The
figure of Lorenzo Peretti Junior (1871-1953) is a complex one, from
both an artistic and a human point of view.
He
decided to dedicate himself entirely to painting after the death in
1889 of his father Bernardino (of whom Lorenzo, working from a
photograph, would make an astonishing portrait in the style of
Cézanne around 1894). Bernardino was also a painter, the descendant
of a dynasty of artists (the Perettis of Buttogno), and linked to one
of the great exponents of French pictorial culture whose roots were
in Italy, in the Vigezzo Valley: Antonio Maria Cotti. The talented
young man, who had already received an art
education
as a matter of course within the four
walls of home, enrolled in the classes at the Rossetti Valentini
School of Fine Arts taught by the painters Cavalli, father and son.
At
the age of nineteen, in 1890, Lorenzo Peretti Junior took his first
course, which had no doubt also been a formative experience for his
future associates
who had already trained at the mountain academy of Santa Maria
Maggiore: Carlo Fornara (his own age) first and foremost, Giovanni
Battista Ciolina, Gian Maria Rastellini (already an independent
painter as of 1889) and the older, little-known Maurizio Borgnis.
Thus
his friendship with Fornara, destined to grow stronger over the
years, began as they listened to the words of Enrico Cavalli, under
the aegis of an artistic renewal which, if it kindled the dreams of
the young colleagues and induced them to fantasise about success and
fame, must also have imposed on Peretti the sacrifice of almost
totally abandoning the teachings of his father, as the result of the
new and in many ways tyrannical pedagogy practised with complete
dedication by Enrico Cavalli. The academicism and overly cold
correctness of so much of the French classicist school gave way to
the sign, the inventive fury and the full-blooded warmth of Cavalli’s
unique yet always new syntax.
However,
the friendly. comradely relationship he established with his
contemporary Carlo Fornara would not be
allowed to affect
either's freedom of artistic choice; it was understood, as in an
unwritten pact, that the directions of their work and the labours of
their research would be completely autonomous (as would indeed be the
case).
Peretti
spent the two years of apprenticeship at the School of Fine Arts in
Santa Maria Maggiore in an atmosphere of feverish experimentation,
emotional tensions and brilliant new discoveries.
Two
fruitful years (1890 - 1892) for the young Peretti, two years that
would mature his talent and temper his character; the artist
seems to have been uncompromising and
reserved, but also extremely concrete and above all endowed with a
quick
and brilliant intelligence.
Peretti's
first real interests emerged during the course of his studies: he
felt a strong affinity with the approach of Antonio Fontanesi (the
exhibition dedicated to the painter from Reggio Emilia by the city of
Turin in 1892 was probably a revelation for Peretti, as it was for
Fornara), closer to the free gestuality of Auguste Ravier during the
Morestel period; the materic and constructional dynamics of Adolphe
Monticelli, his partitioning of space and intrinsic geometries
capable of completely supplanting any academic notions about the form
of objective space cleared the way for an emotional, poetic
subjectivity which by no means precluded openness to a scientific
elaboration of light and a conscious, truly sensory
perception of space.
Curious
and enterprising in his research, Peretti was helped by Enrico
Cavalli to find the real core of his inspiration, to understand
himself and to truly understand his personality as an artist; he was
the last of Cavalli's students, in chronological order, and perhaps
the best loved. Everything seemed already systematised, and the
highly articulated
culture Peretti developed out of the experience was
due only to the young painter's extraordinary sensitivity. Cavalli
talked about the history of painting and experimented with the great
innovations, he brought the colour choices of the old masters to life
emotionally: Veronese and Tiziano, Tintoretto and Tiepolo, reread
always through the filter of Delacroix, whose lessons had been
conveyed to him intact by the very sophisticated reading of Guichard,
to whom he also owed his knowledge of Rembrandt and the synoptic
Italianising insights of Rubens.
