He has caused a stir in the sleepy birthing process as it stands now. A University of Culture is rising. But self satisfied, it contains thought differences in a box therefore, and Adolfo merely opened it.
We do not know where art is going. Of the many directions it took post impressionism, which will name some future or living era? He has answered much of this querry for himself. He will make you think!
On the cover a most peculiar feeling having seen many in this series, and never having them explained, well…I simply got myself conditioned to a dark negative space. Here we have him injecting primaries on what seem ‘white’ negative space. You will see this is wholly inadequate to describe him.
For the reviewer the great artist of the past is close to home. An entire novel no less, is being constructed concerning a fictional painting by the master. Here is my first review subject of his, like angels on black velvet. Behold!
He is Fra Angelico known by no other name in general art appreciation. What dances is the Classocal Pipeline of fresco and oil. Masters watched over countless would be Rembrandts, giving them their wisdom with this mix, that brush, a pipeline of old knowledge. I said in that story I created that Fra Angelico painted miraculous holy family fresco and oils.
Adorned in similar fashion, dark as night, full of thoughts! This is how he came to us, we knew nothing of his triple threat (music, poetry, and media), and for all his recognition abroad he still misses what seemed stolen from him at home.
Art sites vary in ethical finesse. Critics vary. I’ve heard him attacked and do wonder at all the varying opinions. I do my best to combine opinion with just tech. Seems a craftsman’s dream, these youprints, not blueprints. You couldn’t build it, if you could read it!
By placing the squared frames, he has defied something to create unfinished as a motif in a high tech art era. But I warned you of a strident self definition. Here it is.
In the powdery HD effect, things might be made out, they might not. The frames lead you to the figure, the eyes are well led to ask questions and that is a part. I might see a powdery green shark, or just my own Rorshark is that violence. Amazing viewer guidance to a center.
The more complexity and story telling at the center of the ‘frames’, the more your eye obeys. There seems to be little eyes telling this story, saying ‘I am art, look here’.
Now more from Friar Angel, lol!
I will leave the students to define ‘fresco’ but one part for the Cathedral goers that was important was story. Look below, a tableau describing somehow, the main characters above, and the event. A holy event is always depicted in these Frescos. One such was the Enunciation in which Mary was informed she was bearing the Son of God.
Recently I was called on to discuss “The Holy Mountain”, a film by Alejandro Jodorowsky, and here this review cycle comes bringing us to the holy mountain of the Apostles as Jesus spoke to them. Here it is below.
Now that we view the master, we cannot help honestly reviewing. It’s a clear brightness to color in primaries he effortlessly wields, now that we look. Another element is the schooled rockscape he knew, or had learned to render. It was the study level of the day and modern eyes see it wrongly as rough and unfinished or even unschooled, amusing. I never noticed the Catholic ritua of the frescoes and oil paintings. So that would have had to be why I thought they could work miracles, what art details! Here’s more Adolfo Corti!
Squares are guides to what is contained. Human life experience looks out a window. We long to frame time: the artist is a writer, which we shall now explore. In his own words these pieces form a view into our very thoughts. An affable premise with all that might be needed to shorthand such as a mind, or a thought. Listen to the thoughts of the artiste as a writer!:
DIY: “This one, as it has some age. I think you want DIY though, 3 works cannot cover your canvases AND your poems. Any OTHER talents??? Gaaaleee!”
Adolfo Corti: Byron Montgomery How can I tell you my life in two lines. A lot of study, a lot of passion for writing, music, painting. When I discovered Mozart’s 563 trio, I listened to it all night long! I have never met anyone who could give value to my works. these sonnets were reviewed by the leading national newspaper. 28 books, many visual works, sociology of law book housed by the university. Now I’m reading a precious book of philosophy of mathematics with Wittgenstein’s critique and discovering Francesco Filidei, contemporary composer, in one of his works from 2020. Friend of such beauty, solitude as an artist is livable, more, fantastic. In my city I am known, but not loved. They don’t allow me to exhibit my works, no cost. they know I can do without them. a little acknowledgment wouldn’t hurt, but now it’s too late, I wouldn’t accept it. sorry, I wrote too much. Thank you. Let me know about your life. Bye my great friend🙏”
This scratches a surface of the artist only. Here are a few literary excerpts (3 of them) that caught my eye 2 from prose, 1 from poetry. I have been currently reviewing the greatest writers of American history. I have to apply that same objective assumption over each writer in the Novel Writing class. Remember we are merely covering an extremely versatile.
Literary Excerpts from Artist Adolfo Corti:
- A poem
from MONOLOGHI DEL VUOTO
4.
The radioactive lands
sing as before,
at the top of their lungs.
But the looks betray
much, too tired
He says they’re beautiful, beautiful,
and you can not blame him.
They fall apart by themselves,
you can’t even touch them,
nevertheless!
Things haven’t changed
he says,
and I still agree.
The sun rises among the usual rubble,
but under his little forehead
there were rocks, ditches, once,
even the measles tasted good.
Rivers,
once they all thought them,
they prayed for rivers.
But once in the rivers
the stars were reflected,
he says yeah,
not that much has changed,
but the stars are gone.
Everything goes away.
