THEORETICAL OBSERVATORY

Dead Painting (Temptation-Action-Guilt) (Text from 2025 relating to works conceived in 2005©)

Introductory note by Virgilio Rospigliosi

Is it legitimate to destroy a work of art? And, above all, what ethical and moral dilemmas emerge if it is the artist himself who solicits such a destructive gesture? The question, only apparently paradoxical, sinks its roots not so much in the ontology of art as in its social and behavioural status. It is not, in fact, a matter of interrogating the material integrity of the artistic object, but rather of the possibility that art, as a relational and situated phenomenon, might find its authenticity in the putting into crisis of its own presuppositions. Already in 2005 and in 2019, a video performance and an installation analogous to the work in question were proposed. Strongly interactive in character, although, and this is the peculiarity, the interaction is simultaneously proposed and denied. The work is composed of two essential elements: a painting and a hammer. 1) The painting is executed with refined pictorial mastery, it depicts a white horse, deprived of its rear portion and endowed, in an unnatural manner, with three front legs. Tied around its neck is a cotton thread (real, not painted), whose end is tied to an object. 2) The hammer is placed on the ground, available to the viewer. The painting, symbol of Apollonian beauty, composed, ideal, spiritual, is positioned high up, in an unconventional and deliberately inaccessible position. It cannot be observed without performing a physical gesture, raising one's gaze or even climbing. The hammer, by contrast, is within reach. The spatial distance between the two objects mirrors a conceptual distance between the rational and the irrational, between equilibrium and impulse, between aesthetic contemplation and iconoclastic violence. This configuration can be defined as the expression of an "a priori sense of guilt". A latent, internalized guilt, born not from the completed action, but from its mere possibility. The installation thus becomes a moral instrument, it does not offer a work to admire, but a choice to make. The viewer may seize the hammer and strike the painting, performing an irreversible gesture that will burden him, perhaps, with a sense of guilt. Or he may choose not to act, confining himself to imagining the destruction, and thereby participating passively, but no less intensely, in the event. In both cases, what the work activates is a form of catharsis, a liminal experience, poised between action and inaction, between reality and representation, that recalls the purifying function of tragic theatre in the Aristotelian conception. It is necessary to specify, however: the work of art identifies neither with the hammer nor with the painting. It resides in the gesture of the viewer. It is in the act, or in the renunciation of the act, that the true substance of the work manifests itself. In this sense, it configures itself as "behavioural art", that is, as an existential provocation directed at the observing subject. The intention is not to propose an aesthetic object, but a limit situation that demands a response. And in doing so, it interrogates the very foundations of our relationship with art, with individual responsibility, with the power and the risk of free will. The dialectic between the Apollonian and the Dionysian, concepts drawn from Nietzschean reflection, is reproposed in experiential terms. The painting, with its mutilated harmony, evokes the ideal tension toward order and beauty. But it is an incomplete beauty, wounded, as if to suggest that every idealization carries within it a renunciation, a loss. The hammer, symbol of impulse, is temptation and at the same time condemnation. The destructive gesture is simple, but it is never naive: it is laden with moral consequences, it is a choice that implicates the individual in his capacity to decide, to assume the weight of his own actions. And in this, the work becomes profoundly political, in the original sense of the term: it stages the subject at the moment of his public assumption of responsibility. We are not, therefore, confronted with a simple aesthetic object, but with 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 an extreme form of communication, here is an inversion of the terms of the problem, it is no longer the artist who performs, but the viewer. His reaction, his acting or not acting, is the work itself. This reversal has profound implications, it scales down the authorial role, disarticulates the traditional concept of artistic fruition and opens space for a broader reflection on the meaning of aesthetic experience in the contemporary world. To destroy a work of art is not, in this context, a vandalistic act, but an act profoundly laden with meanings. It represents the putting into crisis of our cultural automatisms, the interruption of the contemplative flow that separates the observer from the object. One is not asked to admire a painting or a hammer: one is compelled to look within oneself. Transforming art into ethical experience, into provocation of thought, into 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) (Text from 2025©)

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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