Corriere della sera
Forte dei Marmi. Lazzati’s photographs of the mural in Portobello. A four-year obsession.
“Beckett and I, a “love affair” against time”
“Damned graffiti artists! Armed with their spray cans and chalks they really can condition our lives, forcing us to stop and think. But equally, our reaction to these talented individuals might be the opposite: “blessed street artists!” As with all things, it all depends. And this brings to mind the words of Lucio Dalla in his 1977 song Disperato ed erotico stomp. “An optimistic whore, and a left winger what’s more” he sang, referring to a chance and lucky encounter. As we say, blessed. Optimism is a quality that, together with support for a healthy ideology, allows us to give of ourselves to others, without seeking anything in return.
And it is nice to think that this was Alex Martinez’s intention as he “worked” on that wall in the Portobello district of London: a piece of wall sandwiched between a vintage clothes store and a little spice shop.
The mural, freshly created, soon grew tired of waiting. It needed someone or something to turn up, to serve as a pointer or a guide. So it was said at least. But nothing did turn up and Alex, not being either Vladimir or Estragon (the two tramps from Beckett’s famous play) decided that, if Godot could not make up his mind to go down among the people, then he himself would have to force him to show his face. He would “chain” him to the wall in that little street in the middle of the flea market.
And so it was that after four nights of hard work, Samuel Beckett’s winking face appeared in Portobello.
A work of graffiti cannot last forever. The elements and the pollution of the city destroy it, gradually wearing it away. Unless, that is, there comes along someone compassionate enough to want to save the work, “transferring” it elsewhere. This is precisely the project devised and carried out by leading photographer Margherita Lazzati, who happened to be in London as a tourist after Martinez had already packed up and left, headed who knows where.
It was true “love at first sight” for Margherita when she saw Beckett-Godot depicted on that wall; this initial passion then matured into a deeper form of love. She went from simply needing to look at him to wanting to “fix” him and conserve him for posterity. But not all in one go; rather, through a gradual process. Thus, over a period of four years, this Milanese artist returned to London at regular intervals to photograph the mural and capture its inexorable decay. “Each time, Beckett’s face was different. Not only because of the corrosion, due to the passage of time. What I saw a true process of inner aging, a gradual decay of the soul brought about by what this figure was forced to see happening before his unmoving eyes. This, at least, is what the lens showed me as I attempted to see beyond the face.” Four years of comings and goings.
Then came the final encounter. Margherita recalls it thus: “a nasty bruise under the master’s left eye hinted at his imminent demise. Beckett was crumbling away. I felt deep pain, but also a subtle sense of happiness when I saw what was happening. Because, after all, after loving him so deeply, I had managed to save him.”
Indeed she has saved him, through these thirty photographs that tell a story. And this brings us on to the title of this important exhibition that opens tomorrow at the “Fortino” in Forte dei Marmi: My Story with Samuel Beckett in Portobello. The exhibition is a tribute to the great creator of Waiting for Godot, which was first staged exactly 60 years ago and made Beckett a Nobel prize winner. This exhibition has already enjoyed great success, first at the Affordable Art Fair gallery in London, and then at Milan’s Piccolo Teatro. It is a set of exquisite emotions collected together in a book in which the captions under the photos are bilingual, also being written in the form of haiku poems. This volume, published by Pecorini Editore, has been put together an excellent team: Anna Ferrante, Gabriele Miccichè, Alessandro Mininno, Maurizio Panti, Mario Perazzi and Simone Baudo. Finally, the author dedicates the book to her brother Carlo, calling him the "unwitting director of this story" – a story that can give the reader the hope that Godot does actually exist, even though he has strange ways of getting himself noticed.
The encounter
“In London I came across the work of street artist, Martinez. It was love at first sight and I appreciated immediately the depths that lay behind that face”