FROM SOIL TO PLASTIC: THE CURSE OF NATURE

In hindsight, I think Isola desired to flip the coin on the reverse. Out of all the incredible forms of life and their stories told a thousand ways by people of different generations, ethnicities, visions and emotional gestations, Isola tried to create subtle magic tricks in these relatively new and creative works. However, his large-scale works made of hand-sewn anti-hail, anti-pest agricultural netting widely used in industrial agriculture across Italy lead me to question his sincerity in relation to the ecological discourse he is seeking to examine as mentioned above in his artist statement about Rurale. Major part of this aesthetically appealing series is made entirely of plastic and not biodegradable. It simply contributes to the suffocating pollution of the landscape that is under huge pressure from agricultural and industrial enterprise. I wonder why this exhibition has been titled, Metamorphoses. Is it because Isola has transformed what is natural, good and capable of innocent decay into something that is not natural and cannot decay? Is it because he wanted to make a reference to Ovid's Metamorphoses in which "miraculous changes is passed in review, from the dawn of creation, when chaos was changed by divine fiat into the orderly universe, down to the very age of the poet himself"? (p. 9-10) So, if there is a reference to Ovid's magnum opus, I am afraid I do not recognise it for it fails to deliver that level of profoundness. Also, the death of our humanity and the decay of our planet are stark realities, and for sure. they are not part of the classical mythology Ovid was seeking to weave together in one monumental work when he began Book 1 with these words: "My mind is bent to tell of bodies changed into new forms."

Since its early beginnings in the 1960s, the subject of environmental art has become increasingly popular across the world. It is hard to ascertain how many contemporary artists are currently working on this theme but every art fair I have been to in the last decade and most galleries across the globe and private and public art institutions are full of works that signal the death of nature. While some of the earliest artists (to name a few of the pioneers; Nils Udo, Andy Goldsworthy, Robert Smithson and Agnes Denes) focusing on the environment have sought to work with found materials or conducting experiments and undertake interactions with the natural environment, a large number of today’s artists work with toxic and single-use materials to highlight humanity's greatest challenge: how to save our world from the consequences of toxic consumerism. I think the greatest questions in relation to this debate remain obscure, unasked, unanswered, and intentionally hidden from sight. I think there is ample room for criticism of this kind of green-washing inclination in art as well as in other industries that leaves much to be desired both aesthetically and morally.

I am well aware that artists are part of the global economy, and they too need to make a living. They too need to turn the cogs of the system; they often find that in order to survive they inevitably become part of the problem. None of the works displayed in this series titled Metamorphoses are site-specific as most of them have been exhibited elsewhere in the last three years. The territory surrounding Pinerolo is mostly dedicated to monoculture and animal husbandry. In some ways, some can debate that these works that form the entirety of the “biennial” hit the spot simply because of the location where they have been exhibited since September. Yet, you could take them and recurate them in any other city and they would still carry the same message. In any case, I don’t think that highlighting the works of any single artist counts as putting on a biennial and neither does it fulfil the premise of that large-scale, international format which I am not particularly fond of. Any mammoth-size art and culture event with thousands of participants makes my hair stand on end. However, Scultura Diffusa could and should be a fantastic opportunity for both local and international artists and cultural thinkers to come together, to pave the way for new and innovative discourses, to enrich the visual arts that is - despite what gallerists and art brokers will tell you - sadly on its last leg. Perhaps with more impetus, collaboration and a certain vision to do better, it will be in the future. 

I head back to town centre and visit Galleria Losano - a gallery with an impressive history and the pioneering force behind Scultura Diffusa - where one can see a group of Isola’s small sculptural works that ring truer to his identity as an artist of camouflage. The exhibit here is collectively titled, Paessaggio bacato, with damaged bunches of old grape varieties, wild apples eaten from the inside out, insect-damaged vine leaves that were sprayed with copper and allowed to oxidise have been curated against the charcoal black of the linear stands with pendant light features diffusing a soft light on them. An eerie sound installation accompanies the works that are nostalgically poetic in their state of fragility. They appear to resonate the thoughts of an artist from a different period, not like the works of the artist I saw earlier that morning. In this manufactured worm-eaten landscape, our shared moral corruption is clearly represented. There are also ink drawings of some of the most damaging pests of our contemporary age, such as the stinkbug that sucks the life out of plants and fruits of all kinds. These intricate drawings are also mounted on the same kind of agricultural netting that Isola used in other large-scale outdoor works. I understand his reason for using the same material repeatedly, but I cannot bring myself to stomach it.

