Diogeni Laertii Vitis ac Moribus Addenda is an exhibition conceived in order to demonstrate that art can choose friendship as sense of its own action rather than being one of those icy nihilisms typical of contemporary experimentation. It is also an opportunity to dearly and analytically approach Evver’s art and his peculiar way to address the appearance.
The seven photographic images, dating back to 2009, and the pictorial portrait, 2015, are dedicated to a young Lombard philosopher, whose life was deeply troubled. They do not intend to celebrate a glorious academic journey; they are not the rhetoric glorification of intellectual fame: they are rather the obstinate statement of how ephemeral, passing and yet exciting can be the fatigue of a single man, of a single head around the reason of beings and things.
Several fruitful months of reasoning, dreams and laughs, between Evver and his friend, have left just these undefined glows, being lost all the other traces of this young man of boundless ideas. In this sense, the reference to Diogene Laerzio is not some sort of gratuitous evocation of an ancient name, but it is the admission of how these works can be considered as an appropriate and affectionate further adventure of the minds documented by the great Roman biographer.
Karl Evver had his debut in 1987 with the personal exhibition Forme e reliquie dell’urlo. During the last fifteen years, he has integrated an anomalous coexistence between relaxation and extremism through the two paths that embody his artistic vocation: picture – less and less slave of splendors and aesthetisms – and photography – more and more adhering to a radical doubt about identity and rationality.
Among his exhibitions, it is important to mention, in 2008, the photographic one Vita di Euclide, and in 2014, the pictorial one Bacchus Bimater. In 2012, the catalogue De lumine has been published in occasion of the same exhibition: it contains Il lumen e i phantasmàta, an important essay written by Roberto Borghi and dedicated to the distrust of Evver towards any material guarantee of human existence.
May 11/ June 19, 2015
Via Sarfatti, 25
Opening Monday, May 11, 6.00 pm
The exhibition is open from Monday through Saturday, from 9.00 am to 12 am
ASSESSING AND INTERPRETING WHAT’S IN FRONT OF THE EASEL
Female body soaks in that goddessly wisdom which is impelled to act like a might readying for a protracted battle against misunderstanding. What is it for? By being merely made so, one woman can keep herself largely exempt from mental scrutiny; early in mid-teens such a body spells trouble ahead, unless the girl confronts the male hands head-on.
In De Kooning’s Woman, now at the Sheldon Memorial Art Gallery, the shoulders wall off her from any male wrongdoing. She’s violently viewed as undefeated by life, looks, sons, harassments and the renowned others much tantamount to a Norman shield, and has not one thing to do with the yielding shoulders of Jean Harlow and the other silk carriers in front of the camera. She is not about to buy the cushy yes to social trade.
In his La sposa del vulcano [ The Volcano’s bride, crayons, plumbago, eye liner, pencil ombret, pirography, mordant, objet trouvé on plank, 92 centimetres in width, 126,8 in height, 1,4 in thickness, MMXIV/MMXV ] Evver
is not letting his heed to the infinitesimal inner shudders of Elena Cavanna – the unfathomable watercolourist this work is the portrait of and the safeguard around – blind him from admitting that art cannot save the individual from leakage.
Let’s yet glance at this silent woman. Her mind will disrupt body laws and social plays until it can live: what society texture cares most about, above all else, is the business of tying the counterparts and slackening the duties, but this hard-bitten woman knows that life will put off even the slightest accomplishment for famous Never. Evver is staunchy convinced that she who is portrayed should be be ever permitted to resist him as she deems appropriate for an image of herself that will last. And this portrait profits genuinely from such a consideration for human irreducibleness to one image, to one meaning, to one tale.
Elena’s face reminds us too the truth in Giambattista Della Porta words: Il volto è veramente testimonio e dimostratore della nostra conscienza [ discloser of our consciousness ], il quale è incerto, inconstante, e vario. So what, a portrait? So what, signs that stand in for a face, for a garment?
Any worn plank expects – in Evver’s untidiness - last signs to be tampered with for becoming countenance, remains of one human deluding about singleness. If Twobly takes from Goethe his amateurism – and his own Goethe in Italy at Kunsthalle in Zurich proves it detachedly – Evver doesn’t avoid the huge void of not reaching inside men and women: a void so vast that mind fritters itself in traversing it.
Imbriani got flavourfully the covardice in that amateurism: Dunque il Goethe ha fiutato, annasato, odorato per ogni banda, ma non ha studiato come sarebbe stato il debito [ he didn’t analyzed as it would have been due ] quel miracoloso tema inciampato: ha fatto a mo’ dei viaggiatori economi e prudenti che invece di ascendere il Monte Bianco si contentano di circuirlo e guardarlo da mille punti diversi.
