Unnerving, dirty and lost though many of Alberto Sughi’s characters seem, they are undeniably fascinating. Their faces melt away as if acid had been poured on their skin, though this acid comes from within; political corruption or something more personal perhaps, like the loss of a sense of self and faith, is the cause. Sughi is one of Italy’s most famous living artists, and with good reason. His paintings are dark and hazy, yet full of hidden truths which, if looked for hard enough, reveal themselves in a candid and uncritical manner.
‘Art’ and ‘Italy’ tend to sing of perfection formed, as cherubs look down from lofty corners with skin to rival that of a Pampers advert baby, and Madonnas sit serenely with faces of chastity and innocence. His paintings are therefore brilliantly refreshing and are particularly pertinent in today’s political climate. ‘Politici al Recevimento’ (‘Politicians at a reception’) appears to portray a group of suited politicians talking amicably amongst themselves in a bar. In fact, the skin on many of their faces has begun to evaporate, leaving only skeletal shapes made all the more ominous by their entirely white eyes. Thin, washy green runs down over the painting of these powerful men, yet, rather than being an aggressive criticism of the notorious political system it is simply a suggestive observation of the state of things which politely begs some thought.
The figure at the front of this painting stands alone, sad and pensive, as if the image of corruption were coming from his mind’s eye. Similarly, Sughi’s lone characters are often caught in a moment of realisation. Although still clad in their trollop-esque clothes (but they are not necessarily prostitutes), these outfits have begun to fail as a façade of happiness.
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| 'Donna sul divano rosso'. Copyright http://www.albertosughi.com/ |
‘Donna sul divano rosso’ (‘Woman on a red sofa’) shows a woman whose wealth has drained her of beauty, character and energy. She is not evil, but Sughi’s ruthless black shading on her pinky red skin creates a portrait like that of Dorian Gray, as she realises the substance (or lack thereof) of her life. And it is one which only she can see and know the full horror of. Being alone, she is unguarded in her expression of terror, and we feel only sympathy that thing she is afraid of seems to be herself.
Vice figures significantly in his works, but they are also about a very human fear. One of his most recent works, ‘Stabat Mater’, consists of three huge and intrusively close views of mothers’ faces. Or at least they were mothers; the dead language of the title cruelly echoes the death of their children. One of the most wonderful things about Sughi is that, despite his paintings having an impressionistic quality, he hides nothing. He penetrates their darkest grief and most private anxieties, in the way Conrad does in his writing. The central mother, who holds her hands over her mouth as if to stop herself being violently sick, voices their panic most clearly: they have lost a part of their identities, they are no longer mothers.
For Sughi it is not all doom and gloom, however. In an interview with Sergio Zavoli he said, “I never […] exaggerate the lines in order to voice my own opinion, […] My intention has always been to paint in order to express the highest possible level of truth.” This made me feel a little less guilty about the offence I seemed to cause the gallery curator when I asked if he thought many Italians felt like these isolated characters. “You think they are Italian? I don’t think they are,” he replied, somewhat affronted by my insinuation. Still, corruption and uncertainty, both moral and political, are universal, and in light of Sughi’s comment, nationality becomes yet more irrelevant.
They may seem sad, but really they just show mankind at the lowest moments of self-respect and self-belief. This state of mind is not constant; the woman on the red sofa will probably get up in a minute and smooth down her dress, walk into the next room, and begin chatting in genuine happiness with others who have suffered the same intense fear, unknown to the rest, an hour or two before.
Alberto Sughi’s works feature in many public collections in Italy, as well as in frequent private exhibitions. Look him up next time you’re there for something a little different, or go to www.albertosughi.com
