Gianni Lucchesi

仲秋悦、姚晓

一片黑暗的空间中矗立着一根灰色混凝土方块，在它粗糙的表面之上可以看到一个“小黑点”，当镜头逐渐拉近，“小黑点”向观者表明身份：他是一个小小的青铜雕像，一个人看着方块边缘，向下凝视着某种深渊。他看起来就像是在与自己内心的怪物搏斗：它们是生活在我们的流行病环境中的痛苦，同时经历着有关我们的损失的悲剧。这个青铜小人似乎屈服于尼采最黑暗的预言之一：这个德国哲学家在《善与恶的彼岸》中写道：“那些和怪物战斗的人，请格外小心自己也成为怪物。当你长久地凝视深渊时，深渊也在凝视着你。”就像弗里德里希（Friedrich）的《雾海之上的流浪者》某些黑暗版本一样，Lucchesi 称他的雕塑作品《横跨河流》的主角也站在一片不确定的未来面前，和 COVID-19 病毒的邪恶力量相比而言微不足道，但他仍在经历否认、愤怒、讨价还价和消沉的心理阶段。

“这不是放弃的时候：“我不会陷入绝望，”他似乎在阳光下高声叫喊”

然而，最后，主人公打破了他永不休止状态的锁链：它不再被困在前四个悲伤阶段的永恒重复中。随着视频的进行，这个人开始动起来：他伸展身体，张开双臂，好像在拥抱世界。黑暗和阴影逐渐消失，只留下光明的空间。在接受的那一刻，男人意识到不是所有的东西都消失了，这不是放弃的时候：“我不会陷入绝望，”他似乎在阳光下高声叫喊。

这第二个标志着主人公从悲伤的枷锁中解放出来的雕塑的名字就是《答案，我的朋友，在风中飘荡》。一朵蒲公英出现了：风吹来，它把花带走了。就像鲍勃·迪伦（Bob Dylan）的歌（Lucchesi 在其标题中引用的）一样，也许我们的损失故事的答案是“难以理解的模棱两可”，正如米克·戈尔德（Mick Gold）所写，“要么答案如此明显，它就在你面前，要么答案就像风一样无形。”但也许没有必要解决这种模糊性：人们可能会说，从未被告知，但刚刚发现，如梦初醒。

By Zhong Qiuyue and Yao Xiao

A gray concrete block stands in the middle of a dark space. On top of its rough surfaces, we can see a small black spot. When zooming in, the “little black spot” reveals its identity to the viewers. It is a small bronze statue of a person looking over the edges and staring down into what appears some kind of abyss. He appears as in a fight against his own monsters: They are the sufferings of living in our pandemic condition while experiencing the tragedies of our losses. He seems to be succumbing to one of Nietzsche’s darkest prophecies. “He who fights with monsters,” the German philosophers wrote in Beyond Good and Evil, “might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.” As in some darker version of Friedrich’s Wanderer above the Sea of Fog, the protagonist of Across the River, as Lucchesi entitled this sculpture, stands in front of an uncertain future, insignificant in comparison to the Covid-19’s evil power. Denial, anger, bargaining, and depression.

“This is not the time to give-up: “I will not fall into despair,” he seems to scream under the sunlight”

And yet finally, the protagonist breaks the chains of his Sisyphean condition: It is not anymore entrapped in the eternal repetition of the first four stages of grief. As the video progresses, the man starts to move: He stretches his body, his arms wide-open, as if he were embracing the world. Darkness and shadows progressively disappear, leaving space only to light. It is the moment of acceptance, where the man realizes that not everything is gone, that this is not the time to give-up: “I will not fall into despair,” he seems to scream under the sunlight.

The title of this second sculpture that signals the liberation of the protagonist from the chain of grief is The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind. A dandelion appears: The wind blows, and it takes the flower away. Just like in Bob Dylan’s song, which Lucchesi cites in the title, perhaps the answer to our stories of loss is “impenetrably ambiguous,” as Mick Gold wrote, “either the answer is so obvious it is right in your face, or the answer is as intangible as the wind.” But perhaps there is no need to solve that ambiguity: Meaning, one might say, is never told, but just found.