And nothing changes.
ado magnus 1997
This struck me quickly in the list of works he glimpsed for us. In introducing a poet I suddenly felt the need for the mainstream motif of poetic phrases being shorter than speech or essay (in general). It’s way too intellectual, try to just enjoy the sheer art of such a person. Think he’s an AI?
2 a fragment of a novel
THE TWO WORLDS TALK TO EACH OTHER (1)
from NEBEL ‘epic novel’
My life in the dream and my life outside the dream are revealed to me spontaneously, intertwining at every step. The memory of my first day of school embraces that of climbing Huayna Piccu. Mauri, clutching his head in his hands, says that the world is without end and that he himself cannot understand it. Einstein replies that space is curved and that there is a relationship between time, mass and speed. Mauri says he climbed to the top of the world and saw with his eyes how endless his extensions are. Leopardi puts his arm around his shoulders and tells him that there is a small hill in Recanati and that that small hill was enough for him to see infinity. Villon is running away through a bush because someone wants to assassinate him. Maria tells him that she can hide behind the pile of basins, in her metal shack. Far-li-Mas sits next to me on the benches of the tennis courts, says I should tell men stories that can hypnotize them, otherwise it’s all in vain. Cavafy talks to Dionysus about the revelry of Alexandria, I ask Pessoa for the hours, Pessoa smiles with Shakespeare about the flat seas of Portugal and his nostalgia, Shakespeare is so tired that Sanchi spreads the scent of sandalwood and its beauty around him. Bosch asks Joy-Skad if his paintings are still in Manhattan, but Joy-Skad carries on in the rain. Goya comes towards me, he wants to escape by climbing the Pyrenees. Balthus dreams of light men who walk suspended in the void, I hold Pachacutec on my knees and talk to him about Juan Gris, Gilgamesh, Sandro Penna. Spinoza watches my mother drinking at the fountain in Livigno.
The bells ring four o’clock.
ado magnus 2000/2002
Well my God, there are few words for this. I do wonder if my editor and I, having looked upon the finest of the fine satirist, fictionalists, novelists, Wila Cather, James Baldwin, Samuel Clemmons, Edgar Allen Poe, William Faulkner, Herman Melville! Will we even be able to venture into the amateur or unpublished, who cross our DIY threshold of the visual in medium. So stepping out of this in to the literary…well…trepidation! But it bears up interest under a lot of modern scrutiny. I think you might have made a top grade in a poetry class. Nevertheless it’s really good!
4.
THE MEETING
When we meet, the desert is dark and cold. We spread our mats on the sand, wrap ourselves tightly in our cloaks and look into each other’s eyes for an instant, caressed by the golden light of a lamp, worn out by tiredness, but vigilant, tense in a marvelous determination. We don’t know each other, but the rhythm of our breaths envelops us in a fraternity that we share with the breadth of space and with the milky strip dotted with stars that crosses the vault of heaven in the middle. His face expresses strength in the wide cheekbones and broad forehead, the lips are just pronounced and serrated by the cold, the solid and powerful hands, the sincere and sure eyes. A slight quiver breaks the cadence of our breathing: we begin to talk to each other.
We met at last!
-It’s been a long journey.
-Very long! We were kids when we left!
-Now we are old, but still very strong.
-I don’t remember how our journey began.
-Me neighter.
-Let’s smile.
Our smile exhales an emotion that we communicate by lowering our heads slightly. We smile again.
-We both know what we have to say to each other.
-Yes.
We look around. We stand up, embrace each other, feeling glimmers of cold creep through our cloaks into our arms and shoulders.
Holding his hand tightly, I ask him:
-Is there something in the world?
He shakes my hand too.
-No, there is nothing.
-It was simple, figure it out.
-Yes.
-We can’t ask ourselves why we’ve traveled so much…
-Why? What does it mean? It will be our tiredness, in the world there is no why.
We still sit. We touch each other’s shoulders. We look at the stars. We sip the hot drink that each has brought for the other. We are silent for a long time, looking into each other’s eyes.
Three blasts of trumpets echo fortissimo in the void, followed by a long arpeggio.
We get up, we hug.
We look into each other’s eyes in greeting.
We roll up the mats, tie them under the cloak: we leave.
We are already a little far away when he turns around and shouts to me:
- What madness!
I nod my head yes, I spread my arms.
A blue light shines in our eyes, we don’t see it, we feel it in our hands, together, it’s a wonderful smile, which only expresses affection, for us, for everything.
I’m already totally immersed in darkness, when I shake my head slightly and whisper: -What madness!
A tear of joy falls from my eyes.
-And what an extraordinary man!
Now let us leave our feature to again look deeply at the past of art.
He is ritualistic in a Catholic way, for behold the persona and their regalia, this is the actual power flowing in the bodies of the angels. Look here below, the Halo, the Blood of God! That is as Friar Angelico thought the world.
As for thee art students look thee as a colorist upon the Jewels at the collar! The damage of His words, that is muted symbol, which is one definition of art by my measure. Look upon the Eyes of tortured persons everywhere!
One last look at Adolfo Corti to show that he cometh even into the powdery ‘mind’ window frames, from elsewhere in his style journey. Here a photographic landscape is enhanced. We follow that with a train that runs on the powdery power of colour!
Finis
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Byron Montgomery Art Review for DIY News. More reviews on Facebook at Art Element
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