Naturally,
Cavalli could not but transmit to his students the aesthetic and
emotional values of Impressionism (his virtually constant
contact with the French circles undoubtedly favoured his evaluation
of their merit), but in his work as a painter there remained equally
alive the petite
sensation
brought back from that world of the South of France, between
Provence, the Dauphiné, the Savoy and the Alpilles, which had left
its mark on his soul. And Cézanne inevitably entered and became part
of his Olympus, even though that name (far from well-known at the
time, except for his tempestuous relations with Zola) practically
evoked blasphemy, obviously because of the so deliberately incorrect
way he painted, more intent on the mental construction of geometric
solids than an accurate representation of planes, forms and spaces.
Lorenzo
Peretti was very knowledgeable and tended to expand that knowledge
almost to excess. His journeys, undertaken throughout his life in a
spirit of aristocratic reserve, his purchases of material for his
library and his studies and research, not only in the field of art
but also of philosophy and even psychoanalysis, made Peretti the
painter a true connoisseur of art, an expert of great sensitivity, a
conscious experimenter fully involved in the concerns of the
twentieth-century art world, and a true art critic, as Cavalli had
wished.
In
France
In
1892, with the death of Carlo Giuseppe Cavalli and the distressing
events surrounding the succession to the chair of Painting, Drawing
and Ornamentation at the Rossetti Valentini School of Fine Arts, the
small mountain academy effectively chose stagnation and consequently
an inexorable decline. However, this created yet another important
opportunity for those who had been his best students, a chance to
broaden their horizons and leave the valley that had cradled their
hopes, now deprived of the stimulus of Enrico Cavalli, abandoned to
his fate by insensitive detractors woefully ignorant of all the major
artistic innovations.
For
Lorenzo Peretti Junior it opened up the prospect of discovering
French culture, or better still, France itself, in the company of his
master Cavalli and his friend Carlo Fornara.
Their journey to Provence, Lyon and Paris, in 1893, was ultimately a proving ground and an unrepeatable opportunity. A datable (1892) and unequivocal proof of the technical expertise already achieved by twenty-one year old Lorenzo Peretti Junior is his Natura morta con frutta e due bicchieri [Still Life with Fruit and Two Glasses] (oil on cardboard, 46 x 39 cm). The work definitely marked a point of arrival: the teachings of his father Bernardino, the worthy painter of still lifes, were upended by a very modern organisation of the planes and the luxurious splendour of the paternal draperies and colours countered by a rough, almost metaphysical, simplicity that captures the semantic essence of the objects, leaving nothing implied or unexpressed, in a sort of absolute perception. As for technique, Cavalli seems to have made inroads: the colour is applied in wide, dense, generous stripes. The taste for Tonalism the master had imparted to his best students reappears with moderation, mitigated by the customary scraping with a sharp piece of glass to scratch and erode the almost completely dry coloured impasto. The result is a tormented, scarred and lacerated pictorial pellicle, resembling a beach strewn with jagged gravel. The high background reveals the way it was prepared: wide palette knife strokes of chromatic material have been left to dry then covered with light, purposeful marks, also made with a palette knife, swiftly applied to create nuances and signs, as though a wind had skimmed the surface then continued on its way unperturbed.
Seven
years after the death of Adolphe Monticelli, the itineraries of the
spirit that had shaped the powerful artistic maturity of Enrico
Cavalli were being redefined. Provence with the heirs of the
Marseilles school and the still completely unexplored world of Puvis
de Chavannes, visible in the staircase of the Musée des Beaux Arts
in Marseilles, as in Lyon. Diem and Vernay, Carrand and Seignemartin.
Ravier and his Italian contacts with Fontanesi, the stylistic
intermediary of the Rivara School; reflections on Charles Daubigny
and the later philosophy of the Barbizon movement, with Constant
Troyon, only possible after viewing the publicly exhibited paintings
assembled as civic collections by the city of Marseilles and the
Musée Granet in Aix-en-Provence.
