THEORETICAL OBSERVATORY

Dead Painting (Temptation - Action - Sense of guilt) 2005-2025

Introductory note

Is it legitimate to destroy a work of art? And, above all, what ethical and moral dilemmas arise if it is the artist himself who invites such a destructive gesture? The question, only apparently paradoxical, is rooted not so much in the ontology of art as in its social and behavioral status. It is not a matter of questioning the material integrity of the artistic object, but rather the possibility that art, as a relational and situated phenomenon, can find its authenticity in the disruption of its own premises. Already in 2005 and 2019, similar video performances and installations to the present work were proposed. These have a strongly interactive character, although—and this is their peculiarity—the interaction is simultaneously offered and denied. The work consists of two essential elements: a painting and a hammer. 1) The painting is created with refined pictorial skill; it depicts a white horse, missing its hind part, unnaturally equipped with three front legs. Around its neck is tied a cotton thread (real—not painted), the end of which is tied to an object. 2) The hammer lies on the ground, at the spectator’s disposal. The painting, a symbol of Apollonian beauty—composed, ideal, spiritual—is placed high, in an unconventional and deliberately inaccessible position. It cannot be observed without a physical gesture: looking up or even climbing. The hammer, on the contrary, is within reach. The spatial distance between the two objects reflects a conceptual distance: between the rational and the irrational, between balance and impulse, between aesthetic contemplation and iconoclastic violence. This configuration can be defined as an expression of an “a priori sense of guilt.” A latent, internalized guilt born not from the action itself, but from the mere possibility of it. The installation thus becomes a moral instrument: it does not offer an object to admire, but a choice to make. The spectator may grasp the hammer and strike the painting—carrying out an irreversible gesture that may burden them with a sense of guilt. Alternatively, they may choose not to act, limiting themselves to imagining the destruction and thus participating passively, though no less intensely, in the event. In either case, what the work activates is a form of catharsis: a liminal experience, balanced between action and inaction, between reality and representation, recalling the purifying function of tragic theater in the Aristotelian conception. However, it must be clarified: the artwork is not identified with either the hammer or the painting. It resides in the spectator’s gesture. It is in the act, or the refusal to act, that the true substance of the work manifests. In this sense, it configures itself as “behavioral art,” or as an existential provocation addressed to the observing subject. The intention is not to propose an aesthetic object, but a limit-situation that demands a response. In doing so, it questions the very foundations of our relationship with art, with individual responsibility, with the power and risk of free will. The dialectic between the Apollonian and Dionysian—concepts borrowed from Nietzschean reflection—is re-proposed in an experiential key. The painting, with its mutilated harmony, recalls the ideal tension toward order and beauty. But it is an incomplete, wounded beauty, as if to suggest that every idealization involves a renunciation, a loss. The hammer, symbol of impulse, is both temptation and condemnation. The destructive gesture is simple, but never naive: it is loaded with moral consequences, a choice that calls the individual into question in his ability to decide and take responsibility for his actions. In this, the work becomes profoundly political, in the original sense of the term: it stages the subject at the moment of his public responsibility. Therefore, we are not facing a simple aesthetic object, but a symbolic machine that interrogates not only art but the society in which it is inscribed. In a culture of visibility, where the spectacular gesture becomes the extreme form of communication, we have a reversal of the terms of the problem: it is no longer the artist who performs, but the spectator. His reaction, his doing or not doing, is the artwork itself. This reversal has profound implications: it reduces the authorial role, disrupts the traditional concept of art consumption, and opens space for a broader reflection on the meaning of aesthetic experience in the contemporary world. Destroying a work of art is not, in this context, a vandalistic act, but one deeply charged with meaning. It represents the disruption of our cultural automatisms, the interruption of the contemplative flow that separates observer and object. It does not ask to admire a painting or a hammer: it forces one to look inside oneself. Transforming art into an ethical experience, a provocation of thought, a radical exercise of responsible freedom.

Analysis of the Installation by Stefano Mastandrea (Researcher and Full Professor, Scientific Disciplinary Sector: Psychology of Art and Perception, Roma Tre University)

