa, mi ansiedad, mi nostalgia, mi rúbrica. Escribiendo, invoco el tiempo ideal en que se conjugan las Slow Cities.
En cada lugar del mundo las postales han sido el sensible registro del hilo de la vida, la testimonianza. Aún de la contemporánea. Al escoger el fotográfo el mejor punto de vista y lanzarlo al mundo, esa imagen inicia un viaje postal, que implica, como sabemos, infinitas idas y vueltas. Así, el viaje que hemos podido disfrutar gracias a la exposición 150 Saluti e baci, organizada por el Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas para celebrar los 150 años de la Unidad de Italia (1861-2011), es también a su manera, otro monumento a la memoria urbana.
"Venezia-Canal grande" (Postal. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).
Curada por Luigina Peddi, honorable Agregado Cultural de Italia en Venezuela, la exposición ofrece un recorrido por todas las regiones italianas en casi doscientas postales antiguas. Allí trabaja con una selección tomada del archivo Colloridi y de las colecciones Tinto & Tomat, buscando revivir "los hechos acontecidos en el país durante el período más significativo de la Unidad de Italia, para conocer la evolución de los italianos y entender sus sentimientos y reacciones más profundas."2
Aunque la mano que guía los recorridos propone muchos caminos posibles en el denso bosque simbólico de usos, costumbres y tradiciones que interpretan los cambios de la sociedad -como el análisis de la grafía-, es el intercambio de postales de ciudades y lugares históricos y artísticos, "sinónimo de un orgullo nacional que expresa el deseo de compartir el rico patrimonio", el que nos atrapa.3
"Rimini, Kursaal" (Postal. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).
En el brillante desfile postal aparecen en primer lugar las Città d'arte. Una a una, con sus sempiternas maravillas. Bologna a la acuarela. Roma, con un Anfiteatro Flavio tridmensional. Venecia multicolor en su Canal grande. Rimini y su neoclásico Kursaal. El simétrico Palazzo del Litorio de Udine enclavado en su bidente urbano, y en la cartolina de Trento, el Cortile del Leone es el orgullo del Castello del Buon Consiglio. Florencia aparece retratada en la Piazza della Signoria y Milán en una gloriosa panorámica en sepia de su Stazione Centrale. Cierra el grupo un Torino di notte en Piazza San Carlo, con luces de neón a lo Calle Real de Sabana Grande.
"Trento-Castello del Buon Consiglio, Cortile dei Leoni" (Postal. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).
"Firenze-Piazza della Signoria, Loggia dell Orgagna" (Postal. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).
"Milano-Stazione Centrale" (Postal - Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).
"Torino di notte-Piazza S. Carlo" (Postal - Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).
Luego viene el album de los años 1930s, Ricordo di Messina. Allí, sus treinta y dos incomparables vistas sobre fondo color marfil nos hacen preguntarnos qué diablos hemos hecho con nuestras vidas que aún no hemos visitado su lungomare...
"Ricordo di Messina-32 vedute" (Album. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).
"Messina-Lungo mare-Sea promenade-Le long de la mer" (Album. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).
Inmediatamente se nos sorprende con una reflexión sobre el paisaje mediterráneo. Una serie de panoramas lo explica: en el panorama de ensueño de la Riviera dei Fiori, la ciudad costera de Alassio se aprecia desde lo alto en una visión idealizada. En el de Amalfi, la vista se descuelga hacia poniente; en la Riviera delle Palme, en la Liguria, encontramos un serpenteante "oasis de paz". Es la relación clásica que se establece desde tiempos inmemoriales con el Mare nostrum: la de la contemplación pasiva.
"Amalfi-Scorcio panoramica da ponente" (Album. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).
"Finale Ligure-Riviera delle Palme-Un oasi di pace" (Album. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).
Más adelante -también en el tiempo-, otra postal marca la ruptura de esa visión marítima en lontananza. Está dedicada al "furioso sommozzatore" (buceador furioso). La gentil curadora nos la señala con atención en el itinerario. Aquí la costa mediterránea es fotografiada por primera vez de cerca: las olas rompen contra una terraza con "furie di onde" (furia de las olas). Un grupo de personas, no obstante, departe tranquilamente a su lado. Es la apropiación urbana del borde del agua.
"Furia di onde" (Postal. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).
En la serie siguiente, titulada convenientemente "Estate al mare" ("Verano en el mar"), el soberbio lungomare de Nettuno, cuenta ahora con calle, alameda, paseo, balaustrada y playa con sombrillas. Capas que se suceden hasta alcanzar la orilla. Es la ciudad que ha descendido al nivel del mar. Y, a partir de allí, el Golfo de la Spezia en Portovenere, el Casino Municipal de San Remo, directamente sobre la costa, y la moderna Marinella de Nervi, construida en las rocas. Con el auge de los balnearios, la playa se volverá una verdadera industria. Y las postales lo registrarán.