And then Lyon, at whose Musée Cavalli and Fornara exercised their skills by composing two d'après: the first reprised the Danae (oil on canvas, 24 x 18.5 cm) by Domenico Tintoretto (which Enrico Cavalli believed was obviously a painting by Jacopo Robusti), the second revisited Tintoretto with The Mystical Marriage of Saint Catherine (oil on canvas, 61 x 39 cm). There was also no lack of opportunity to engage in a decidedly stimulating fashion with both Delacroix and the Ruysdaelian François Michel, or with only apparently older terrains of thought: Géricault and the extremely modern style of his portraits of the insane.
And finally Paris. The ferments of the French capital had already substantially signalled the decline of Impressionism, which gave way to ever new subsequent formulas: Pointillism, the research of Gauguin, and a more analytical and scientific evaluation of light, even on the part of historic Impressionists like Claude Monet and Auguste Renoir. The experiences of Toulouse-Lautrec and Van Gogh, with their consequent stylistic innovations and techniques; the desiccation of form expressed in the works of Puvis that would suggest mono-dimensionality to Matisse; discussions about the painters of Pont-Aven, who would be referenced by both Fornara, in La Sorella Marietta davanti alla Chiesa del Lazzaretto a Prestinone [The Artist's Sister in front of the Church of the Lazzaretto in Prestinone] (1894), Paesaggio con padre e sorella [Landscape with the Artist's Father and Sister] (1894)and Le lavandaie [The Washerwomen] (1898), and by Ciolina (who visited France only later, but was certainly well-informed as a result of dialectical discussions with his colleagues) in L'ombrellino rosso [The Little Red Umbrella] (1895); the increasingly evident affirmation of Japanese-style solutions, very close to the Ukiyo-e technique (the inversion of perspectival data, the flattening of space to a single dimension), tempered by an assumed or genuinely inspired symbolism.
In
Paris, Peretti, the tireless and talented critic, the interested
visitor of exhibitions and discerning hunter of the new, was able to
fully grasp the modern and revolutionary flavour of Pointillism, the
dot technique of Seurat and Signac, who quite independently seem to
have reprised in new ways the insights expressed by the touch of
Monticelli and François Miel,
insights
also
defined by the larger and more substantial patches of colour employed
by Cézanne himself (at least until the Nineties) and in the almost
chalk-like roughness of Puvis's touch; experiences that tend to
confirm the hypothesis (to which we must inevitably return) of an
autochthonous genesis of Divisionism in Valle Vigezzo.
Paris,
then, as the last frontier of knowledge, the privileged locus of the
affirmation and diffusion of avant-garde
thought. And above all, the unrepeatable opportunity to discuss and
debate with maestro Cavalli and with his friend Carlo Fornara these
works of the future and the most controversial and scandalous
techniques.
A
new journey to France in 1894 brings us to the period of momentous
decisions: Mattina
d'ottobre [October
Morning] by Carlo Fornara is dated 1893, while Prestinone
d'autunno
[Prestinone in Autumn], a work by Lorenzo Peretti in the style of
Fontanesi, is datable to 1894 itself. In their homages to Fontanesi
and Auguste Ravier, the two friends seem to have engaged in a sort of
competition to overcome the limits imposed by the masters of the old
tradition of Constable and the Romantics, so the importance of their
stay in Lyon must be acknowledged, together with a stylistic revision
heavily influenced by the explosive language of gesture and sign of
the Morestel and Crémieu artists.
A
second and decisive stage in the development of a specific language
by the students of Enrico Cavalli and all the pictorial culture of
the Val Vigezzo was signalled yet again by a work by Carlo Fornara:
En
plein air,
dated 1897. But apart from this painting, in many ways fundamental in
clearing a path to modernity for an entire artistic phenomenology
based on the final and extraordinary stylistic upheaval brought about
by Delacroix, what must be emphasised in parallel is the evolutionary
path of Giovanni Battista Ciolina, which seems, in complete
counterpoint to Peretti Junior, to still reflect the poetic world and
indeed perhaps the last cry of Cavalli's most personal and heartfelt
teaching.
