The problem is to identify that Influent Metaphysic of which, because of its popularity at a given time, everybody has heard. To be sure, you can join Berkeley is asserting that esse est percipi and say that Prosciuttini’s works are because they are perceived: but as the metaphysic in question is not particularly influent, both Prosciuttini and the readers of the catalogue would perceive the excessive obviousness of the statement.
Therefore, if Prosciuttini’s triangles had had to be described in the late fifties, exploiting the Sartre-Merleau-Ponty influence (and, above all, the teachings of Husserl), it would have been suitable to define the triangles in question as «the representation of the very act of intending, which, setting up eidetic regions, turns those same pure forms of geometry into a modality of the Lebenswelt.» In that period, too (as variations were permissible also in terms of the psychology of form), to say that Prosciuttini’s triangles have a «gestaltic» pregnancy would have been unassailable—every triangle, if it is recognizable as a triangle, has a gestaltic pregnancy.
In the sixties, Prosciuttini would have seemed more à la page if in his triangles a structure homologous to Lévi-Strauss’s parental patterns could be discerned. Desiring to play with structuralism in ’68, the WIAC could have said that, according to Mao’s theory of contradiction, which subsumes the Hegelian triad in the binary principles of yin and yang, the two triangles of Prosciuttini evidenced the rapport between primary contradiction and secondary contradiction. It must not be thought that the structuralist module could not also be applied to Morandi: deep bottle as opposed to surface bottle.
After the sixties the critic’s options became freer. Naturally, the blue triangle intersected by the red triangle is the epiphany of a Desire in pursuit of an Other with which it can never identify itself. Prosciuttini is the painter of Difference, or rather of Difference within Identity. Difference within identity is also found in the «heads/tails» relationship of a hundred-lira coin, but Prosciuttini’s triangles would lend themselves also to pinpointing a case of Implosion as, for that matter, would the paintings of Pollock or the introduction of suppositories into the anal tract (black holes). In Prosciuttini’s triangles, however, there is also the reciprocal cancellation of use value and exchange value.
With an astute reference to Difference in the smile of the Mona Lisa, which, seen obliquely, can be recognized as a vulva, and is in any case béance, Prosciuttini’s triangles, with their reciprocal cancellation and «catastrophic» rotation, could appear as an im-plosiveness of the phallus that becomes cogged vagina. The phallus of Fallacy. In other words, to conclude, the golden rule for the WIAC is to describe the work is such a way that the description, besides being applicable to other pictures, can be applied also to the emotional experience of looking in a delicatessen window. If the WIAC writes, «In Prosciuttini’s paintings perception of forms is never inert reception of sense-data. Prosciuttini tells us that there is no perception without interpretation and work, and the passage from the felt to the perceived is activity, praxis, being-in-the-world as construction of Abshaetungen cut deliberately in the very flesh of the thing-in-itself,» the reader recognizes Prosciuttini’s truth because it corresponds to the mechanisms through which he distinguishes, in the deli, a slice of baloney from the macaroni salad.
Which establishes, in addition to a criterion of viability and efficacy, also a criterion of morality: it is enough to tell the truth. Naturally, truth comes in all sizes.
1980
Appendix
The following text was actually written—by me—to introduce the painting of Antonio Fomez in accordance with the rules of postmodern quotation (cf. Antonio Fomez, From Ruoppolo to Me. Studio Annunciata, Milan, 1982).
