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ROOM 2 / GIULIO Delve March 30 to April 7

30 MARZO – 7 APRILE

GIULIO DELVÈ

OPENING DOMENICA 30 MARZO ORE 18.00

series "Tumbleweed" (a term used in military radio communications to deliver the request for information if you give a little awareness of the situation), which is the first mature work of Giulio Delvè , is developed on the basis of a general interest for mechanics, for the cool devices, mechanisms to be studied and replicated, assembled by himself, which relies, in some cases, the artificial propagation of movements and elementary sounds that he is not capable of making naturally. Giulio Delvè the "machine" have analog soul, simple and complex at. The need therefore to understand, to respond to the destructive power of high technology eva ta to its extreme potency is expressed in a straightforward manner: those that should be efficient means of war, become embalmed silhouettes, immobilized by a simple lint that prevents them from moving and bandages memory. The video - Untitled ( Tumbleweed series), 2007 - exposes the impotence, the folly of technology at the service of war, repeated the lament of a maniac embroiled in a straitjacket.

The text Flora Visca, accompanying the exhibition, analyzes what might be termed the mental state of man after the advent of powerful technology. An analysis in the first person of the ethical implications of "machine" and its unfair use.

NO SHADOW MY of FLORA VISCA

Tumbleweed is the echo of a voice I hear inside me, a silent cry out not only by men but also from other living beings from inanimate elements, the nature of humanity.

From the bottom of the third millennium comes the deafening noise of an engine, a loud noise that blunts my mind ... the "machine" takes the headway to leave, but was almost immediately stopped by an obstacle that lies behind the camera and who, by virtue of this position, as if bearing witness to the impossibility that is the source of the mechanical device.

The machine will "persist" in the recurrence of the same operation.

I look around, my eyes trying to understand who triggered the car, but I do not see my other shadow. L 'idea that there is no controlling that device strikes me some anxiety because I suddenly feel that the car in which I should spot a trace of humanity, in fact, is completely alien to me.

I have the urge to escape, get away, break free ... but its pathology ves you, now, even me.

The beat of my heart begins to accelerate, fueled by fear, the idea that in front of me there is something you can not hear that beat, that does not know that I exist, do not even know that it itself exists.

I immediately comes to mind that a machine is not self-conscious and therefore can not self-government, is not capable of thinking, feeling and process my own emotions. It is an ambivalent feeling what I feel, the instinct is to flee, the need is, however, remain.

In any case I feel I can not escape the grip of the big auto blindfolded because it is present, under different guises in every aspect of life in the world is on the fields of war in the streets, in the workspaces in my home, on my desk, in pockets of my ves titi, is on the tv screen, including children's games. Is on the body and body, and its presence invasive and all a devaluation of life itself: it comes in and holds it, the harnesses, paralyzes it, edit it, and forces it to change its habits.

But life is not only crushed by the machine, there by man, a particular type of machine that can even destroy the life: the war machine, the most hideous inventions human symbol of despicable ambition, still alive in the minds of contemporary men.

When I was a child I thought that the war was one thing away from me in both time and space. I had the naive belief that it was something that went from studying it in books for this reason. Growing up I had also learned the bitter truth that, in reality, war is present, even when it is absent, no matter where he plays a war, how far it is from me, because I feel, I feel its injustice.

War do not understand, although I explain, I do not understand.

makes me want to ves tire again my clothes as a child to give birth to a dream, perhaps through one of those countless drawings I did as a child. Draw a huge war machine, wrapped in so many strings and they would keep close to wake up.

VERSIONE ITALIANA

30 MARCH - 7 APRIL

GIULIO Delve

OPENING SUNDAY 30 MARCH 6:00 pm

The "Tumbleweed" series (tumbleweed is a term used in military radio communications to request information about an on-going situation) is the first mature work by Giulio Delvè . It draws on the artist’s interest for mechanics, complex devices, mechanisms to be studied and replicated, that he assembles himself and that he sometimes uses to artificially reproduce elementary movements and sounds that he is not capable of making naturally. For Giulio Delvè the “machine” has still got an analogical soul, simple and complex at the same time. Therefore the need to understand, to react to the destructive power of high technology is expressed in a straightforward manner: powerful war equipment become embalmed silhouettes, immobilized by a simple gauze that prevents them from moving and bandages their memory. The video – Untitled ( Tumbleweed series ), 2007 – reveals the powerlessness, the foolishness of technique at the service of war; the repetitive groan of a maniac bridled in a strait jacket.

The text written by Flora Visca for the exhibition analyses what could be defined as the man’s state of mind after the appearance of the powerful technology. A first-person analysis of the ethical implications of “machine” and its iniquitous use.

NO SHADOW BUT MINE by FLORA VISCA

Tumbleweed is the echo of a voice that I hear inside of me, a silent cry let out not only by men, but also by other living beings, by inanimate elements, by the very nature of humanity.

From the bottom of the third millennium there comes the deafening noise of an engine, a strong noise that blunts my mind....the “car” gathers way to start, but it is almost immediately stopped by an obstacle that is located just behind the car itself and that becomes, for the position it occupies, the witness of the impossibility that lies at the origin of the mechanical device.

The car reiterates the same operation over and over again with obstinacy.

I look around, my eyes trying to understand who started the car, but I see no other shadow but mine. The idea that nobody is controlling that device gi ves me anguish because I suddenly feel that the car, in which I should spot some trace of humanity, is instead completely alien to me.

I impulsively want to run away, go far, free myself.... but I am affected by the same pathology of the car by now.

My heart starts to beat faster because I am scared, because of the idea that in front of me there is something that cannot hear that beat, that doesn’t know I exist, doesn’t even know it itself exists.

It suddenly comes to my mind that cars are not self-conscious, and as a consequence

they can’t drive themsel ves ; they cannot think, nor feel the emotions I feel. I have mixed feelings...on one side I want to run away, on the other I feel the need to stay.

In any case I feel I can’t escape the grip of the big blindfold automaton because it is present, under different guises, in every aspect of life: on the war fields, on the city streets, in the workspaces, in my home, on my desk, in the pockets of my clothes, on the tv screen, in children’s games. It is on the body and inside the body; its invasive and all-absorbing presence debases life: it penetrates it and holds it, it bridles it, paralyzes it, modifies it, and forces it to change its habits.

But machines do not just crush life; man, in fact has created a particular type of machine that can even destroy life: the war machine, the most hideous of human inventions, the symbol of a despicable ambition, still alive in the heart of the contemporary man.

When I was a child I thought that war was something far from me both in time and space; I naively believed it was something that belonged to the past and in fact you study it at school. Growing up I had to face the bitter truth that war is present also where it is not present; no matter where a war is taking place, or how far it is from where I am, I still feel it, I feel its injustice.

I do not understand war, even if they explain it to me, I just do not understand it.

It makes me want to go back to when I was a child, and bring a dream to life, maybe through one of many drawings I used to make at that time. I would draw a huge war machine, wrapped in a lot of laces, and I would hold tight until I wake up Them.