Ciolina
must also be mentioned in relation to the development of Peretti's
research, because he very probably influenced his style and was
influenced
in
his turn by
the emerging talent of Toceno.
Effetto
di luce nel bosco
[Effect of Light in the Woods], a picture painted by Giovanni
Battista Ciolina in 1894, unequivocally marks out the path on which
Peretti had also embarked with Ritratto
del padre Bernardino
[Portrait of the Artist's Father Bernardino], the splendid result of
applying thick dots to generate pulsations of light and colour, but
also with works like Sottobosco
[Undergrowth],
whose chromatic and spatial partitioning shows the influence of
Segantini (and of the culture immediately preceding Divisionism), or
Ultima
neve [The
Last Snow] (a tiny masterwork
in
oils on a 21 x 16.5 cm board), in which the lesson inherent in Enrico
Cavalli's work Villette
has been completely absorbed and re-elaborated. The first Ritratto
della sorella
[Portrait of the Artist's Sister], not yet executed according to the
Divisionist formulas, and the Autoritratto
giovanile
[Youthful Self-Portrait] must also be assigned to the three-year
period that was decisive for the artist's
development
of a full and autonomous self-awareness: 1894 - 1897. In all these
works, a partitioning of space dominated by a single plane and a sort
of airy, vibrant two-dimensionality (created by minute touches or
broad strokes of the palette knife) has replaced the faithful
re-elaboration of Fontanesi's (obviously not the extreme Fontanesi)
sequences of trees like stage wings or compositions
based on
chromatic-spatial insight.
Light
is no longer constructed in the Flemish style, as in the Bottega
del calderaio
[The
Tinker's Workshop] which
Fornara, in a burst of pride and following in the footsteps of master
Cavalli and a work of his already inflected by the lessons of
Fromentin, titled La
Lettura [Reading],
had successfully submitted to the first Triennale of Brera. All the
Milanese reflections of Gian Maria Rastellini (who was never an
integral part of the trio of true innovators: Fornara, Peretti
himself and Ciolina) seem to have been secondary for the painter from
Toceno, by then the only one who remained extremely faithful to the
methods and teachings of Enrico Cavalli.
Rastellini,
a talented student, had by then almost abandoned the path traced out
by Cavalli, though he remained a very dear friend. His was a sort of
intelligent linkage of the lessons of the French and Monticelli to
the all-Italian innovations of the Lombard milieu. Not a betrayal of
his origins, never that, but perhaps precisely what Cavalli, had he
not been driven away from his school, would have put into practice.
In his happiest years, between 1885 and 1891, the maestro of Santa
Maria had a very clear endgame in mind: the conjugation of the French
experiences with Italian painting. He introduced many artists of the
Italian peninsula to his students, not only the Lombards – the most
important of whom were Raffaello Giolli
and
Francesco Paolo Michetti – and the Emilian Bruzzi, though first and
foremost Morelli, offering them as examples which he reprised and had
his pupils reprise in scholastic d'après,
works that were often of an excellent professional standard.
Perhaps
Peretti, for this ambitious and complex pedagogic project, cared not
at all. The painting of the French moved him the most deeply,
possessing him completely with the freedom that enabled the most
sophisticated scientific studies of light and optics to be combined
with the full, divine liberty to create by means of signs, of
autographic polysemes that were unique and very personal, unlike the
sometimes cloying creations of the Italians. They could call him a
pupil of the pupils of Monticelli or a Divisionist in the making if
they liked, it mattered very little to him!
And
Peretti's Divisionism would arrive on its own, without passing
through reverent homage to the many acolytes of Segantini, because he
had assimilated the painting of pure light in Paris in the years
1893-1894 from Seurat and the earliest Signac, not from Nomellini or
Morbelli, skilled and talented though they were, but very far, for
Peretti,
from
embodying the intellectual freedom that substantially shaped his
own
creative output.
