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I am aware that most of the editors on this site are from Trento or thereabouts, right? Well, I'm not. I recently moved to Rome and I find the Capital rather nice, I must say there are two or three fairly interesting stones. Yes, then there's the Colosseum. Beautiful, the Colosseum. There's devastating traffic, really. People going to work throw themselves at dawn, those who wake up, into an infernal circle of rickety buses and air-devouring cars.
Then there are the STARS. These, reminiscent of the Roman Empire, speed along in their blue cars at full throttle. Could they run over a child? Who cares! The Carabinieri car precedes them with sirens blaring, a paddle waving out the window, horns blaring like the trumpets of the Last Judgment (and let's hope this Judgment comes sooner or later Good God of Saint Christopher!!)
The STARS nurture the myth of their own Stardom. The harlot, the scandal, etc... are the tools with which the Stars allow us to dream of being part of the same world. Here come the scandals, the simulated shame of certain characters, the evenings on Porta a Porta where topics suitable for the Stars by the Stars are always discussed.
Striscia la Notizia, Le Iene: power that mocks itself. The ultimate expression of power able to mock itself to give a sense of tenderness in those who watch. and then, inevitably, there are the whores and the courtesans and the palace harlots and the various iterations of women from showgirls to female politicians with more testosterone than my grandfather, an ex-bricklayer...who's already been dead for some time but still gets excited.
And here is Patrizia d'Addario. One of her last appearances before Sanremo: you have known a Patrizia that is not the Real Patrizia! I am an artist.
I know many people who have sweated seven shirts to do a meticulous and almost "artisan workshop" type work in their artistic activity. All in the utmost anonymity, to achieve excellence and the strength of the "gesture." Now, these things can't just be labeled as clichéd and overused or simple statements of television "trash," because these things add to what we define as culture and communication. There are lines of pseudo-intellectuals who recover phenomena of this kind in an absolutely snobby post-everything game. How many albums do we listen to a year? How many films do we watch? How many shows do we see in a lifetime? Is everything noteworthy? Does everything have value? What will remain in the end, in 50 or 100 years?
These expressions of "bad taste" ultimately help shape what lies on the margins of the most "elevated" artistic forms, creating a sort of alternating current of human expressive possibilities. In the era of "everything is artistically permissible," where in so-called alternative cultures dissonant shouting and noises, wild improvisation without technique as a foundation, become things to admire as forms of experimentation.
We live in a karaoke world where everyone now feels "creative" and capable of saying something important for the human race. Even in the genres that those who write on this site tend to appreciate. The twentieth century spawned an apocalyptic monster: we are all artists and we were created unique and capable, if the spark comes, of grabbing pen and paper, sheet and brushes, guitar and who knows what else and creating AN ESSENTIAL MASTERPIECE.
The D'Addario book? A film company close to Tarantino, according to the escort, has bought the rights. Otherwise, I haven't read it, heaven forbid.
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