CURA.

FRANCESCO CARONE
Il Disinganno

SpazioA, Pistoia 

Dec 15 – Feb 2, 2019

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Having survived four decades, the ideal Dantesque median threshold, Carone acknowledges the uselessness of second thoughts and that regret serves even less purpose. Choices, as such, always represent only the least worst alternative, the most appropriate course of action at the moment they were made. Acting contrary to one’s own best interests is therefore impossible, and whenever it may appear instead feasible, it is only an illusion generated by dichotomy’s gap between what we only choose to believe right and what our subconscious really induces us to pursue.

In a sort of conscious abandonment of logical meaning, the artist proceeds through self-analysis in the attempt to penetrate deeper, more instinctive levels, and in doing so once again revises his (or her) personal mythology populated by idols as solitary and as concerned as the artist (perhaps because it is almost always a ‘he’) with understanding and making himself (or herself) understood, blind divinities (always two-faced) obsessed by the race of time and silent archetypes induced by and deduced from disparate metaphysical universes, setting them up inside an enormous but highly fragile net, symbolically knotted over years of fatigue, to remind us that our every action and choice, including even those that grant us freedom, will one day prove to be - as if reversed in a mirror - nothing but traps, fishnets impossible to escape because despite the fragility of the twine they are made of, in the end, represent the only reason or reality that justifies our having lived until this moment.

It is only from this vantage point that the authentic meaning of the title (above and beyond the reference to the sculpture done by Francesco Queirolo in 1753/54 in Cappella di Sansevero in Napoli) may be perceived as most certainly meaningdisillusionmentin its most radical and definitive sense of finally being able to unburden oneself of the (often illusory) hope that sustains the artist and the uncertain work at hand.

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CREDITS
Courtesy of SpazioA, Pistoia
Photos by Camilla Maria Santini

OTHER TIPS
When I was a weird little kid in suburbia obsessed with horror of all kinds, my grandfather (who isn’t alive anymore) built me a haunted house. I could pretend I was a ghost or a bat or a werewolf crying blood over a cardboard tombstone. Sadie Coles HQ, London
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