Divisionism:
the history of a rejection
Technical
cages and schematicisms of thought
That
Lorenzo Peretti was a Divisionist painter or, at any rate, well
integrated into that species of initially spontaneous then
increasingly confessional group to which Morbelli, Nomellini and its
great inspirer Gaetano Previati belonged, only after having taken the
place of the unfortunate Pellizza da Volpedo, is no secret any
longer.
But
perhaps it was precisely the group discipline that he found
disagreeable: the feeling obliged to use a certain technique,
constrained by a common thought, by an equally common political if
not social creed, regimented. Divisionism was the child of science,
but not a gay science; in fact, it derived from positivist radicalism
and faith in human destiny, both of which could irremediably imprison
art. Especially painting, the least scientific of all the arts.
And
even though a free and extraordinary spirit like Segantini had set
out the loftiest interpretation of the Divisionists'
artistic-scientific message in Italy and in Europe, inspired and
never weakened by his creed, the painter from Arco remained an
absolute, isolated case. It was pointless to be the epigones of an
unrepeatable event; pointless to engage with the products of that
event.
Lorenzo
Peretti's reflections on one of the crucial questions of his life,
the development of his own art, must have been, if not precisely
identical, of this order. A significant clue to this complex, epochal
passage in Peretti's experimentation, always in a sense spiritually
if not directly related to his master Enrico Cavalli, is the second
Ritratto
della sorella [Portrait
of the Artist's Sister] datable to the year 1898.
The
painting is based decisively on two clearly differentiated modules: a
technique involving the application of small lumps of clotted, opaque
matter used to render the face, where light becomes multifaceted
according to a chromatic evaluation based only on the inherent
characteristics of the material, counterposed to a similar but
not identical technique where finely ground charcoal mixed with
graphite, suspended as impurities in an unsaturated solution, is used
to render the mass of the hair, against a whitish chalky ground
animated by startling scratches, slashes or punctures made with a
palette knife, or, once again, lines incised with a piece of glass.
These vivify the chroma, by removing or leaving, tormenting and
infinitely varying the luminosity, modulated by nervous signs and the
large areas of
ground
visible in the
dress, barely sketched out in closed severe geometries that leave a
great deal of space to the burnished cardboard support, placed
deliberately in full view. A Divisionist technique coupled with
another more traditional technique, more linked to the sign, to the
uncontrolled gesture. This happens in another work
by
Giovanni Battista Ciolina which is decisive for a synoptic reading of
the experiments carried out by the Rossetti Valentini students under
Enrico Cavalli's guidance: Filo
spezzato [The
Broken Thread] (oil on canvas, 230 x 170 cm), dated 1897. The genesis
of this work was a complex one and not only because of the
iconographic-literary symbolism the artist wanted to develop within
it. It was a matter of formally conciliating two different spirits,
two apparently irreconcilable modes of experiencing painting: the
division technique and the free gestures of traditional painting, an
expression of an older, realistic approach. Ciolina succeeded, albeit
at the price of a deep and lacerating inner struggle; the chromatic
wave treated in divided tones that embraces the fourth figure of the
group, the old woman, the third age of life, asleep in a sleep of
death, had to be memorable. His experimentation was echoed in a work
by Enrico Cavalli dated 1898. How urgent and complex the desire to
travel new roads was, through experimentation that did not snap to a
halt at the orders of any artists' stable, is shown by the Nudo
a mezzo busto [Nude,
Head and Torso] (oil on canvas, 45 x 52 cm) which, apart from being
an iconographic d'après
(the source is Rêverie [Dreaming]
by
Charles Chaplin, a painter who was twenty years older than Cavalli),
signalled that Cavalli had taken an important, even if transitory,
position.
The
artist seems to have wanted to disavow yet again the rigidity of
axioms and scientific rules to embark on a segmented juxtaposition of
pure timbric and tonal values; a completely new form with radiating
streaks of matter, clearly a synthesis of Divisionist stylistic
elements, in which the principal datum, light, could be inferred and
self-generated through a rhythm punctuated by signs and the depth of
their incision, played out between the dense surface of thick
coloured impasto, the broad gestures of the palette knife and the
support.
