Collage, 30 x 20 cm, 2016
MARMELLATE blog
marcellomaloberti.tumblr.com
Courtesy dell'artista e di Galleria Raffaella Cortese
Acqua by Loredana Bertè, 1985
Obsessive. Obsessed. Serious. Good, or at least as so
he would like to be perceived and loved. In fact evil. Obsessed by
performance. At any cost. He doesn’t care about the rest. Indians, old
ladies: pure plastic material for his exhibitionist purposes. Marcello
holds out. As a Viking convinced of having discovered America but who in
the end was only interested to go home. Non-sense. Joyously useless.
Which in the end is what fascinates about performances, and of his ones
in particular. His being out of the system unmissable and without value.
Then there is the cult of the physique, his one and the male body in
general. We desperately try to interpret something which is apparently
daily or homely, but which doesn’t belong to anybody. Because in the end
it is artistic, whatever this may mean today. And belongs to a happy
few. Because it’s performance in the sense of ready made behaviours. But
also performance as a last attempt of remaining tight to the
improbable. But with feet well down on the ground. Aware of the
rhetoric. Aware that the only thing that it can witness is not the
other’s pain, but only oneself personal one. During a performance it is
as if we were always on hold. Maybe we are still waiting something from
performances in general. And it’s where we have to learn, by Marcello
Maloberti above all. There is nothing that will happen and nothing to
wait. This is the point. Learning to take with joy what it seems to be
just a moment before, but which instead is not and will not be anymore.
Marcello! Marcello! "
Text by Carlo Antonelli e Andrea Lissoni
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