Lina Fucà

Lina Fucà

Lina Fucà

April 8 – June 11, 2016
extended until July 23, 2016

opening 08.04, 6-8 p.m.

Looking at others, letting oneself be looked at, looking at oneself: it is from this combination that the works of Lina Fucà on show at the Galleria Giorgio Persano from Friday, 8 April 2016, draw their stimulus.

This combination takes a multitude of forms and processes: from the projection of a video in which the artist and an Egyptian girl compare each other using similar and distant gestures, to the composition of a light box in which a self-portrait is created from the overlay of portraits of other people; from filming of the artist being dressed by women who transform her into a resemblance of themselves (a tangible sign of cultural encounter), to the tenacious yet light shadow left on large sheets of white paper which describe the inner journey of a young woman on the threshold of disappearing.

Lina Fucà was born in Turin in 1972. After attending Liceo Artistico, she joined the Accademia di Belle Arti di Torino, graduating in painting.
In those same years, she began to execute paintings live with the a theatre group called Il Barrito degli Angeli. This experience broadened the artist’s stance of making her own figurative work create a dialogue with other expressive forms such as theatre, music and video. The natural development of this dynamic relationship led her to work on set designs and costume with numerous theatre and independent film companies.

Interaction between different artistic forms has in recent years become the characteristic of her research, which is based above all on a reflection on the perception of self in relation to the perception of “the others”.
An example of this is her “Vedo nel velo non vedo” (‘I see in the veil I don’t see’) video, presented at the Fondazione Merz in July 2013 as part of the Meteorite in Giardino event.

Ancora un po’ (‘A little bit more’) is a film that captures – or tries to do so – the gesture of a wild, playful embrace between the artist and her small children, a gesture that is also an attempt to render eternal something that is biologically transitory: it will be impossible to embrace with that intensity in future, when time will have passed, and the bodies of the mother and, above all, of the children will be unable to relate in this physical way to the same extent. All this is experienced in a rarefied landscape in which the bodies move suspended in a sort of dance that seems not (to wish) to terminate: sweet and dramatic like the violent melancholy of the black and white, colours that exhaust the material dimension of an unreal time and space.

Senza lasciare tracce (‘Without leaving a trace’) is formed of ten life-size white sheets of paper impressed with the image of a female figure recorded at different moments. Where do these fragile and ethereal apparitions come from? Do they emerge from memory and from the void to reclaim an identity or are they instead vanishing and what we can still see is only something destined to disappear forever? Are they shadows left on the sheet by a body struggling to be there no longer or, on the contrary, to stay there? This conflict lives also in the text accompanying the figures, words that can be just made out, fragments suspended between the obsession of the memory and the desire for oblivion.

Unopertreugualesette. Five screens set vertically, with each screen divided into three equal parts with three distinct yet similar shots. In these, the artist is filmed by another woman in her own house. A dressing begins whereby through her own clothes, the guest gives a new face and appearance to the artist. Each, in her own time and in harmony with her own habits, transforms the person before her into someone else, giving her another identity, in an encounter between image of self and a body to be manipulated. In describing the development of this action, the three films align themselves to the point of coinciding in a single rhythm and single duration. In the final scene, after this brief voyage in another woman, the artist remains alone in her new appearance before the lens. There are seven women who appear in this process in each screen: the artist, the three woman who welcome her and the three forms Lina Fucà incorporates at the end.

Core. “And the pupil, as Socrates says to Alcibiades, is the finest part of the eye, not just because it is the ‘part which sees’, but because it is the place where another person looking will find ‘the image of himself looking’” (Roberto Calasso, The Marriage of Cadmus and Harmony). This work may be considered as a whole or as single elements that go to make up the entirety. It consists of ten light boxes in which an overlay of a photograph and of a self-portrait of the artist appear together with a further portrait of persons linked to her: the result is a gaze understood as a meeting of looks, which find a new dimension in each losing its oneness. An integral part of these light boxes is a monitor showing them together, divided into two images: in one we see the author of the portrait at the moment of looking at the subject to be portrayed; in the other, the uncertain, creative hands seeking to give form to that same gaze.

Vedo nel velo non vedo (‘I see in the veil I don’t see’). This film is the result of a meeting between two worlds and two ways of perceiving the body and describing oneself, which only apparently are very different to each other: a young child at the primary school where the artist teaches and the curiosity aroused by seeing a girl in a veil next to other girls with their long hair falling free; plus the attraction for tidy and elegant gestures in fixing headgear that is not only headgear.