All these Faustian pinwheels, these trips for scribbling aren’t getting much traction beyond the thoughts of this bride: her head is done in by true lava, eroded by real sufferings, not chuffed in gestures put on a slow act. Like Twombly, Evver doesn’t solve his debt to reasonable Art; unlike Twombly, he ackowledges that the more withheld pain in Art is, the less there will be Art as a whole in human distress.
Saburov, in Ehrenburg’s easy-going fiction, is the sage voice which warns doers not to trusting in some objectivity in photograph: The so-called physiognomy is an unreliable, fleeting, transient thing. Appearance dies away… it matches the photographer, not the artist. Evver is aware of heart being an object trouvé, and juvenile life spreading the word about a fulfillment which never will come into act; he thus allows Cavanna to be with her mind far from our scant here, far from his moved crayons.
THE ELEVEN DECEITS OF PAINTING
I SORDES FUGITANDI REM BLOTS TO AVOID THE THING
Informalism mollifies the worries about fine lines, identities, dark spots and crow’s feet. It pulls its might from being uncalled for; from its not singling out any skill; from its hushing those who ask for sameness between the thing there in the air and the thing here on the canvas.
II RES NIMIA THE TOO MUCH THING
Hyperrealism would like to leave one stuck in his inferiority below the thing passed off as the archetype.
III CATARATA AD LUCTAMEN IMMINUENDUM CATARACT TO LOWER THE EXERTION
Impressionism fogs up. The scope of the painting is milkly widening out of the thing the day is. Eyes leery of resorting to particulars love such a retinal milk.
IV TUMOR TORORUM MUSCLE HYPERBOLE
O Michelangelo, your females are covered in bastions of musculature while being halted in a narcissistic universe! This frescoing by overflesh sets up something whose magnitude serve your lust its dream, doesn’t unveil some grand suffering.
V FACIES AUCTA BOOSTED FACE
Caricature attempts to get us to forget such temporary inaneness by giving it plumper patency, chubbier prominence.
VI PRO RE ABNORMI GEOMETRICA GEOMETRY IN LIEU OF THE UNEVEN THING
Geometry is a still source of wonderment for those who are ever searching for a cold setting into which beings can lose their perimetral vagueness, thei fractal obstinacy.
VII PER FORAMEN IN PYXIDE DECEPTIO DECEIT THROUGH A HOLE IN THE BOX
Camera obscura finds the gap between optic nerve and hand incapacitating. This box is a medium whose subjection to the outer thing gives it a servant sycophancy.
VIII PERSOLVENTIS SPECULUM LIBENS MIRROR THAT CATERS TO HIM WHO PAYS
Portraiture bastles about countenance until what was becomes what is. But what was doesn’t run forever, and its febrile property doesn’t inhabit what is there: a still thing whose aim is purportedly to feign the everness, to appease the fever.
IX NON SENSUS MOEROR NOT FELT GRIEF
Macabre titillates our fondness for the bloody core of the bodies letting postures scream, and be as uncomfortable as they may stress the comfort we onlookers can have a rest within.
X CARO ROSACEA AD PRURIGINEM ROSACEOUS FLESH FOR AROUSAL
Tight-fitting dresses on our streets and Titian’s broad plots of flesh seem both to require merely the male pleasure of observation, but embedded in the upper layer of this pink and tightened by elastan society incubates its most trivial eternity machinery.
XI RIGOR PUPARUM PUPPET STIFFNESS
The practice of unifying all the achievable motions in one frontalness as soon as one enters in the field of view of the practitioner following this rejecting the sideways perspective.
These eleven scenes assemble Indegnità della Pittura [Unworthiness of Painting], the MMXV broad board Evver debunks his own working with [image not available].
Painting is mainly done to stop something that should remain hidden in its going: Evver nicks with his own painting these wall inserts for aspirational living for willing-to-lie eyes, but age and fallen apart philosophy have pushed him very near to Gogolian Chartkov. Once he attempted if for no other reason some new attitude, the vigour, the effect. Now even this survey bored him. His mind had enough of devising and pondering.
So, if an artist holds any of his skills in one of these 11 procedures, it is likely that some forgery affects him, but Evver’s pictorial admonishment too smacks of pedantic Platonic purism. Pop Art – Michael J. Lewis is right – spoke of abundance; unexpectedly Evver doesn’t aim here at Pop Art, certainly there is no abundance of colours, signs, allures in his socratic attempt to detach men from their masquerades.