1992 - Alessandro Riva

Alessandro Riva, “Per un nuovo realismo magico,” in Arte Mondadori, April 1992

But he was already on the move, seeking with his feverish gaze (perhaps I was not yet able to understand him fully, at that time) the way to give a meaning to things, and finding a name (or a form, it’s the same) for the houses, the buildings, the places that were growing slowly inside him, conjured up by some distant memory of his childhood, by a longing, a sorrow, or by the destre of a single moment, which suddenly, and inevitably, turned into reality. At the time there were not yet the parks—intimate, secret, silent places, “where you are surprised in your solitude,” as Enrico once said (and there is, perhaps, in this quest for the place of intimaci and the greatest solitude, the same inspiration that Arcangeli recognized in Morandi, and in a few other, isolated artists: who all, as Ungaretti had earlier written of himself, “carry their soul / quite alone and quite naked”). It was in short a seeking for the innermost location of things, a way of finding the most secret and truest part of himself: and out of this began to grow, one after the other, his investigations into places and things—parks, cities, fountains, nocturnes.