I never considered myself a photographer for the simple reason that I am not, nor do I have their mental habits, styles, interests or even specific technical skill. And yet over the last ten years I've been using photography in different ways as an essential vehicle of artistic communication in a variety of expressive forms: conceptual, philosophical, analytical (The identity/the time, 1976), poetical, intimistical, narrative (Alice, 1977), subjective, lyrical, emotional (Norwid, 1979), magic, archetypical, alchemical (Night Archetypes, 1980; Stars, 1981; Venetian hearts, 1982). In all of these cases I never considered the problem of photography in itself, far less the problem of so-called artistic photography, but I simply used an instrument I felt suitable to my imaginative needs because of specific qualities, in a relationship characterized by anomaly and arbitrariness, in other words by the utmost formal freedom, with the aim of creating an image that, in its own absolute value, would refer to a precise area of meaning and be recognizable for belonging to specific poetics, as I think should be the case for a painting. So I have always tried to produce paintings by starting from the assumption that the languages of art may expand, as may their interference. Photography allows me to act on the forms of reality in an immediate way by adapting them to the filter of the person who perceives them, just as painting allows me to clothe them with further meanings. (L. Viola, 1982) |