"Nettuno-Palazzo Comunale e lungomare" (Postal. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).
"Nervi-La Marinella e Golfo Paradiso" (Postal. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).
"Nervi-La Marinella e Golfo Paradiso" (Postal. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).
Lo cierto es que por toda Italia la ciudad es redescubierta. Los pórticos ojivales de Bolzano. Los jardines públicos de Cuneo. Pallanza, en el Lago Maggiore. El dilatado panorama sutilmente otomano de la ciudad de Padova, con sus domos azules. Dipinto a mano.
"Bolzano Antica" (Postal. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).
"Padova" (Postal. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).
Pero la que mejor lo certifica es una cartolina, bella entre todas, en blanco y negro. Retrata a la Torre del Mangia de Siena y su campana, que aflora desnuda por encima de la fábrica de ladrillo y piedra hasta que se convierte -en el medio del cielo-... en una veleta.
"Siena-Torre del Mangia" (Postal. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).
Desearíamos seguir por los interiores florentinos de la Santa Croce, por entre las columnas de Brindisi, por la edilicia desconocida de Lecce, por el litoral de Massa, por las fuentes de Roma, por los puentes de Taranto, Trento y Torino… Tánta arquitectura, tántas ciudades, tántas historias, tante cartoline! Portami via, anima mia. Mas no podemos llevarlas a todas en el bolsillo.4
Pero sí su invitación al viaje. Para irnos para siempre hacia a esa Italia idealizada: allá, donde todo es orden y belleza, lujo, calma y voluptuosidad.
NOTAS
1. Charles Baudelaire. Les Fleurs du Mal, Poulet-Malassis et de Broisse Librairies-Editeurs, París, 1857.
2. Luigina Peddi. Exposición "150 Saluti e baci", Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas, Caracas, 2011.
3. L. Peddi. Op.Cit., Caracas, 2011.
4. Zucchero. "Soldati nella mia città", en: Sugar Fornaciari Chocabeck, Universal Music Italia, 2010, p. 3.
1. Charles Baudelaire. Les Fleurs du Mal, Poulet-Malassis et de Broisse Librairies-Editeurs, París, 1857.
2. Luigina Peddi. Exposición "150 Saluti e baci", Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas, Caracas, 2011.
3. L. Peddi. Op.Cit., Caracas, 2011.
4. Zucchero. "Soldati nella mia città", en: Sugar Fornaciari Chocabeck, Universal Music Italia, 2010, p. 3.
Cartoline
Once being in Paris in the rue d'Assas, at the house of some friends architects, I ran into an artifact, a kind of iron grotesque, very close formally to Marcel Duchamp's Egouttoir: a big Postcard-holder. This was full of postcards of cities. And, logically, of postcards about architecture. It was therefore, a monument to urban memory. A personal itinerary. And a trip.
The singular totem gathered postcards from many places and buildings from history that, although were familiar to me, looked quite different there. You could see that the postcards had been actually received, or affectionately chosen in another egouttoir on the street. To take one, instilled respect: it was an invitation au voyage. This, and the temptation to get the postcard in the pocket, were simply terrible. It was then that I turned into an inveterate collector, me too!
Kisses and hugs. Ricordi. Souvenirs. Do not ever forget me. Wish you were here. This is the most beautiful view, here lays the key to the landscape. This is the most emblematic building. From here, the best sunset in the Riviera. In this one, the squares of Italy. Sincere auguri. The steps, the bay, the balcony, the panorama. Forget Me Not. The picture is the right size: fits in one hand. I turn it, and I leave my record. From my own handwriting, this is the key to my calligraphy: mi rush, mi ansiety, my nostalgia, my signature. Writing, I invoke the ideal time in which Slow Cities are conjugated.
In each place of the world postcards have been the sensitive record of life's thread, la testimonianza. Even of contemporary life. When the photographer chooses the best point of view and sends it back to the world, that image begins a postal trip, that implies, as we all know, many twists and turns. Thus, the trip that we have been enjoying thanks to the exhibition 150 Saluti e baci, organized by the Instituto Italiano de Cultura of Caracas to celebrate 150 years of the Unification of Italy (1861-2011), is also, in its own way, another monument to urban memory.