I leave the gallery and head to my final two sites. First, the park of Villa Prever – home to some three hundred hydrangeas and the Didactic Museum of Natural Sciences that is only open on Sundays from 10 am to 6 pm – where Isola’s Palpares libelluloides (2022) hovers over a pond. I sit on the bench across from it with mosquitos angrily biting my ankles, I ponder the meaning of our defunct existence; does it mean anything to make art about this sinisterly silent erasure of our natural legacy? Spotting a dragonfly dancing around Isola’s grand plastic antlion, my only rejoice is the thought of every living creature that has managed to survive despite humans.  Turning Emerson’s quote on its head, what does the dragonfly, the ant, the stinkbug, the bee, or the wasp know of our human condition? The only thing they probably know and understand about us is our absolute willingness for destroying them and their habitats. On a daily basis I see people - young and old, male and female -  polluting the streets, the forest, the river with an unimaginable variety of rubbish even though they know they should not. Even though they know they should not they still do it. So what does that say about our human condition? That we are immoral, depressed, hopeless and uncaring? Nothing matters anymore because we are stuck in a cycle of consuming and defecating, and that has become our purpose? I can almost hear the echo of an optimist, "Be positive, have hope!" I look behind me, there's an empty children's playground, littered with cigarette butts. Who should be here is not here, and what should not be here is here. Rephrasing Ralph Waldo Emerson, if only we could see that we are constantly immersed in beauty, but our eyes have no clear vision (Essays: First and Second Series, Two Volumes in One,  The Riverside Press Cambridge, 1925, p. 354). And art, for the sake of art, is only another cog in the greased up machinery of capitalism. 

I walk to the Cavallerizza Caprilli but at 15.00 it is yet to open. As I wait under the sun I read the brochure of the “biennial.” Olga Gambari – independent curator, art critic, journalist and former artistic director of The Others Art Fair in Turin – signs off the introductory text for Metamorphoses with a quotation from Ernst Jünger translated into Italian: “When everything is silent things begin to speak: stones, animals and plants become siblings and communicate that which is hidden. An invisible rainbow surrounds that which is visible.” Later at my desk, I research this quotation, but I fail to find it. Jünger was a prolific German writer, a military man, and an entomologist. I am perplexed as to why Gambari decided to end her brief text with a quotation by a conservative man who was against liberal values and democracy at a time when our very existence as humans are under threat of ruthless totalitarian and conservative regimes. This quote really has no meaning at all in the context of today’s world. Gambari perhaps chose to quote an entomologist with a political agenda because today’s art industry lies lifeless in the tight grasp of brutal conservative industrialists in the skin of charitable people who only want the best for our world. And, if the stones, animals, and plants became siblings and have communicated something to us, it has obviously skipped our very short and tattered attention span. The phrase, “An invisible rainbow surrounds that which is visible” is also a waste of breath and has no depth other than a bad attempt at poetry. Gambari could have used the words of any other environmentalist writer or entomologist as a closing statement; a little online research goes a long way. Here are some perfectly arching quotations by living specialists:

"Insects are the silent storytellers of the natural world, narrating tales of survival, adaptation, and coexistence." - Mary Jane West-Eberhard

"In the symphony of nature, insects provide the rhythm, melody, and harmony that sustain life's song." - Bert Hölldobler

"Through the lens of entomology, we find poetry written in the delicate script of insect anatomy and behaviour." - Marla Spivak

"The silent conversations among insects speak volumes about the interconnectedness of all living things." - Richard Dawkins

To add, the leaflet is only available in Italian. I am fortunate to have a good grasp of the Italian language but what about all the tourists who flock into the city from Turin with just a few simple everyday expressions?

Which leads me to my next point: accessibility. On the whole, the city of Pinerolo is not very accessible to disabled or elderly visitors, but the Cavallerizza Caprilli tops the chart of the least accessible locations. Purpose- built in 1910 as the indoor riding arena of the Cavalry School and named after its star instructor Federico Caprilli, access to the sand-floored indoor area is through a chipboard ramp. The space is vast and full of light so its perfect for exhibiting art. I am aware that it is still used for equestrian events but it requires renovation, cleaning and updating. Although some may find this space charming because of its antiquated features, a visitor with physical disabilities and/or sensory impairments would find it impenetrable.

Isola’s works Bruco (2025) and Crisopa (2023) are installed across from one another. I enter into the caterpillar which serves as a temporary home to some flies and mosquitos as well as a couple of munched on vine leaves as in the gallery exhibition. Here though, the way the leaves are displayed are not as artful as those in Galleria Losano. The entire structure of the caterpillar has been set up like a tent and bound by single use cable ties. Where will all this material end up once it is taken down in January? The hours of work put into this monumental installation astounds me but fails to impress. After the caterpillar, I want to see the butterfly but there isn't one. Is this part of the dark message Isola is attempting to transmit? Yet again, the same repetitive connotation, the same material, the same neon yellow. I then walk up the stairs to the viewing gallery - access to which is impossible for visitors with disabilities as there is no elevator in sight, where I find a video installation in which Hilario Isola talks about his work and two wall-mounted works, Macaone (2022) and Tignola (2022) that have a 3-D feel to them. These are smaller takes on the same entomological theme, perhaps more suitable for a collector with limited space and fewer means. Still, I find it a repetitive and uninspiring take on the insects used in organic agriculture to defend plant health. In these sculptural installations dedicated to insects, I would have liked to experience a sense of movement.

In conclusion, it gives me hope to see that a small city on the outskirts of Turin – an international hub competing to become Europe’s centre for AI and technology – can find the economic means and the artistic energy to have its own monographic sculpture exhibition running every other year. I can only imagine what a struggle it must be to get a project like this going, especially in a country where red tape is commonplace. However, as it stands Scultura Diffusa can merely be prized as baby steps towards an artistic and curatorial voyage that will one day exalt Pinerolo - in close partnership with Turin - as an alternative arts and culture city that thrives on inclusivity, tackles actual challenges and strives for ever-lasting impact.