In the gallery room, from my point of view, I see, in order: a black pedestal on which a hammer stands firmly head down; the painting depicts a white horse with three legs, missing its hind part and fourth leg—mutilated. The hammer’s handle, superimposed, could represent the missing fourth leg. The horse lifts its right front leg in an unnatural, elegant, anthropomorphic gait. It emerges from a dark background or the wall, which could hide the convex posterior portion of its body. Perceptually, we complete the incomplete, integrating the missing part with what is visible. Incoming information (bottom-up) integrates with the information already acquired through previous experience (top-down), which contributes to forming the schemas we continually use to simplify perceptual processes. In front of the painting, we want reassurance; we do not accept that such a beautiful horse, with a melancholic expression, is not whole. We defend ourselves against irregularities; we prefer symmetry and harmony. On the ground, to the right and left of the horse, there are stones from which flowers grow: resilience? A white thread starts from the horse's neck, attached to a teapot resting on the upper right frame, creating a diagonal continuity with the lower left part of the painting. The thread is real but might at first appear drawn. A second aspect of ambiguity. The teapot, however, is incontestably real. Thus, reality and illusion coexist. The two objects, hammer and teapot, create a congruent continuity; they are real, can be touched and even grasped. At the same time, there is an incongruent continuity, a conflict. The hammer is hard, iron-made, offered to the visitor to be held; the teapot is fragile in both material and precarious position. A relation between opposites. As Hitchcock said, if a gun appears in a movie shot, it will eventually go off. If there is a hammer, it will eventually strike. Hard to resist. Seeing is not just seeing; it is also acting. When we see a bottle, for example, we activate not only the visual cortex areas but also motor cortex areas responsible for the action needed to reach the bottle and drink. Similarly, the hammer will activate different cortical areas depending on what one intends to do. Probably, one who observes it as a “ready-made” object will activate areas related to perceptual circuits of aesthetic gratification; one who imagines it as a functional tool to wield will also activate motor cortex areas. A similar process may occur when we observe a horse making an off-kilter movement as shown in the painting. The horse does not actually move because it is still on the canvas. But we perceive an implied movement caused by the figure's broken symmetry, the lifted leg, and neck twist. If we saw a real horse moving, the perception of movement is due to the activation of neurons in area V5 of the visual cortex. Interestingly, these neurons also activate when faced with implied movement: the horse is static, but perceptually we see dynamism. Again, seeing is not only seeing but making information available for a series of actions the spectator hypothesizes or plans. As Gestalt psychologists said, objects exist within a field, and in this force field, grouped in the gallery room displaying Virgilio Rospigliosi’s installation, there are different objects with very distant functions. But the fact that the field contains them creates an inevitable connection between the objects, even if very different formally and content-wise. The hammer, in its ordinary life, is used for hitting, striking, crushing. Here, it has an amplified function. Art historian Erwin Panofsky said that where the practical function of an object ends, its aesthetic function begins. Thus, in front of the hammer, we have two choices: perceiving it aesthetically (beyond practical function) or functionally, for its use. But in a gallery, objects are admired, not touched, much less used. Here begins the process that can shift from mental to behavioral. When faced with an object intended to strike, one switches from a cognitive process to a behavioral action. Where do I direct aggressive, violent action? Toward the defenseless and disabled horse? It is only a painting, really. It is not a horse but only the representation of a horse. But the representation, according to perceptual codes guiding our knowledge, directly and immediately refers to the animal. Certainly, it will not protest, run away, or scream. However, the spectator’s gesture could lead to the destruction of the work. Who has the courage to carry out this action? The teapot is a commercial object, of little value; once broken, it can be replaced. Its high-right, unstable position means it takes little to make it fall. Its fall would produce a loud noise while observed shattering. This sound refers to its destruction, a liberating sonic feedback. How many times have we wanted to break plates and glasses? Here we can do it; we are allowed, indeed encouraged to do so. And we can do it even carelessly by pulling the cotton thread linking the horse’s neck to the teapot. Meanwhile, the hammer remains on the pedestal. Directing our destructive action at the painting is more complicated. Taking out aggression on a horse painting executed with considerable artistic quality is not easy. The horse is also deformed and unstable on its legs. It takes little to make it collapse. But the artist’s installation and performance invitation foresee this. To link, through action, all three elements present. The hammer can be grasped or brandished. The artist authorizes it. He invites this. But the public is responsible for the aggressive action. Anger and aggression reside in each of us. We only need to find a way for them to emerge. And here, conditions allow it. Breaking a teapot is easier, but a work of art? The artist invested time and expertise, and despite the explicit invitation, will anyone accept his provocation? A single spectator might not have the courage, perhaps. But the public is a group composed of individuals who can reinforce positive and negative qualities in collective action. Together, one finds strength or, if you like, courage. In this case, we are not only spectators but also artists, protagonists of this performance. The brush is replaced by a hammer. Didn’t Burri replace it with an oxyacetylene torch when burning plastics or wood? Wasn’t that a destructive action on material? Rospigliosi’s painting is also material. Invested with this task by the artist, one participates in the collective destructive operation. An initial moral conflict between what is ethical and what is not. Surpassed by the fact that one is somehow relieved of responsibility because invited to do so and because it is a collective action. Like teapots, paintings can be reproduced, which can help reduce the guilt of offending art.

Dead Painting (Temptation - Action - Sense of guilt) Performative installation 2005-2025©. Acrylic on wood, hammer, porcelain, cotton, thread. Dimension 135x90 cm - 90x25 cm

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