The Mural on Scalo San Lorenzo: Reading the Politics of the Neighborhood

 

Of San Lorenzo's many murals, none captures the community's history of in-your-face, leftist politics--at one time the product of the neighborhood's working class, now of a newer population of university students--than the street-level monster on Scalo San Lorenzo. The street can be dark and foreboding, having been victimized by a 1960-era elevated highway running down its center, but it was central to the area's development and character. To the south and east lie a maze of railroad tracks that at one time were crucial to the area's commercial development; Scalo, a word that defies precise definition, has some relationship to loading and unloading--it's likely related to the English word, "scale." 

About fifty feet long and accomplished mostly in grey tones, the mural is a complex political statement of the ideas that currently motivate San Lorenzo's residents, generally, and particularly those in the social space and organization that occupies the space at Scalo San Lorenzo, #33, behind the mural and was, apparently, responsible for it: COMMUNIA. Created a few years ago, COMMUNIA (see below the photo of the bus in the mural) is a feminist movement, mutual assistance organization, and a laboratory for experimenting with modes of production, and culture, that lie outside the marketplace. 

As a feminist movement, it works against workplace harassment (le molestie) and other injustices; the driver of the #19 bus (today, replacing the tram on via dei Reti while work is done on the tracks far away in Parioli, it is central to the area's transportation network) is a woman with fist raised (looking a bit like the Statue of Liberty), but it's noteworthy that the mural does not attack patriarchy or men in general. The section of the mural at right foregrounds the role of women and the community's need for green space and public services. I have not been able to figure out who L. Blissett was or is. 

[Nota bene: an anonymous reader explained that L. Blissett was Luther Blissett, a "multiple use name" shared by artists and activists in Europe and elsewhere since 1994. That is, there is no individual artist named Luther Blissett. He (named after a soccer player) is a community "myth" and a community project. For more--much more--see the entry "Luther Blissett" in Wikipedia, at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Luther_Blissett_(pseudonym).]

Among the issues the mural raises are gentrification and the proliferation of Airbnbs that have raised rents and driven out residents, especially older ones ("poor people leave quietly," says the mural).

Increasingly, the area is unable to support traditional business; there is no classic Roman deli, no dedicated bakery (although there is one attached to a bar), only two orto-fruttas (fruits and vegetables) and one 72-year-old butcher with a very limited array of meats.

The source of the problem, the mural tells us, is money ("Rich Uncle" Pennybags, the figure from the game Monopoly) and developers, represented here by grotesque machinery, part metal/part skeletal animal. "Fight power not people," is the phrase on the front of the bus (photo showing bus, above). 

San Lorenzo values equality. OMNIA SUNT COMMUNIA, a well-known phrase from the Latin, translates as "all things are to be held in common." And it values inclusivity: "No Borders"/"A San Lorenzo Nessuno E' Un Straniero" [at San Lorenzo, no one is a stranger]. 

The mural also includes at least two aspects of the community's physical presence: the Sopra-Elevata (the elevated highway that runs down Scalo San Lorenzo) and the neighborhood's graffiti, represented here in the signature of GECO (high up on the mural) and the painter Hogre.

Bill 

 

The Art Scene of San Lorenzo: The Faces of Anna Laurini

 We first saw Anna Laurini's work--her woman, here, in two pasteups--on a phone booth on via Tiburtina in San Lorenzo, just a stone's throw from where the great consular road begins. A stylized woman's face, with a musical score as background. 

In the days and weeks ahead, as we walked the San Lorenzo neighborhood, well known for its radical, working-class, and student politics, its tolerance of any kind of graffiti or wall art, and its suffering from the 1944 American bombing, we saw more Laurinis, variations on the theme--some pasteups, some modest-size wall paintings, apparently accomplished some time ago. In one variation, the lips were not red, and the background was not a music score:

In another, older and painted, the lipstick conforms to the mouth, the eye is blue (and the pupil more pronounced), and the background is even-older wall graffiti:

This one seemed to be merging two, or three, faces. And the eyes (and hair) were purple.

