One, none and a hundred thousand.
The difference between a walk in the historic center of Florence, a glass of Franciacorta along the Lombard vineyards or a visit to the Gallery of Modern Art in Palermo can only be condensed into a single concept of belonging. Destinations, horizons and scenarios of many facets that are part of a unique wonderful place, Italy. In this editorial we wanted to accompany you on a journey to discover the diversity and the similarities present on the territory between cultures, societies and architectures able to talk about identities coming from different corners of the world. 360° contaminations that have made Italy in a past few years a pearl that can reflect in its uniqueness the myriad stories that have left their mark on it. The Year of the Villages has just ended in Italy, a tourism of well-being that, as long as the veins articulate its geography, has allowed us to discover Italy with another look, once dilated, able to reveal details and nuances in its oriental forms, buildings with a gothic flavor that rise towards the sky in search of a contact with the divine, eternal cities founded on the glories of great empires.
But it is always in the kitchen that we Italians rediscover our true nature of a country that can accommodate diversity and the far away. Take for example our national dish, the one with which we are now known allover the world, pasta. The pride of a people is the emblem of our “contamination”. In Italy there are about 300 types of dry pasta, but it seems that its origin is to be placed in China about 4,000 years ago and only thanks to the barbarian invasions during the Middle Ages has reached our tables, to join the inevitable tomato sauce, originating in the countries of South America.
Here then that Italy assumes the great value of representative of the world beauty.
male and female noun
The person who receives or entertains guests at home or elsewhere. The person who enjoys hospitality or is, as invited, in another’s home was sacred for the ancient people.
Welcome, it is a word that we often hear of these times, “acceptance of the other” and “integration” have become mantra that the policy is repeated with goals often not aligned with the ideal who would have us believe. Walking on the street we constantly encounter different faces, looks and gestures belonging to cultures, traditions and horizons far from ours.
But have we ever allowed the luxury of thinking what actually represents for our society the host, such as the possibility of rebirth for the territory that silently carries with it, as a bag full of memories and promises? Talking about diversity is easy, the harder it’s to find in everyday reality the countless coexistence stories, the “non-events”, the design that away from the reflectors triggers interactions with each other and explores the potential of hosting reflections, rites, identities, creating new communities in continually state of experimentation.
The amazement of sharing thoughts and actions coming from different realities contains the seeds of change and precedes a possible idea of coexistence which can only work on different relational levels, in shapes that vary from place to place, time to time. The starting point of this editorial is the belief that diversity should not be read as a problem. If we learn to accept the stranger, accommodating him to our design table, we will be able to accommodate the new fluid and contextual identities, parts of a future tissue in perpetual spinning.
ON THE ROAD
Since man began to walk the earth has always been moved by curiosity to find out what was concealed in his eyes beyond the horizon, an atavistic desire that pushed him to overcome physical, geographical and anthropological boundaries, with the unstoppable hungry for adventure.
That’s how for centuries discovered lands and crossed borders, becoming an integral part of the history of those places.
From the Middle Ages onwards the space of the journey, intended as a more or less predetermined route if not more often left to the scent of the moment, becomes the scene of stories and adventures, of which you feel the need to capture traces, a memory of what we have seen along the way.
Thus it was born a new idea of travel, entrusted to the daring search for knowledge and training, combined with an indomitable delight for evasion and fun. The journey as a challenge to the unknown takes shape in the late sixteenth century, “Journey to Italy” or “Grand Tour”.
The physical and emotional involvement that finds vent in itineraries starting from the “Italian dream” go through the landscape and the rediscovery of antiquity.
Chasing the dream of “open air museum” Scene Mediterranee wants to retrace what is now the pleasure of discovering traces of great civilizations, capturing and sewing up the extraordinary Italian landscapes textures, horizons that allow you to get in touch with the genuine authenticity of places, in the belief that the identity of a country is strongly linked with its story and its geography.
I waited thirty-two years to love the sea. I waited quietly, happy to stay anywhere else. When I saw it for the first time I studied the boundaries, waves, unexpected flavor air. But the smell of Pantelleria that has torn my heart is the odor of pipe. Months after the fire that burned the hair of Pantelleria its lava rocks have become blacker and the vineyards of raisin wines have become black gold. The smell of wood burning in Pantelleria is the same as just unlit pipe of my father, the one where the wood absorbed tobacco, smoke creeping in of strong wood grain, one that is not afraid to be blown and sucked. Pantelleria is a common place where to fall easily. Its green does not exist. His concept of the fierce nature is the wait, the grape that grows old in the sun and gives eternal life to the serum of euphoria, the raisin.
