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Cingolani
 


Marco Cingolani

all articles

2011/02/02

 
 



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“I believe that art is not an answer but a question, a need for new answers kept in our actions and behaviors."

 

Marco Cingolani was born in 1985 in Recanati, Italy.
 
He got a diploma at the State Institute of Arts of Macerata in 2004. 
He attended the sculpture class at the Academy of Fine Arts of Macerata and graduated with first-class honors. He totally dedicates all time to his work as an artist. He lives and works in Recanati.
 
 
“I believe that art is not an answer but a question, a need for new answers kept in our actions and behaviors. Our questions influence our actions and characterize
every single instant. Our way is made of a continuous questioning that urges us to research. We hold on to every question mark as a climber determined to go up and discover always new landscapes, expanding our horizon.
Questions are the fundamentals of knowledge and are based on the lack of knowledge that allows a continuous research. Without questions there would be no solution, no answers and no need for change. Every question is a door opening to new possibilities.”
 
Marco Cingolani
 
 
 
 
Lights and Shadows of Thinking Bodies  
 
by Manuele Grosso
 
Bodies, parts of bodies, hands, arms, busts, chests: body as a mirror of the soul. A soul of which we perceive little or nothing because the most communicative distinguishing features tend to disappear: eyes, smiles, raised eyebrows, wrinkles. But the positions of these bodies are all bent down, prostrate, suffering, or dreaming, either still or kinetically suspended. 
 
Marco Cingolani works with the wire but it is as if this wire makes us lose the thread: certainly a world of thoughts torments and crushes these new Atlas, whose emotions are hidden from us: we do not know what and why it troubles them, we do not sense when this pain - just mentioned but palpable – was born.
"Alone and thoughtful I'm measuring the most deserted fields at slow steps": Petrarch, Valchiusa, the weight of time and space that surrounds us, the thoughtfulness. This comes to mind when looking at the sculptures of Cingolani. Thoughtfulness: something really different from the modern stress caused by accumulation of thoughts.
 
The thoughtfulness is philosophy, it concerns life, it is not simply a worry. Thoughtfulness is reflective, it is built with the experience of time.
These thoughtful figures seem charged with an identity and a collective reflection, seem to change by themselves to entertain secret relations with other bodies in the world. They are closed in themselves, imprisoned by these many wires holding and marking them; they are made of woven, welded wires which are tangled in turns and twists like the inextricable balls of thoughts, but they apparently leave us open also their inwardness.
But looking into this illusory open interiority, crossing the wires of these bodies, we do not see anything: the wire creates a sculpture with an inner emptiness that is the same of the inscrutability of every human being. The forms become ethereal, like bodies which are often not concluded, as if to show the wounds, cuts, lack of fulfillment and defined, definitive meaning  to which every human life corresponds.
 
Sculptures, almost dashed, where the wire gives the illusion of charcoal or pencil on canvas, a different three-dimensionality, proud of its precariousness, that seems to build while looking at it. Embroideries where the metal loses its one color and its coldness to take the heat of the light and dark shades, of gray and dark that the disposal is able to create. Lights and shadows, the latter seem most powerful and are likely to dominate, but after all the wire is very thin and there is much room for the light.
 
 
 
In the spirit of introspection
 
by Elena Ovecina
 
The sign plays an important role in the research of the young artist Marco Cingolani. It is the fulcrum, the  pivot around which all his artistic production revolves.
 
And it is his prerogative, a requirement explicitly stated, to use every piece of wire with which he creates his sculptures just as a graphic sign. A nervous sign that rolls on itself, that surrounds and outlines the object depicted with centripetal lines.
 
Marco Cingolani conceives his figures bent, basing on his own experience, but also maintaining a dialogue with the great tradition of the past, which becomes emotional (as well as, in some way, derivative) with Alberto Giacometti in the first place. The wire is a tangle, a skein that winds back on itself, a network of concentric curved lines that contain a gap. And it is the emptiness, like in Giacometti’s works, that constitute the most significant part of the work.
 
That abyss, a metaphor of an act of looking inside oneself with insistence, of a turning inward, obsessive self-seeking and striving for the understanding and complete knowledge of the self, which remains an unreachable mirage.
The human figure analyzed from an existential point of view is at the center of reflection. Body, but especially spirit: man portrayed in a reflective and introspective attitude. The tangle-skein of metal wires is placed within clear boundaries, in a hermetic, mental, interior space. Just for this reason, however, the human figure is free from interference from outside and may well wonder about its true nature.
 
Marco has also appropriated of the internal-external dichotomy, one of Giacometti’s eternal obsessions.
It was the author himself that compared his works to the graphic works of the Swiss sculptor and declared that his sculptures are actually similar to drawings. 
They have all the features. The wires look like a clear line which stands on the background shimmering white.
 
This background is comparable to a sheet on which the artist desperately tries to fix something tangible that can be related to reality, the physical "presence" of the human figure, or the trace of an experience. Along with the more structured figures of the early works, other more ambiguous, elusive, abstract works have recently appeared in the artistic production of Cingolani.   
 
Sculpture designs which become diary notes, reflections on daily events, meditations on the transformation of the self.
Design is, ultimately, the basis of the shape and of the artist’s daily research; it is like a graphic diary which is shifting of its own poetic universe, its most immediate expression.
 
 
 
Cingolani, the breath of existing
 
by Roberto Rizzente
 
There is life behind those lines, that inexplicable tangle of allusions, of accidents. Wild, pulsating, anxious and desperate. As you would rightly expect, from a boy who comes from such a generation. But there is also some symbolic sublimation, memory and historical synthesis, in an uninterrupted dialogue with the past, with tradition.
 
The cultural horizon on which the young sculptor moves is existentialism. Alberto Giacometti, as well as Beckett, and Heidegger, are indispensable reference points for understanding of his message. The only difference is that those experiences were generated by a precise historical context: war. The feeling of exclusion was the product of a cathartic experience of death and resurrection which potentially could be repeated over and over, resulting in a failure of meaningfulness. For Cingolani it is different. His direct reference is today’s life.  
 
The feeling of limitation, common to the masters, clashes here with the one of the infinite. Everything is possible, we might say to paraphrase Dostoevsky, for modern men. But, as we are taught by Kierkeggard, it is then, at the summit of the possibility, that one experiences the limit. Without a fixed point of support, a certain horizon of reference, man steps back. Faced with the abyss, he chooses to return to his fellow men, taking a step back. The sculptures by Cingolani tell us about this, In silence, Portrait, the series of Untitled are the alive portrait of the modern man, caught in the moment of listening and psychological self-introspection.
 
The space is completely compressed, absorbed, like in a vortex, by the figure on stage, until it disappears, becoming two-dimensional. There remains, of course, some hope to force the connections, interacting with the others.   
 
Cingolani’s man does not know himself and want to know himself. In the silence of a finally pacified reality, he experiences new ways of existing, opening unusual perspectives toward salvation.  
 
Viewed from the outside, these figures appear to be many solitary monads. Apparently light, barely sketched out, they carry the weight of things inside themselves. Unable to decipher the mystery that animates them, the artist cannot do anything else but reconstruct the tracks; to mime their introspective efforts, mimicking the different plastic poses. With the only material that he has at his disposal: the wire.
An inert, and yet malleable material, which creates and gives life.
 
 
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