One pasteup was in black and white, another was colored only in orange. Below, Laurini apparently used existing graffiti for the lip color. You can see there's a lot of competition for attention on San Lorenzo's walls. 

One painting was "framed," by the blue hair of two women facing each other. 

And this one, in pink and black, with the color of the pink lips "contained" but also emphasized by the surrounding pink, used drips to dramatic effect.

We couldn't resist the opening and vernissage, an event that was the norm pre-covid and now is much less common. It took place at the Proloco gallery at via Dei Latini 52, in San Lorenzo. We were immediately offered a glass of wine and joined the crowd, inside and outside the gallery (as is the custom--see photos at the end of this post). 

Usually we introduce ourselves to the artist, but this time we did not. We are quite sure she is the 2nd from the left in this photo:

And that this is her mother, shooting a video: 

A gallery flyer described Laurini as well known in the underground circuits of London, Paris, and Lisbon. It described Laurini's work as merging the "sophisticated" and the "simpler," and her style as both "rapid" and urban, "almost like an ideogram of the soul and identity." Her work "invites the viewer to reflect on the multiple identities that mix in the great cities." "The enigmatic faces painted by Anna Laurini act as mirrors of the soul, asking observers to look inside themselves to confront their own essence." 

I (Bill) was intrigued by the work, as this post reveals. I think I was taken by its simplicity of color and form, by the ways in which the basic model could be differentiated, and by what I saw as the presence of Pablo Picasso, here employed by an artist generations removed. I don't think it helped me look inside myself in search of my essence, but that would have been a lot to ask. 

Bill 

Buon vernissage!

Enjoying Rome--with a Campari Spritz

We arrived in Rome in mid-April ready to imbibe (no doubt from the Latin for "drink"—bibere) a lot of Campari,  the somewhat bitter liqueur that we had first experienced decades ago, and immediately disliked. The bars in San Lorenzo, Piazza Bologna, and elsewhere in the city were ready to oblige the evolution in our tastebuds. The Campari Spritz (Campari and Prosecco with a twist of orange peel) is ubiquitous, exceeded in popularity only by its counterpart, the Aperol Spritz—sweeter, not to our liking.

The classic Negroni—made with equal parts Campari, sweet vermouth, and gin, is also very popular, as is the Milano-Torino (Campari and sweet vermouth, no mixer), known familiarly as the Mi-To (pronounced Me-Toe), the name derived from the origin of the ingredients: Campari is made in Milano, sweet vermouth [by Martini and Rossi] in Torino (mito also is "myth" in Italian). 

In the city center, across from Piazza Venezia, a busy bar filled with tourists had as its centerpiece over-sized bottles of Campari and Aperol.

High-up, center: Campari featured prominently at the local bar, "My Way," we frequented in
the Piazza Bologna area (it was our favorite morning coffee bar in the neighborhood).
 And 5 bottles Campari to 1 Aperol.

In Rome, the "spritz" is almost always served in a large wine glass with plenty of ice. 

Nothing like a spritz (pronounced "spreetz") to put a 
smile on your face.

You can also get a "spritz" to go. At this place—at a Liberation Day celebration—the price was E6 (about $6.60).

The spritz has also reached London, but only in the trendier areas, like Soho in the photo below. The Brits will have trouble giving up their beer.

London

The standard price in Rome for a Campari Spritz is E5 (the Happy Hour price) to E6/7, and the price sometimes includes potato chips, olives, and peanuts. The price was E10 at Satyrus—no chips, no nothing—but it's a trendy, seasonal bar, on the edge of Villa Borghese, across the street from the National Gallery of Modern Art (with free admission that day, so we could afford the pricey spritzes, and the Euro is currently a beguiling $1.10).

Dianne at Satyrus—

—overlooking the gallery

Enjoying a "spritz" at Tree Bar on via Flaminia—note the hand-cut chips and other goodies.

