Tuesday 8 July 2014

25 ...
The doors of La Matriciana opened in 1870, here in this same location. Its name translates as 'the woman from Amatrice,' a central Italian village closer to Spoleto than to Rome. It opened a year before Rome would become the capital city of the Kingdom of Italy, three years after Canada became a nation, at the height of the Franco-Prussian War, five short years after the end of the American Civil War, and the year of the first ever international football match, this one between England and Scotland (it was a tie game at 1-1). The restaurant was here when the Costanza Theatre rose across the street, later to become the Teatro dell'Opera di Roma. Just sitting in the dining room transported one back to the 1930s, when the restaurant was last renovated. Did Mussolini dine here following a performance by Tito Schipa or Caterina Boratto? What other luminaries leaned over this very table, whispering scandalous secrets to one another?

There was something reassuring about the interior of the place. The decor said "I've seen it all, so get comfortable" and at the same time "not too comfortable, grazie." High vaulted ceilings hovered over marbled floor tiles and panels that extended several feet up the walls. Creamy stucco extended from there back to the vaults above. The spotless antipasto buffet table looked rooted to its spot, veteran of decades of use. And occasionally an enticing whiff of grilled pork or ossobuco would escape the kitchen. This particular evening was warm enough that the glass doors to the small patio on the sidewalk stood open, the chatter from the outdoor tables carried in to us by a refreshing breeze.


Mondrian wanted the stracciatella; the rest of us were content to pick and choose our antipasti. A rather stern-looking waiter took our orders for primi piatti, and we chatted aimlessly about the ancient monuments of Rome, St. Peter's, the Galleria Borghese, and the weather. Donatello and I shared a plate of seafood fettuccine. Mondrian sipped his wine, happily looking on. From the list of delectible-sounding secondi piatti, each of us chose something that no one else had ordered, promising a taste of each dish to everyone.


Piet Mondrian (arttattler.com)

Dinner with others around a table is an opportunity. It's a chance to observe people who are engaged in the most ordinary of activities, often when their guard is down. Donatello’s quiet graciousness with the boisterous Michelangelo confirmed what little I knew about him. It is said that he routinely left in his studio whatever money he could spare for the use of anyone in need. All accounts describe him as a gentle and generous early Renaissance master.

Beside him sat Michelangelo, bursting with self-importance, enjoying the food and wine unreservedly, interjecting outrageous comments but also surreptitiously absorbing the collective intelligence of the conversation – the appearance of a bull in a china shop with the cleverness of a chess master.


"A performance art piece," I continued, "often has no dance component at all. We're not talking about a particularly recent art form either. Piet can confirm that. Artists were creating performance pieces in the early 20th century ... and some argue that performance art has a lineage we can trace as far as back the Renaissance. But without a doubt, about 100 years ago now, the Dadaists, the Futurists, and others really got the ball rolling. 




Hugo Ball performs, 1916

By the 1960s, what was written or said about art had become as important as the art object itself – in effect the underlying idea became the focus of discussion, and for many, that idea was the art. As the art object fell from favour in those circles, art as concept – conceptual art – was a natural fit with performances that were transient presentations of ideas. 
Artists like Yves Klein ...



Yves Klein applies YKB (Yves Klein Blue - an ultramarine he copyrighted) to 
models whose bodies then become instruments for mark making. ca. 1960


... and Sol LeWittYoko OnoJoseph Beuys and Chris Burden and a host of others really put the spotlight on this idea." ... 




Yoko Ono, Cut Piece, 1965

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