To give the reader (for concept of «reader» cf. D. Coste, «Three concepts of the reader and their contribution to a theory of literary texts,» Orbis literarum 34, 1880; W. Iser, Der Akt des Lesens, München, 1972; Der implizite Leser, München, 1976; U. Eco, Lector in fabula, Milano, 1979; G. Prince, «Introduction à l’étude du narrataire,» Poétique 14, 1973; M. Nojgaard, «Le lecteur et la critique,» Degrés 21, 1980) some creative intuitions (cf. B. Croce, Estetica come scienza dell’espressione e linguistica generale, Bari, 1902; H. Bergson, Oeuvres, Edition du Centenaire, Paris, 1963; E. Husserl, Ideen zu einer Phaenomenologie und phaenomenologischen Philosophie, Den Haag, 1950) about the painting (for the concept of «painting» cf. Cennino Cennini, Trattato della pittura; Bellori, Vite d’artisti; Vasari, Le vite; P. Barocchi (ed.), Trattati d’arte del Cinque-cento, Bari, 1960; Lomazzo, Trattato dell’arte della pittura; Alberti, Della pittura; Armenini, De’ veri precetti della pittura; Baldinucci, Vocabolario toscano dell’arte del disegno; S. van Hoogstraaten, Inleyding tot de Hooge Scboole der Schilderkonst, 1678, VIII, 1, pp. 279 et seq.; L. Dolce, Dialogo della pittura; Zuccari, Idea de’pittori) of Antonio Fomez (cf., for a general bibliography, G. Pedicini, Fomez, Milan, 1980, and in particular), I should essay an analysis (cf. H. Putnam, «The analytic and the synthetic,» in Mind, language, and reality 2, London and Cambridge, 1975; M. White (ed.), The Age of Analysis, New York, 1955) in a form (cf. W. Köhler, Gestalt Psychology, New York, 1947; P. Guillaume, La psychologie de la forme, Paris, 1937) that is absolutely innocent and unbiased (cf. J. Piaget, La representation du monde chez l’enfant, Paris, 1955; G. Kanizsa, Grammatica del vedere, Bologna, 1981). But this is a thing (for the thing in itself, cf. I. Kant, Kritik der reinen Vernunft, 1781–1787) that is very difficult in this world (cf. Aristotle, Metaphysics) of the postmodern (cf. cf. ((cf. (((cf. cf.)))))). Hence I will do nothing (cf. Sartre, L’ètre et le néant, Paris, 1943). The rest is silence (Wittgenstein, Tractatus, 7). Sorry, maybe some other (cf. Lacan, Ecrits, Paris, 1966) time (cf. J.B. Priestley, Time and the Conways, London, 1937; J. Hilton, Lost Horizon, London, 1933).
How to Set the Record Straight
Letter to the Editor
Dear Sir:
With reference to the article by Vera O’Verity entitled «Ides Murder Suspect Denies All» in yesterday’s issue, I would like to set the record straight about several matters.
First of all, it is not true that I was present at the assassination of Julius Caesar. As you can see for yourself from the enclosed birth certificate, I was born in Molfetta on March 15, 1944, many centuries, therefore, after the unfortunate event, which, for that matter, I have always deplored. Hence your Ms. O’Verity must have misunderstood when I told her that, with a few friends, I always celebrate the anniversary of March 15—my birthday.
Further, it is similarly incorrect to quote me as saying later to a certain Brutus, «We will meet at Philippi,» or words to that effect. I have never had any contacts with this Mr. Brutus, whose name I heard yesterday for the first time. In the course of our brief telephone interview, I did indeed tell Ms. O’Verity that I would soon be meeting the traffic commissioner, Mr. Filippi, but I mentioned this in the course of discussing the city’s traffic problems. In this context, I never said I was hiring some killers to eliminate «that traitor Caesar»; what I said was, «We’d have to be a bunch of maniacs not to take a stab at banning traffic around Caesar Plaza….»
Respectfully yours,
Frank Tawk
Vera O’Verity replies:
Nothing in Mr. Tawk’s letter alters the fact that Julius Caesar was assassinated on the Ides of March in ’44. I can readily believe that Mr. Tawk and his friends always celebrate the anniversary of March 15, ’44. In fact, it was information revealing this suspect behavior that inspired my article. Mr. Tawk may well have personal reasons to propose festive toasts on that date, but even he must agree that the coincidence is, at the very least, curious. He will further recall that, in the course of our long, in-depth telephone interview, he said the words, «I always believe in rendering unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s.» A source very close to Mr. Tawk—whose good reliability I have no reason to question—has assured me that what was rendered to Caesar was twenty-three stab wounds.
I notice that throughout his letter, Mr. Tawk takes care to avoid saying who finally was responsible for those wounds. As for the pathetic «rectification» concerning Philippi, I have before my eyes the notebook in which I wrote, beyond any question, that Mr. Tawk did not say: «I’ll be seeing Mr. Filippi.» What he said was: «I will see thee at Philippi.»
I can similarly confirm the threats uttered against Julius Caesar. The jottings in my notebook, which I am consulting as I write, say clearly: «A bunch of maniacs … stab at … Caesar….» Splitting hairs and mincing words cannot absolve Mr. Tawk of his grave responsibilities; nor will his pathetic attempts succeed in gagging our free press.
1988
How to Watch Out for Widows
It may be, dear writers, both male and female, that posterity is of no importance to you; but I don’t believe it. Anyone, even the sixteen-year-old who pens a poem about the rustling forest, or the woman who keeps a lifelong diary, merely recording «dentist’s appointment this morning,» hopes that posterity will cherish those words. For,