Of course, the grocery stores carry Campari Soda, in those cute one-portion triangular bottles designed by Futurist artist Fortunato Depero in 1934, shown here in an all-Depero exhibit currently at Rhinoceros Gallery in the Hotel Rhinoceros. The gallery is just steps from the Bocca della Verità and down the street from the Campidoglio. 

Curiously, it proved difficult to find our own bottle of Campari, for home consumption (mostly by our guests, we claim). Rome's grocery stores all carry copious amounts of wine, spirits, and liqueurs, but Campari was never on the shelf. In one store, a cashier who appeared to be knowledgeable told us that the Campari was under lock and key in storage, because it was a frequently stolen item. He sent an employee to the back room—he was sure it was there—but the employee came up empty, twice, as did the cashier on his own expedition. Then we noticed that some bars had what looked like Campari, but the label was somewhat different; we wondered what was going on. 

Finally, we found our Campari, in of all places—a mini-market just down the street from our Piazza Bologna apartment. Mission accomplished!

Mini-market to the rescue! An ample supply of Campari. Aperol, too. Sweet vermouth to the right.

We later became aware that over the last decade or so, Campari—made only by one company—has now and then been in short supply. Given that some young folks have abandoned wine for beer and cocktails, and given that Campari is a widely favored cocktail ingredient, the shortage that we experienced makes sense.

Just a few years ago, a sign for "cocktails" would have been a rare sighting in Rome. Not today. We have since learned from a teacher friend that Italians are not particularly good with the apostrophe—even in their own language, let alone English (nor are Americans, we've noticed).

 

Bill

The Futurists Meet the Present in "futurBella," the new exhibit at Rhinoceros Gallery in Rome

A Campari "vending machine" - they appear on several floors of the exhibit at Rhinoceros gallery.

If you like Campari, and the combination of Futurist and contemporary art (Yoko Ono is into it), then Rhinoceros gallery and the Rhinoceros Hotel in which it's located (which has had a fascinating rehab by French "starchitect" - per The Daily Beast - Jean Nouvel) should be on your list. Whether you can afford to hobnob with the likes of Angelina Jolie in those luxury rooms of the 17th-century palazzo (now renamed Palazzo Rhinoceros) is up to you. What you can get is a free self-guided tour of the hotel and gallery, thanks to the current exhibition, futurBella, a mash-up of the Futurists, especially Fortunato Depero (he of the Campari bottle design) and "Poor Things" ("Povere Creature"), the lavishly artistic film by Yorgos Lanthimos, starring Emma Thompson as Bella Baxter.

The gallery and hotel can be a refreshing respite from Rome's traditional tourist attractions. One of them, Bocca della Verità, is a one-minute walk along the adjacent parking lot. Bar dei Cerchi, just steps up via dei Cerchi from the hotel, is a rare "neighborhood" place in the Centro. Here we are, planning your day.

Playing off the costume design from "Poor Things," curator Raffaele Curi hangs one room of the gallery with 60 pieces of Victorian underwear - part of the "fun" he's trying to bring to contemporary art.

We'll save the hotel itself for another post and focus in this one on "futurBella," a  reference to works of the Futurist Giacomo Balla (whose apartment in Rome will be the subject of yet another future post), "futurBalla." Curator Raffaele Curi, who worked with Man Ray and other Surrealists, says he wants to bring back some of the fun in contemporary art.

Depero's advertising posters and magazine covers are projected on an interior window well going up 6 floors. Here is one for his own 1918 puppet play, "Balli Plastici" ("Plastic Ballets") which was re-imagined digitally in 1980 and plays in the gallery.  And also below, one of the wooden marionettes from the original play. (Depero objects are on loan from MART, a contemporary museum in the northern city of Rovereto which absorbed the Futurist museum founded by Depero.)

Campari wallpaper introduces the exhibit - which is quite effective in placing Depero's work throughout the hotel public space and gallery. You must visit all 6 floors to get the total effect, and all are open for you to saunter among the art spaces on your own. Our selection is heavy on Campari (apologies--the Campari spritz has been our drink of choice for the last couple years in Rome), but there is much more to the exhibit. We've included only limited photos here, because it's more fun to see this all for yourself.

