Today it is all Valentino. Immense. Splendid. Shining. But one day, in the mythical eighties, there were many things, in addition to the nascent structure of the brilliant, but still, Valentino Garavani. American Express, the legendary Galleria Apollodoro, by Paolo Portoghesi (with whom I had an exhibition at the Palazzo Reale in Milan and a Mazzotta volume, World of Towersand the cryptic Galleria Due C, which were Carmine Benincasa and Cleto Polcina. Today I want to talk about these two. They belong to my youth, as well as my linguistic development, and to my still current stylistic and interpretive attitude towards works of art, in the specific identification of the difference between the origin of art history and the originality of contemporary art. The square in Rome in question is Piazza Mignanelli, a stone's throw from Piazza di Spagna, facing the palace that once belonged to the Holy Inquisition. I was saying, Carmine and Cleto, a bold, well-chosen pair, the former for his cultural refinement, the latter for his ability in relationships and organisation. Two C, ..., it became a sign of distinction and style, with a forge of exhibitions, editions, and continuous initiatives, capable of keeping national attention alive, in Italy and in the world, without exaggeration, by valorising artists such as Cucchi and Lumaca, through projects like those of Mario Schifano, André Masson, Joan Miró, and Roland Barthes. In short, a true prominence whose warmth and splendour were felt, and whose absence is now keenly felt, with the involvement of prominent figures such as Cecilia Fanfani, Maria Camilla Pallavicini Rospigliosi, and Vincenzo Scotti.
A true season of prominence which saw, among other things, a fantastic exhibition by Paul Klee, with an exegesis by Carmine, which remains a milestone in the history of criticism not only in Rome, Urbe Condita, but also involving Milan, with the Lacanian Second Renaissance and the revised dynamics Coils, both a hotbed of ideas, languages, styles, for the eclectic but sharp figure of Armando Verdiglione and his wife Cristina De Angeli Frua. It seemed the party was endless, but then an illness took Cleto Polcina at the end of the eighties, shortly after a trip we had taken together, on our private jet, from Milan to Rome (because he had forgotten his identity card) to see Markus Lupertz in Dusseldorf. Then clouds gathered over the biographies of Carmine Benincasa and Armando Verdiglione. But I don't want to talk about this because it belongs to their private sphere and everyone bears their own cross. I miss Cleto and Carmine, who passed away in the scorching August of 2020, not only because they represent years of gambles, pipe dreams, and absurdities lived, but because they attest that whoever writes history must include a comma for us, and I am doing so in this epigrammatic, paradoxical, and not ironic piece of writing, making it a testament. To their credit remains the vertical journey of Salvatore Emblema, whom Carmine and Cleto supported and whom Argan consecrated in L'Espresso with a precise and compelling statement: Paint?…. Better to weave!!!
KLESSIDRA | EDITED BY FRANCESCO GALLO MAZZEO
Italiano 
English (UK)