Curated by Luigina Peddi, the honorable Cultural Attache of Italy in Venezuela, the exhibition offers a journey through all the Italian regions in almost two hundred antique postcards. She works with a selection belonging to the Colloridi archive and the Tinto & Tomat collections, looking to "relive the events that happened in the country during the most significant period of the Unification of Italy, in order to know the evolution of the Italian people and understand which were their deeper feelings and reactions."2
Although the hand that guides proposes many possible paths within the dense symbolic forest of uses, customs and traditions that interpret the changes in society, like the analysis of handwriting, it is the interchange of postcards of cities and of historic and artistic places, "synonymous of a national pride expressing the desire of sharing its rich heritage", the one that captures us the most.3
In the brilliant postal parade appear in the first place the Città d'arte. One by one, with their sempiternal wonders: Bologna in watercolor. Rome, with a tridimensional Anfiteatro Flavio. A multicolored Venice in its Canal Grande. Rimini and its neoclassical Kursaal. Udine's symmetrical Palazzo del Litorio nestled in its urban hoe, and in Trento's cartolina, the Cortile del Leone is the pride of the Castello del Buon Consiglio. Florencia is portrayed in black and white in the Piazza della Signoria while Milan is shown with a sepia panorama of its Stazione Centrale. the groups closes with a Torino di notte in Piazza San Carlo, with neon lights like the Calle Real de Sabana Grande.
Afterwards comes the 1930s album, Ricordo di Messina. There, thirty-two incomparable urban views with an ivory background make us ask ourselves what the hell have we done with our lives that we have not yet visited its lungomare... Immediately we are surprised with a reflection about the Mediterranean landscape. A series of panoramas explains it: in the dream-like panorama of the Riviera dei Fiori, the coastal city of Alassio can be seen from above in an idealized view. In that of Amalfi, the view clings down to the west; in the Riviera delle Palme, in the Liguria, we find a winding "oasis of peace". Is the classic relationship established since inmemorial times with the Mare Nostrum: that of passive contemplation.
Further on -also in time-, another postcard marks the rupture with this distant maritime vision. Is the cartolina dedicated to the "Furioso sommozzatore" (furious scubadiver). The gentile curator points it out carefully for us in the itinerary. Here the mediterranean coast is photographed up close for the first time: the waves break against a terrace with "furie di onde" (fury of the waves). A group of people, nevertheless, quietly chats next to them. Is the urban appropiation of the waterfront.
In the next series of cartoline, titled "Estate al mare" ("Summer at the sea"), the beautiful lungomare of Nettuno, has now street, trees, boardwalk, balustrade and beach with umbrellas. Layers that succeed each other until the water's edge. Is the city that has come down to sea level. And, from here on, the Golfo de la Spezia in Portovenere, the Casino Municipal of San Remo, right on the shore, and the modern Marinella of Nervi, built on the rocks. Later, with the rise of public resorts, the beach will become a real industry. And the postcards will register it.
But what is true is that, all over Italia, not only the sea, but the city itself, are rediscovered. The ogival porticoes of Bolzano. The public gardens of Cuneo. The subtly Ottoman wide panorama of the city of Padova, with its blue domes. Dipinto a mano. But the one that certifies this better is a cartolina, beautiful among all. In black and white. Portrays the Torre del Mangia de Siena and its bell, that outcrops above the bricks and stone fabric until it turns -in the middle of the sky-, into a vane.
We wish we could go on by the florentine interiors of Santa Croce, by the columns of Brindisi, by the fountains of Rome, by the unknown urban fabric of Lecce, by the bridges of Taranto, Torino and Trento… So much architecture, so many cities, so many stories, tante cartoline! Portami via, anima mia. But we cannot take them all in our pocket.4
But we can surely take with us their invitation to travel, to leave forever toward that idealized Italy, there, where everything is order and beauty, luxe, calm and voluptuousness.
Publicado en/Published: Papel literario, El NACIONAL, Caracas, 11 de diciembre de 2011.
The singular totem gathered postcards from many places and buildings from history that, although were familiar to me, looked quite different there. You could see that the postcards had been actually received, or affectionately chosen in another egouttoir on the street. To take one, instilled respect: it was an invitation au voyage. This, and the temptation to get the postcard in the pocket, were simply terrible. It was then that I turned into an inveterate collector, me too!
Kisses and hugs. Ricordi. Souvenirs. Do not ever forget me. Wish you were here. This is the most beautiful view, here lays the key to the landscape. This is the most emblematic building. From here, the best sunset in the Riviera. In this one, the squares of Italy. Sincere auguri. The steps, the bay, the balcony, the panorama. Forget Me Not. The picture is the right size: fits in one hand. I turn it, and I leave my record. From my own handwriting, this is the key to my calligraphy: mi rush, mi ansiety, my nostalgia, my signature. Writing, I invoke the ideal time in which Slow Cities are conjugated.
