OTHER LIFE
Gina Folly
28.10.17 – 28.11.17
Studioli hosts a special project by Swiss artist Gina Folly.
The exhibition plays around the content and the meaning of how the space has been used during the past years, as garconnieres for secret rendez-vous. The objects found in the space and a conversation between a man and her lover, eavesdropped through the walls and brought back to memory after several years, are the starting point of the artist who works with the theme of the double reality – other life – meeting someone in an other place out of the daily life which at the same time it’s reality and a part of the life. There is always a double moment which is mirrored. Its about the inside and the outside and the sense of past times. You can still sense the bodies who loved each other and have spent time together, the feelings which have been all over the space.
Other Life presents a body of work consisting of lights, objects, and drawings, and installed in three different rooms. Each rooms has those three elements repeated. Three different love songs are trasmitted by the room lamps through the intermittency of the light with no sound. Each text of the song is printed on a mirror and installed on the mirror walls. Three drawings representing keys and keyholes are also installed in.
The exhibition includes a text by Gerry Bibby.
TEORAMA’S TWIN
What if I didnʼt have something? Couldnʼt buy it or build it from scratch?
Would I steal it?
What if it wasnʼt really there to be stolen or had?
Was just missing?
Would I just give it a name? Insert a shape or face in its place?
Probably…
An apple is given a price right?
<<just gimme the goddam apple!>>
But then nobody offers it to you… you just somehow go and take it!
But then it just turns out to be a shitty apple.
And what it is you want is…
…I dunno.
[__all previous line breaks should be read as pauses taken
dragging on a cigarette—except for the first, when an ignored
pile of ash also falls into a crotch—all subsequent breaks as the
tumultuous, broken thoughts of a figure of relative privilege__]
Iʼm listening, but itʼs as if I'm seeing… seeing him speak. I taste ash as I see it fall onto his upper inner thigh, catching on hair as it falls.
He talks with as little regard for speech as heʼs paid the fallen ash. Until I think I hear him say
“I am black with love/ neither boy nor
nightingale/ perfectly whole as a flower/
I desire without impulse”
Iʼm tired, bored and relatively rich but this custom of buying the time; drinking from the desires, of others, rarely leaves me so lost in/for words.
Habit will guide my car 300m north, then right onto Tangenziale Est, but now, right now I cannot think what door it will be that I find when I arrive home with flowers for camouflage. Iʼll have the key, but from whom did I take it?
The river runs south from here through the City, where tales tell of a slain twin whose name is the shadow of itʼs name, where another me walks.
[__the next break is followed by 19 words borrowed from an even
sparser script—only 923 words are spoken in 98 minutes. Spoken
by a father whose borrowed time is up__]
the destruction youʼve caused in me couldnʼt be more complete.
youʼve simply destroyed the image I had of myself.
by Gerry Bibby