The main gallery also has an exhibit by Ronan Bouroullec, "one of the most famous designers in the world." (We mistakenly sat on a golden coffee table - though no one seemed to mind. Photo at end of post.) Famous he might be, but Depero''s designs from the early 20th century steal the show. Bouroullec's show is on through September 8.

"futurBella" is scheduled to be on until November 30. The gallery web site makes it look as though you need an appointment; you don't. See the web site in English here: https://rhinocerosroma.com/en/gallery/

Dianne

At the University of Rome: Protesting the War in Gaza, May/June 2024

This spring, while living in two locations near the main campus of Rome's largest university--La Sapienza--we naturally were interested in exploring the role of the university, and especially its students, in engaging the conflict in Gaza. We made three purposeful excursions onto the campus. We had heard that a group of students were protesting Israel’s incursion into Gaza and "occupying" a portion of the campus. But (we're embarrassed to say), on our first trip to the campus we failed to find any evidence of a student occupation. There was evidence of a protest movement in the writing on some of the university's walls, and some posters, but no tents, or so we thought. 

At left, a pro-Palestinian phrase suggesting that 
Palestine should encompass all of what is now Israel. 
At right, "In Gaza there are no universities." 

All Eyes on Rafah (a city in southern Gaza, under siege)

The war has its origins here. Boycott!

One poster notified students of an upcoming student demonstration in Piazza Vittorio against the government of Giorgia Meloni, and including solidarity with Palestine:

A "Free Palestine" poster advocated shutting down Sapienza ("Blocchiamo Sapienza"), which these students understood to be complicit in the conflict:

In most respects, the campus seemed normal, undisturbed by the war in Gaza.

In this area of the campus, more centrally located and prominent than the site
occupied by the protesters, everything seemed normal. 

The second trip a couple of weeks later proved more fruitful. Rather than search the campus once again, we asked a maintenance worker if he knew of an occupation and, if so, where it might be. He pointed to a road leading to the back of the campus, behind the main piazza. And there it was, tucked in an area that was a few feet below ground--below the rest of the campus. About 30 pop-up tents. An information table. And, gathered around a picnic-type table nearby, a half dozen students--maybe planning something (or maybe not). 

The encampment was accompanied by kite-like stanchions, featuring slogans in script. The general theme seemed to be, "while you're eating a nice lunch, the folks in Gaza are starving."  

On the standard at left, the Palestinian flag and the word "Nakba," which means "catastrophe" in Arabic and refers to the dispossession of Palestinians during the 1948 Arab-Israeli war. The protesters apparently had WiFi. 

We also took more careful note of the anti-Israel, pro-Palestinian wall writing, this time looking for evidence of the students dislike of the way the Rector--Antonella Polimeni, a physician--was handling the issue. Although neither the wall writings nor the posters explicitly mention it, a key issue for the students was the university's participation in "il bando Maeci"--an agreement that institutionalized cooperation in science and research between Israel and Italy. 

Some sort of student march to protest the situation in Gaza took place off campus in the week that followed this second visit. We did not attend. But we did return to the campus to chronicle any changes. What we found was surprising: all that remained of the campus occupation were spots and indentations in the grass where the tents had been. 

We later read that the University may have driven the students out by scheduling "repair" work for that area; we had seen some of that nearby when the tents were there and wondered if the construction project wasn't a kind of harassment. We also read that the students had apparently decided to end the 6-week occupation voluntarily. A spokesperson for the students told Il Messaggero (a Rome daily newspaper) that the occupation had not, indeed, changed university policy, but that the students had learned that a change in tactics was necessary, one that featured increased contact and involvement with faculty and university departments, perhaps leading to a boycott. The students also looked forward to a protest on the 24th of June, on the occasion of a meeting of the university's academic senate.  

Bill