In each place of the world postcards have been the sensitive record of life's thread, la testimonianza. Even of contemporary life. When the photographer chooses the best point of view and sends it back to the world, that image begins a postal trip, that implies, as we all know, many twists and turns. Thus, the trip that we have been enjoying thanks to the exhibition 150 Saluti e baci, organized by the Instituto Italiano de Cultura of Caracas to celebrate 150 years of the Unification of Italy (1861-2011), is also, in its own way, another monument to urban memory.
Curated by Luigina Peddi, the honorable Cultural Attache of Italy in Venezuela, the exhibition offers a journey through all the Italian regions in almost two hundred antique postcards. She works with a selection belonging to the Colloridi archive and the Tinto & Tomat collections, looking to "relive the events that happened in the country during the most significant period of the Unification of Italy, in order to know the evolution of the Italian people and understand which were their deeper feelings and reactions."2
Although the hand that guides proposes many possible paths within the dense symbolic forest of uses, customs and traditions that interpret the changes in society, like the analysis of handwriting, it is the interchange of postcards of cities and of historic and artistic places, "synonymous of a national pride expressing the desire of sharing its rich heritage", the one that captures us the most.3
In the brilliant postal parade appear in the first place the Città d'arte. One by one, with their sempiternal wonders: Bologna in watercolor. Rome, with a tridimensional Anfiteatro Flavio. A multicolored Venice in its Canal Grande. Rimini and its neoclassical Kursaal. Udine's symmetrical Palazzo del Litorio nestled in its urban hoe, and in Trento's cartolina, the Cortile del Leone is the pride of the Castello del Buon Consiglio. Florencia is portrayed in black and white in the Piazza della Signoria while Milan is shown with a sepia panorama of its Stazione Centrale. the groups closes with a Torino di notte in Piazza San Carlo, with neon lights like the Calle Real de Sabana Grande.
Afterwards comes the 1930s album, Ricordo di Messina. There, thirty-two incomparable urban views with an ivory background make us ask ourselves what the hell have we done with our lives that we have not yet visited its lungomare... Immediately we are surprised with a reflection about the Mediterranean landscape. A series of panoramas explains it: in the dream-like panorama of the Riviera dei Fiori, the coastal city of Alassio can be seen from above in an idealized view. In that of Amalfi, the view clings down to the west; in the Riviera delle Palme, in the Liguria, we find a winding "oasis of peace". Is the classic relationship established since inmemorial times with the Mare Nostrum: that of passive contemplation.
Further on -also in time-, another postcard marks the rupture with this distant maritime vision. Is the cartolina dedicated to the "Furioso sommozzatore" (furious scubadiver). The gentile curator points it out carefully for us in the itinerary. Here the mediterranean coast is photographed up close for the first time: the waves break against a terrace with "furie di onde" (fury of the waves). A group of people, nevertheless, quietly chats next to them. Is the urban appropiation of the waterfront.
In the next series of cartoline, titled "Estate al mare" ("Summer at the sea"), the beautiful lungomare of Nettuno, has now street, trees, boardwalk, balustrade and beach with umbrellas. Layers that succeed each other until the water's edge. Is the city that has come down to sea level. And, from here on, the Golfo de la Spezia in Portovenere, the Casino Municipal of San Remo, right on the shore, and the modern Marinella of Nervi, built on the rocks. Later, with the rise of public resorts, the beach will become a real industry. And the postcards will register it.
But what is true is that, all over Italia, not only the sea, but the city itself, are rediscovered. The ogival porticoes of Bolzano. The public gardens of Cuneo. The subtly Ottoman wide panorama of the city of Padova, with its blue domes. Dipinto a mano. But the one that certifies this better is a cartolina, beautiful among all. In black and white. Portrays the Torre del Mangia de Siena and its bell, that outcrops above the bricks and stone fabric until it turns -in the middle of the sky-, into a vane.
We wish we could go on by the florentine interiors of Santa Croce, by the columns of Brindisi, by the fountains of Rome, by the unknown urban fabric of Lecce, by the bridges of Taranto, Torino and Trento… So much architecture, so many cities, so many stories, tante cartoline! Portami via, anima mia. But we cannot take them all in our pocket.4
But we can surely take with us their invitation to travel, to leave forever toward that idealized Italy, there, where everything is order and beauty, luxe, calm and voluptuousness.
150 Saluti e baci (Postal invitación. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).
Publicado en/Published: Papel literario, El NACIONAL, Caracas, 11 de diciembre de 2011.