Thus,
between 1897 and 1898, some of the scenarios that Val Vigezzo
painting would shape in Italy at the time were decided. Lorenzo
Peretti was at the centre of those speculative reflections; his was
certainly an important voice. However, we are obliged to ask what
positions were taken by Carlo Fornara in the debate. And so...
Fornara?
The
scandal aroused by the work En
plein air (oil
on canvas, 145 x 190 cm) in 1897 and the interest manifested by the
Divisionist platoon, proportional to the harshness of some truly
unjust criticism, had placed Carlo Fornara on a sort of pedestal: an
artist maudit
who swam against the tide on the one hand, a painter of the future
and courageous precursor on the other. The day of recognition, the
hour of the scandal that brought about the ideal deliverance he had
yearned for since the years of schooling had indeed come to pass; it
was now a matter of being able to take advantage of the opportunity,
otherwise it would not be Italy and Europe showering him with
applause, but a path of no return to slow death and oblivion. The
figure of Enrico Cavalli and his misfortunes stood like the ghost of
Banquo before Fornara's eyes. And Fornara made his choice; the right
choice, if the eulogies of Umberto Boccioni reached his ears in those
years, louder perhaps than the prudish admiration of Pellizza.
In
the "audaciousness of the colour relationships, of a barbarously
dissonant stamp", as the jurors of the Third Triennale di Brera
were to write, lay the entire lesson of the French experience, but
also and most importantly a constructional solidity reminiscent of
Monticelli and his technique designed to construct the figure with
and for colour.
The only plane is the result of an inversion of the image and the
volumes; weights are harmonized in an equilibrium of luminescences
and shadows.
Obviously
Lorenzo Peretti took note, we may believe with complete satisfaction,
of the success that projected his friend Fornara into the centre of
controversy and the heart of avant-garde poetics. But his spiritual
world, his personal artistic research, his multi-faceted and
paroxystically sophisticated interests took him elsewhere: he could
not be fettered by the rules, albeit golden, of Divisionism.
Painting
could not and should not become scientific. What had to prevail in a
pictorial work was that vital impetus which, like a substratum of
consciousness, turns sentiment into form, substance and sign. And
then, if truth be told, given his caustic, rebellious nature, as
irreverent as only someone with a higher intelligence can be, with
Vittore Grubicy or any other gallerist there could be no glimmer of
an understanding. Peretti could not renounce that noble trait of his:
an anarchic freedom, truly übermensch,
which
was the essence of his inspiration.
The
works "Bosco
dei druidi
[The Woods of the Druids]" (circa 1898) and "Conversazione
campestre [Conversation in the Fields]" were his response to the
propositions of the Divisionists.
In
the silence of his studio, fatigued perhaps by the intense debate
which undoubtedly took place after Fornara's succès
de scandale,
the painter from Buttogno elaborated a stylistic rectitude made of
sophisticated architectures, specular references and increasingly
daring innovations. The first work cited already contains all those
anticipations which, like the pre-Divisionist expressionism of
Fornara, would shape the work of Arturo Tosi in his alcoholic period,
the weaker style of Vittorio Castagneto and, in its anticipations of
abstract expressionism, give rise, by other roads and through other
research (the Expressionism of the Blaue
Reiter)
though on the same principle, to the pure poetry of Nicolas De
Staël's work.
Lorenzo
Peretti knew himself to be a sort of alchemist poised on the brink of
oblivion or of obviousness, but still capable of setting out, through
experimentation, towards uncharted shores that would have to
completely satisfy his indomitable spirit.
In
Conversazione
campestre [Conversation
in the Fields] (oil on canvas, 55 x 45 cm), reference to the ancient
iconography of the Sacred Conversation is combined with stark graphic
effects that seem almost to inscribe the Symbolist lesson of Puvis de
Chavannes. But in this work there is also that touch of
one-dimensional figuration, of the sign restrained by the discipline
of the short, segmented and apparently dotted and divided line which
would meet with great success in the evolution of post-Pointillist
painting in the France of Matisse.
