Dear Shaded Viewers and Diane,
Wow, nostalgia. What an overly emotional trip, this has been. Some may say it would be hard to review wholly objectively when I still have rather vivid memories of sharing a few tears over split toile with a couple at least of the MA people. That is probably true. Nonetheless, however romantic I might have felt at the time, there's no denying the amount of warmth, character and craft these students have put in their collections and show. We might admire grandiosity in Paris, audacity in London – but the IUAV Graduation Show, held on the riverside this Friday night, reflected intimacy and gracefulness I've seldom met elsewhere. Below are some of those I liked the most, and I will refrain from writing in rhymes, but only just.
[[{“type”:”media”,”view_mode”:”media_original”,”fid”:”13119″,”attributes”:{“alt”:””,”class”:”media-image”,”height”:”1058″,”typeof”:”foaf:Image”,”width”:”700″}}]][[{“type”:”media”,”view_mode”:”media_original”,”fid”:”13120″,”attributes”:{“alt”:””,”class”:”media-image”,”height”:”1060″,”style”:”line-height: 1.538em;”,”typeof”:”foaf:Image”,”width”:”700″}}]]
The collection by twin brothers Giovanni and Gregorio Nordio was probably my favourite of the BAs, and not just because of its radical leftist leanings. Although, well, there's that. Inspired by The Working Class Goes to Heaven, it was titled Cipputi after a renowned communist metalworker drawn by Italian satirist Francesco Tullio Altan.
[[{“type”:”media”,”view_mode”:”media_original”,”fid”:”13121″,”attributes”:{“alt”:””,”class”:”media-image”,”height”:”1058″,”typeof”:”foaf:Image”,”width”:”700″}}]][[{“type”:”media”,”view_mode”:”media_original”,”fid”:”13122″,”attributes”:{“alt”:””,”class”:”media-image”,”height”:”1058″,”style”:”line-height: 1.538em;”,”typeof”:”foaf:Image”,”width”:”700″}}]]
Serena Contarini's Scuola Primaria took its clue from the school uniforms worn by her family through the years, across Italy and Africa. Not compulsory anymore in most Italian schools, Serena's uniforms kept the blacks and whites, beiges and pleats of faded old pictures, their melancholy, their memories and charm.
[[{“type”:”media”,”view_mode”:”media_original”,”fid”:”13123″,”attributes”:{“alt”:””,”class”:”media-image”,”height”:”1058″,”typeof”:”foaf:Image”,”width”:”700″}}]][[{“type”:”media”,”view_mode”:”media_original”,”fid”:”13124″,”attributes”:{“alt”:””,”class”:”media-image”,”height”:”1058″,”style”:”line-height: 1.538em;”,”typeof”:”foaf:Image”,”width”:”700″}}]]
Nina, by Florentina Isac, weds the matriarchal families of Moldovan folklore, where the nurse is in charge, to the austerity of Russian constructivism, that never gets old. It reminds me in its spirit of a beautiful film, Celestial Wives of the Meadow Mari by Aleksei Fedorchenko.
[[{“type”:”media”,”view_mode”:”media_original”,”fid”:”13125″,”attributes”:{“alt”:””,”class”:”media-image”,”height”:”1058″,”typeof”:”foaf:Image”,”width”:”700″}}]]
Marco Salcini, <3.
[[{“type”:”media”,”view_mode”:”media_original”,”fid”:”13126″,”attributes”:{“alt”:””,”class”:”media-image”,”height”:”1058″,”typeof”:”foaf:Image”,”width”:”700″}}]]
Scilla Gortan, Gr
