Earth, history and identity: these are the elements that the artist Chiara Camoni blends and moulds to create works of a rare intensity, in which leaves, flowers, pigments and ceramics become one and the same. This was the creative process behind her exhibition Chiamare a raduno. Sorelle. Falene e fiammelle. Ossa di leonesse, pietre e serpentesse, presented in 2024 at the Hangar Bicocca in Milan, curated by Lucia Aspesi and Fiammetta Griccioli. First of all, space: for the occasion, natural light was allowed to filter into the large hall of the Hangar, creating a different atmosphere to previous and future exhibitions. Once assembled, her large porcelain objects create huge snakes, her vases become butterflies, all within a space that celebrates continuous rebirth, while a disintegrated floral decoration in constant metamorphosis peacefully and harmoniously occupies the bright, open spaces of the Hangar Bicocca. Like in a secular cathedral, we come together, “summoned” by the artist’s magic, that same magic that often involves other hands, other eyes and other lives in the construction of her works. Chiara shares the creation process, opening up to mystery, to the unexpected, but also to the beauty of the encounter with others.
We talked with her about earth, history and identity.
Rare earths could be the subtitle of many of your projects. Can you tell us about the importance of earth in your research?
For me, earth is the star of the exhibition held at the Hangar, bound to the idea of soil, the rarity of the specific earth of the places I have been and where I have been invited. I often collect them in places that have a sound, a colour, a charm. Some sands call me, I keep them and use them to create my works. I have lots of jars of sand and earth in my workshop, and I mix them together: every vase, every Sister was made with these soils. Other works were made with an irresistible purple-coloured sand I found on a beach in Wales. It was important not to use industrial clay, but something rare and unrepeatable, a memory of that moment. The earth conserves a memory and a uniqueness that are also reflected in the colour, fading from purple to white: this is possible because different chemical compounds can be found in the soils I collected, and these give the sculpture different shades. The idea of rarity lies precisely in the fact of not being standardised. All the soils I collect have their own personality, a unique colour. For example, each of the Sisters are different, in terms of composition but also as an installation: whenever the Sisters are assembled they take on a new form, in constant movement. Some have flowers inside that have to be changed; when the candles have burned, they have to be replaced. These works have to be cared for, nurtured. For me, none of the works on show are definitive; they are not finished when they are concluded, they are finished when they reach the right point of mutability.
I really like the way in which you adapt the concept of rarity to that of uniqueness and care. In their extractive meaning, rare soils also mark a contrast, and from collective heritage become a resource for the few. The individual and the group are also a central focus of your work, and also the stars of this exhibition. So I would like to ask you where the need for participation in some of your works comes from, what triggers the involvement of the audience even before the exhibition begins.
There’s a lovely definition I borrowed from a book I am very fond of, which is the right measure (Anselm Grün, The art of finding the right measure, ed): I think this gives the meaning of my work, which is always marked by the idea of “many, but not too many”. There is a balance in things, and if we exceed that measure then things collapse or take on another form. I truly believe in the idea of transmission that occurs by direct contact between people, but for my own inclination, I need to work with medium-sized groups (twenty or so people). This is because there’s a certain type of knowledge, which I think is the knowledge that has to do with transformation, something transmitted face-to-face, or rather, when people can relate to each other. This knowledge demands the presence of the other, but does not allow multitudes because then it’s hard to find a contact, a direct relationship in that dimension. In the workshops, it’s fundamental to maintain a relationship of one body in the presence of another body. This doesn’t mean that I have never worked with large groups, but in that case the intention was different: for example, in the performance with seven hundred children, Il grande baccano, I worked with a multitude, but the aims were different. On the other hand, I think that the exhibition at the Hangar Bicocca talks of relationships of proximity, familiarity, conviviality.
I think conviviality is the keyword, as it is reflected in kitchenware and other everyday objects that take on new forms.
Exactly. There are plates, cups, but even the Sisters are sometimes made in the workshops, sitting around a table. Or the floor, which was decorated by all the people sitting around a table. The table is the measure of conviviality: the person opposite you or next to you perceives this and joins in the work. The encounter is an intense moment, which brings the work together, creating something unique, something that talks of the earth in a unique way.