This
was the solitary and courageous response of Lorenzo Peretti Junior to
what by then was consolidated Divisionist thought. The death of
Segantini at the end of the century would determine the rest.
The
non-finito
and the roots of an Expressionism at the limits of the Informal
What
happened after 1899 and what transpired in terms of personal fortunes
and misfortunes, including those of friends from the past, seemed a
matter of indifference to Peretti. Certainly not or not only because
of coldness of character, much more probably because of his firm
intention not to get overly involved in events that would have eroded
his focus, drained and disheartened him. Exhilarating events replete
with triumph for Carlo Fornara, on the way to being considered
(perhaps reductively) the disciple of the inimitable and epic creator
Segantini. Events less abounding in artistic gratification for
Giovanni Battista Ciolina, who was preparing to revise his Milanese
projects (even though he kept his studio open in the Lombard city
until the year 1914); a sensitive poet and refined colourist but,
especially in this phase, not always able to peremptorily decide on
the line to take or arm himself with the necessary fighting spirit.
And it was also true that in that fateful but exhilarating year,
Ciolina had produced one of the sublime masterpieces of Divisionism,
Donna
che guarda dalla finestra [Woman
Looking Out the Window] (oil on canvas, 98 x 64 cm), perhaps the most
perfect work, in terms of balancing inspiration and iconographic
rendering, of all the production of the turn of the twentieth
century. Nevertheless, since he could not count on the support of the
Grubicy Gallery, formerly the promoter of Segantini and now engaged
with Fornara, and was forced to rely on a clientele not channelled
directly to him and therefore only occasional, albeit of excellent
taste, he wavered.
In
the end, Enrico Cavalli.
His
star, so bright only ten years before, seemed to be setting at the
dawn of the Third Venice Biennale. His painting was considered at
once too modern by the foolish detractors of the Vigezzo Valley,
close-minded and still enslaved to nineteenth-century thought, as was
the entire province of Novara, and eclipsed by the times and the
fashions, according to the most forceful judgements of connoisseurs
and collectors both in northern Italy and his beloved south of
France.
And
Cavalli had serious financial problems too, so was forced to resign
himself to a practice of painting that privileged the métier
to the detriment of research:
his
not new, but terrible personal drama.
If
an artist can work for himself, defying the limits of his knowledge
or the boundaries set by critics and the inevitable judgements,
sometimes harsh, sometimes hasty, made by a public in many cases
devoid of education and information; if an artist is content to make
discoveries and, with no need to sell, does not exhibit his work or
show it to anyone; if an artist is so cultured that he has discovered
the very essence of his potential creative will and wants to
translate it into acting in complete freedom from the bonds of a
common poetics or collective interventions, then that artist, at the
cost of being labelled a misanthropist, will have perhaps discovered
the principle of his equilibrium.
After
definitively abandoning Divisionism, Peretti paused to reflect.
Perhaps at this stage his reflections on the non-finito
(unfinished) came to assume almost theoretical connotations. Always
in Peretti's works one encounters a mode of painting whose raison
d'être
is primarily the preparatory sketches. Parts left out or unfinished,
the masking or flattening of colour, superimposed signs, completely
different techniques made to coexist within a single work. And this
was always a conscious choice, determined by a precise intention: to
involve the viewer (in reality non-existent, because embodied by the
artist-agent himself), to provoke him, to embarrass him. If, at
times, the artist's chromatic scales verged on the aristocratic
product of a perception anything but simple, his iconographic and
gestural inventiveness was in any case subordinated to a well
worked-out calculation of how to exploit, functionally as well, the
incomplete.
Interrupting
a work, not completing it, also had a spiritual significance and a
philosophical dimension that can be traced back to Platonic
speculation, revisited through the thought of Plotinus and emergent
in the Renaissance with Michelangelo, and also, for the erudite
Peretti, in the techniques of El Greco, Velázquez and Goya, not to
mention Constable.