In Pantelleria the rocks hosting the prickly pears but with solemn detachment, his warm hands are those of a blue sea that has no equal. It is not azure is blue, permanently blue. Blue is so beautiful that it is inaccessible. The green is so rare that you will find it to pierce the mountains discovered from the boat: a green that has all the grace of a precious stone hard. Hidden only on high walls forty meters. The green in Pantelleria is what makes a happy motorcyclist raised in two bends from the Chianti hills who knows surprised at the foot of the Great Mountain while driving a battered scooter and locates vineyards of vines, kept on estates, apparently abandoned for centuries. In Pantelleria the wind blows round (cit. Ken Loach) because it brings about, will not give you pause, bend frizzy bushes as capricious soul divas and will be a headache. Inflate the temples and ask you to come back. More in love than before.
In Pantelleria green it is what is called caper: a sour or sweet taste, depending on the time of day when you shall eat it. In Pantelleria green is what you pursue in the streets do not know, between blacks snakes as pitch and sunsets in which to learn to recognize the rose that exists in nature and does not exist in life of metropolitan and dry skin. In Pantelleria the Milanese by free radicals are at home. Dammusi have as mansions, have dotted paths of friends who come, visit and siestano. But they shall not prevail: there is colonization of the island more colonized the Mediterranean. The Phoenicians called it Yrnm, the island of squawking birds, the Romans spread their thermal baths as a proper burial in their libido. And Pantelleria hosted everything with patience and sagacity: be a sponge of cultures as to erupt through its principles vulcanini.
In Pantelleria sings songs you do not know, eat canned sardines falling while watching the blue boats from the port of Scauri, hear the wind whistling and early to bed at nine o’clock, you dive at seven in the morning and you still have not figured out where to look the horizon to find the neighboring Tunisia. From Pantelleria headlights are born free ideas, land kissed by the sun too vehemently sticking diamonds for couscous with vegetables. In Pantelleria orders an eye to savor it the first time, remember, back to eat with bare feet and sunburned skin, perhaps after having grilled fish in a summer storm. The Pantelleria is green in its balance unfriendly and dangerous: that of the first and last love.
This jumble of history and geography, land and water, ancestral myths and traditions that we define perennial Mediterranean, each one of us carries within himself small and inevitable traces. Are signs under the skin, furrows and facets of our character, incisions in the family memory of us, Italians pilgrims. Are obvious, for those who know how to investigate, the footprints this Blu has imprinted in our daily way of existing.
Yes, it’s true. More and more we holed up lulled by our I-phone, listening to the Brit Pop of the White Duke and his followers.
Let us suppose also that we are in perfect sync with the American novels and series, designed to hypnotize us with their compulsive sequence of wide frames and pathologic details and urban high resolution. But let’s be honest; basically we never stopped attuning the ear and the soul to the saccharine and provocative sirens sing by Ulysses onwards produced the enchanting sound of a thousand blues Med;
we have never entirely left the Ithaca hero saga, transfigured into new hero, such Montalbano, continues to wander in landscapes scenic of stone architecture and tuffs, patches of olive and mastic trees, sand and sea foam, intent to unravel the man eternal knot looking for his essence.
Our instinct make us continue to investigate the sense of belonging to this fate, chase the traces, cultural and philosophical, literary and artistic. As we all know, the left marks assume the ‘existence of someone or something’ that strongly supported its footprint, as the plow on the ground.
Thus, traces of presence, passage and signal of which we are led to detect, investigate, chasing plots. Documentary materials and witnesses of the past, traces can also be imagined as the preparatory lines of a new painting, a preliminary sketch on which attemping to fresco a possible future, sustainable, just and rewarding for all of us who animate Mediterranean scenes.
THE HOSPITALITY GALLERY
Art galleries are the place where artworks and collectors meet, merging knowledge, competence and research. The authors represented are emphasized by the vision and the passion of the curator, making his job unique yet coherent.
We have similarly imagined the SCENE MEDITERRANEE project, as a gallery hosting new perspectives about our Mediterranean identity: skills, ideas, thoughts and experiments that might contribute to the evolution and sustainability of the Italian know-how, evolving through millennial cultures, traditions and lands.
On this perspective, the outfitting aims at making visual and tangible the SCENE MEDITTERANEE website, structured in five different categories that explore the various aspects of the Mediterranean Italian unicum, through the early contributions of artists, writers, businessmen, photographers, designers and chefs.
You will find five visual stories, operas, objects and pictures throughout the gallery. In the middle of the space are instead emphasized the collections edited by SCENE MEDITERRANEE, through the collaboration with qualified companies and iconic artisans of the “Made in Italy”.