Time is an issue that cannot be surmounted. Rocks have to be broken; it takes time. A castle has to be built; it takes eight years. For as much as we talk about craft — making and re-making, constructing and fine-tuning the details — time is still an element, just like wood, lime, iron, and stone. Time allows for discipline and the dance of the hours seeks a greuling narrative. Argentaia is the title of a cerebral choreography that controls the work of the hands, the strength of the legs, and the skill of words. Italy, a land of resilience and of water — a pure water that slides down the Alps, through the pine trees and white marble, collecting in rivers and flowing through cities, taps, and construction sites, soiled between mud and soap. In the end, the water finds its way to the sea — and what’s more beautiful than the sea? No other land can boast a mix of landscapes, roads, and routes like Italy. Nowhere is more international than Italy — only the Italians haven’t realize it.
At the home of Massimo Listri in Florence, we spoke about Counter-Reformation together with Ettore Mocchetti, architect and director of AD Italia. The Counter-Reformation, which brought economic and infrastructure development to Milan thanks to Carlo Borromeo, can be seen as the reason for the downfall of the Italian civilization’s supremacy. If in Northern Europe, the Protestant Reformation upheld the virtue of work, in Italy, the Counter-Reformation restored vigor to the Catholic vocation. If in the North, the economic rise of a free man was a cause for approval, in Italy, it remained subject to suspicion: exploiting connections, cunning, opportunism, glory could be only be achieved through virtue and purity or social clout. What’s more, in the North’s cold and rainy climate, what else could people do besides work? In Italy, both past and present, no one wants to miss a sunset.
Ignorance is not resolved with education, but with curiosity. If one fails to wonder what meaning 1789 holds for us today and how it succeeded in changing history, that is their own fault: an individual flaw, much like someone who doesn’t know how to write a C-sharp and talks about hip hop culture. Madame de Staël won’t be forgotten in any case: if people do not understand that reading, watching, listening to what others do and have done means placing your own life at the world’s disposal, that is their own fault. If a nineteen-year-old doesn’t have the curiosity to hop on a local train towards Mantova or Urbino, to turn a thousand pages, that is their own fault; they will forever remain a predictable person to their friend, lover, and employer. They can earn as much as they’d like — find celebrity even. It’s only in the evening, when the lights go out, that the wrinkles come out and the skin beneath the chin begins to sag. Standing before the mirror, it becomes clear that the questions have already been posed and that it is still the questions that count and not the answers.
Lampoon is an American word that means magazine — a stinging, irreverent satire. In this first issue in a new direction, Lampoon has chosen craft as a journalistic approach — the search for a prototype before production and the science fiction of a laboratory rather than the workshop of a master craftsman. We’ll stay clear of captions. Stories and images will be sharp, with cuts I like to think are inspired by the scissors of Alexander McQueen. With Lampoon, we strive to achieve this attitude without the need to provoke; the language will remain calm, while the intellectual connections may appear chaotic — a utopian sophistication. Kerouac’s words come to mind, those about two mad guys — just like us — mad to talk, to never yawn or speak of banalities, burning like yellow roman candles and exploding like spiders across the stars. And we are there, looking up, and still saying awww!IMAGE GALLERY