By
this time, the most important forces guiding the artistic acts of
this isolated genius with an extremely refined palate were
philosophical thought and speculation.
Painting
is nothing other than the final act of a sort of mental decantation,
a distillation of sensations and perceptions that have indeed to do
with aesthetics, understood as the quest for beauty, but also with
consciously developed critical faculties.
The
fact that Peretti did not show his works, as his master Cavalli had
occasion to lament, seems quite logical now in the light of the
rigorously elitist choice he wanted to make in complete autonomy and
freedom.
This
perspective enables us to understand the essence of certain still
lifes of impressively evocative power and an almost Morandian
essentiality. At times metaphysical, with latent tensions that seem
to mark out paths destined to be clarified later by Carlo Carrà and
the Novecentismo
of the Turin Gruppo
dei Sei
with the moral support of Casorati, Peretti anticipated, with
striking flashes of insight, as in the splendid Frazione
alpina
[Alpine Village] (oil on board, 11 x 17 cm, 1920 ca.), the painting
of form with essential fragments of language, tesserae of colour and
geometric, arid patches of matter (after experiences with the
abstract and the informal) carried out by a genius of the 1950s named
Nicolas de Staël, and in Italy by the work of a Lombard follower of
the Lombard-Val Vigezzo painter Arturo Tosi: Ennio Morlotti.
Of
undeniable value in this very personal research, far removed by then
from the lessons of Val Vigezzo though never uprooted from the
teachings of Enrico Cavalli, were the journeys he regularly made to
France and Germany throughout the Twenties and Thirties. Peretti was
a vigilant, totally attentive and focused spirit when engaged in
research; a true critical temperament for whom art, one's own and
that of others, was to be lived as a kind of priesthood of the
absolute.
His
encounter with the thought of Steiner and with Kardec, his reading of
Eliphas Levi and the Buddhist and yogic texts, and his exploration of
the non-systematic Western philosophies led the artist to an inner
freedom ultimately devoid of rationalistic constraints and expressed
as pure insight, which in Valle Vigezzo
would
have its epigone in an Expressionist
sui generis,
the problematic Giuseppe Magistris (1911-1967); the freedom Lorenzo
Peretti Junior had yearned for since painting a splendid unfinished
work titled Lavandaie
alla Lanca di Toceno
[Washerwomen
at the Oxbow Lake near Toceno] (oil on cardboard, 41.5 x 53.5 cm), of
a
poetry
tempered by essential touches and faded washes reminiscent of
Semeghini, an illustrious anticipation of the extraordinary poetics
of De Pisis, yet a work created in the early years of the twentieth
century (because of its compositional characteristics and stylistic
concomitants, it can be dated no later than 1902).
Only
the reconstruction of the Papetti library, one of the most
interesting in the whole Vigezzo Valley, sadly dismembered and lost
now, which was put together and organised after Peretti's death by
the person who had remained perhaps his most faithful friend, could
tell us about the painter's critical activity and provide us with a
good broad explanation of his artistic methods of work and all the
complex and, in some cases, at least to a superficial eye, totally
disconcerting choices he made.
We
are forced to admit it. Lorenzo Peretti Junior had the only fortune
an artist can wish for: he never had to come to terms with the public
and still less with the critics. A painter who deliberately chooses
not to exhibit or show anyone his work, especially if he has had
masters of the stature of Enrico Cavalli, will be able to reach the
highest levels of pure unfettered inspiration, without wasting time,
without deviating from a predetermined line to please a client or out
of the need to earn a living. In Peretti, the achievements and
illusions of Enrico Cavalli's school were synthesised in a sort of
uncontaminated purity; what it was, with a precise historical record,
but also everything it might have been and never did become.
Text
by Dario Gnemmi
Taken
from The
French Vigezzini. Painting of the Alps and beyond in the Vigezzo
Valley at the turn of the 20th century .
Skira Editore, Milan 2007.
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