Piero Racchi, painter and poet, namely:
The scream of nature.





So he calls and writes him the critic Carlo Prosperi:



"The real travelers - Baudelaire said - those are just starting to leave, nor senz'avere goal or reason. And venture, daring, into the unknown, even at the cost of sinking, trusting in their inspiration of visionaries. As the knights wandering the Middle Ages that s'inoltravano in the forest, at random: both knew that sooner or later something would happen. Piero Racchi so also, an artist in his own way unique and multifaceted, that passes effortlessly from poetry to the novel, from music to art figurative, reaching under plastic-pictorial outcomes of great originality and to secure relief. the forest in which he moves is the world overwhelmed by technology and consumerism, where nature, tortured and humiliated, it seems relegated to an ancillary role. the artificial dominates, scattering, however, the land of sewage and garbage. Di ruins and rubble. the man himself is now a prisoner of the "iron cage" that he forged: a cage that sometimes takes the form of a runaway train, which is proceeding at breakneck speed on a night of phosphorescent lights unnatural. perspective is obviously the catastrophe, divined from Racchi with clarity of seer. the forest becomes a sort of maze where, at every turn, meet the monsters products from the sleep of reason. at every step is the squander. scraps, wrecks, waste cluttering the path. lacrimae sunt rerum. Nature cries, like the "junk outcast" on which the double triumph of fashion and technology. Here the snake biting its tail really: fashion devours every day itself, the technology is nourished by their own obsolescence. renews the myth of Cronus swallowing his children. it is the parable - obscene - of modernity ...

But ... if the apocalypse is a fate that crowds of precognitive dreams and nightmares of the restless vigil Racchi, he makes even his muse. Not only because, as a good Samaritan, stops to contemplate pitiful failures and lacerations caused by the "system" - to put it according to the lexicon sessantottino - to pick up on the way, between the waste and the manure that are piled up in the open air cemeteries of machines, the poor relics, inane and inanimate, from time to slaughter - his "cuttlefish bones" - yes also because it dares to recycle them, to give them a dignity, a sense (that may not have ever had), inserting them as mosaic tiles, or rather as cells of a living organism in its own way, in an art project that has nothing premeditated, but which are themselves to suggest, propose to address. It is not so much - in the wake of Kurt Schwitters - to retrain aesthetically obsolete and useless objects, whether they are vilified waste technology rimorti or fragments of nature, how to blow into them a new life. The transaction has something artificial, but, on closer inspection, it goes in the opposite direction to that followed by the scientific and technical progress, which tends to replace the machine to man and the inorganic to the organic ...

The dream of ... Racchi Faustian is not to dominate nature, but, if anything, the Promethean to safeguard humanity, claiming the character, in fact, "natural." It is not rescind the roots from the earth, or worse, raping and sfregiandola, without reason and without measure, that man can hope to live better. Life is one and has its roots in nature.
The art of Racchi TEKNE is yes, to the letter, but nothing has the hubris of modern technology. It was in fact created by respect for things, even the most humble, and put at their service. The message that comes is therefore not voluntary, spoiled by a subjectivity redundant. Indeed, it is not even premeditated, being largely an expression of the unconscious, that is, a force that transcends the narrow confines of the ego, and perhaps the same person. Talk about assemblies may then seem simplistic, as the paintings-sculptures Racchi are actually living concretions, which seem self-generating, in a regular and free rampollare reminiscent of the inexhaustible proliferation of corals. Branches, burls, logs, seeds, shells of shells, ferns, pine cones and the list goes are the materials - the alphabet, we would say - of which the artist uses to perform a speech that, despite the variety of its results, it has the peremptory and extreme possessiveness of fixations. The crying (and regret) the nature becomes desperate cry of complaint and protest, but also for revenge. In fact, it engulfs and absorbs nell'esasperato vitality of its metamorphosis the other-than-self, forms, and foreign technology, imprisoning them in his web. The assimilation goes through a subtle and complicated process that ends pepsi to redraw the original shapes of the finds, or rather, to alter - or abolish - the functionality ...

Chaos ... and calculus coexist in a balance of opposing tensions, giving rise to efflorescence imaginative sculptures in different materials which have the appearance of certain hallucinatory chimeras. On the whole stretches then, bowing to a technique already used by Claes Oldenberg, the shiny slime of color, which freezes into a dreamlike dimension, strongly alienated, the amphibious ambiguous "visions" of the artist. An icy chromaticism and turned it invests details and makes the found objects that form the connective tissue entirely different things, the more unreal as apparently spotted. The translucent sheen that helps to waterproof them srealizzarli, removing them from the here and now, but only to give shape ectoplasmic the hopes and fears of the artist even more. Omens or auspices, these surreal creations somewhere between painting and sculpture are therefore mere projections of the unconscious (perhaps in an unconscious sense hartmanniano) and have the petulance a bit 'left - and thus disturbing - nightmares. Are flowers that are born, montalianamente, from the rubble of the deep, troubled expression of a soul mundi who feels threatened in its entirety by the technological challenge and the related desire for power of modern machine civilization. Flowers, if not evil, the malaise that pervades our society. As he wrote Italo Calvino: "The more enlightened our houses are more prosperous and their walls are dripping ghosts, dreams of progress and rationality are visited by nightmares." Now, those who - like Racchi - has eyes to see and ears to hear warning signals (the scream or - in the words of Lucretius - the "barking") that come from nature can hardly escape. And what if an artist makes bold and timely interpreter. "

"Enigmatic, multi-faceted, sprawling sculpture is polimaterica Piero Racchi ..."


Egle Migliardi. Poet and literary criticism.

http://piero----racchi.blogspot.com/
http://pietrodomenicoracchi.jimdo.com/
http://www.equilibriarte.org/site/racchi
http://www.exibart.com/profilo/index.asp?idutente=48490&preview=si
http://www.pieroracchi.com/
http://www.facebook.com/piero.racchi

 
Piero Racchi
15011 ACQUI TERME (AL)

 
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