Il Collezionista /

Giuseppe Iannaccone

Il Collezionista is a column curated by Gea Politi and Giulia Gregnanin. Structured around a series of interviews with crucial figures in Italian collecting, the column surveys the attitudes, tastes and outlooks that have shaped a wide range of unique collections.

Giulia Gregnanin: You’ve stated on various occasions that art was a refuge for you, a free zone in which you could get away from the stress of work challenges. Does it still fulfill that need for you?

Giuseppe Iannaccone: I have to be honest: art played a crucial role when I was a young lawyer. At the time, I was entrusted with certain very important cases, but I was just a young man without a mentor. And in that context art was my soul’s “crutch.” I can’t say as much anymore: my work has given me a lot of rewards, and economic balance. But art is still a complement to my personality; art is me, it’s what I’m like. Now I couldn’t recognize my life without it.

GG: How was your collection born?

GI: I think it was the result of a chain of events. At first, I was a young man with a passion for art but without the financial means to collect it. I used to buy lots of art history books; at the Hoepli bookstore there were these enormous shelves that just drew me in. That led me to study art and art history. Then I fell in love with the interwar period and that whole group of artists, who were so spontaneous, direct, warm, emotional, passionate. I felt like I’d found myself. So when I had the possibility to collect, I started with them; I liked to think that one day I would put together a collection that included at least some of these artists. I thought, maybe I could have ten. Then things went differently, and today there’s ninety-seven of them, collected as though they were a single work.

Gea Politi: In 1989 you bought your first work, Sirena Ferita (1987) by Claudio Bonichi. I’d like to know more about that experience.

GI: I would have started collecting sooner. I started off young as a lawyer but had the luck to be assigned some very important cases. When I was twenty-seven I opened my own firm and got married. So my first concern was to buy a place to live, and after that I started collecting, in accordance with my means. After which my work graced me and I was able to devote more and more attention to my passions.

GP: You seem very tied to Milan.

GI: Very much so. I dedicated my first book to Milan, because the city has given me much more than I deserved; a non-Milanese person like me could understand that better. Milan helped me, it never caused me any problems. How could I not be grateful to it?

GG: “Italia 1920–1945. Una nuova figurazione e il racconto del sé,” which took place at the Triennale last February, was the first public exhibition of your collection of works dating between 1920 and 1945. It wasn’t just a show but a truly scientific undertaking, a study of a history that has never been deeply explored and perhaps not even widely collected.

GI: In the interview for the catalogue, Alberto Salvadori paid me a big compliment, saying: “Nobody’s ever told this story, the museums haven’t told it, other collectors haven’t told it.” But it’s a true story and I’m proud to have told it. It’s a story that has to stay intact, so that it can be available to people who want to reflect on the artistic reality of our country in those years.

GP: You’ve mentioned several times that you don’t collect Sironi or Casorati. How come they’re part of this story?

GI: I greatly admire Sironi, Casorati, Morandi and the Italian artists of the twentieth century, and of the Magical Realism period, and whenever there’s an opportunity to see them in a museum I jump at it. But it’s one thing to love art history and to love an artist, and another thing to buy them. I buy what resembles me, and Sironi doesn’t. What he dealt with doesn’t correspond to what was going on in the country. For me art is freedom! My artists don’t have limits; they looked to Europe, they had freedom of color. I wanted to tell a different story.

GP: The Tracey Emin piece you own (I’ve Got It All, 2000) is one of the artist’s most important works. That image helped initiate Emin into the art world.

GI: Buying that piece was a stroke of luck. I won it at an auction; there it’s a matter of seconds. You see, I subscribe to all of the contemporary art auction catalogues in the world. I look through all of them, from the first to the last, and when I see a piece that wins me over I don’t let it get away. The only limit is your buying capacity, but if you have the possibility then you have to take the work home. You said something very important when you mentioned Emin’s initiation. I am, in fact, very attentive to the early phase of an artist’s work, because the poetic inspiration that they have at the beginning usually isn’t comparable to what comes later.

GP: And what do you think of contemporary painting?

GI: Various critics have declared that “painting is over, out with painting.” In my view, painting is the history of art. It’s obvious that whoever paints today exposes themselves to more criticism, because it’s easier to make something that’s already been seen and difficult, instead of adding a new page to art history. But obviously there are people who manage it anyway, and who are admirable precisely because despite using a traditional method they’re able to innovate and make new poetry. Women in particular. There are a lot of things that pertain to the female gender that have never been said and that art history has never dealt with. For example, Wangechi Mutu makes work that’s completely unprecedented. I have a portrait of hers that’s an absolute masterpiece. Everyone in art history has made portraits, so how do you make a revolutionary one? Well, Wangechi Mutu did it. That means painting will never end.

GP: Do you buy a lot at auctions?

GI: No, it’s not my priority. I prefer to buy in galleries, so as to forge a solid relationship with the gallerists. When I started my collection I had some trouble with that, because the gallerists who represent highly valued young artists tend to place them within the best collections. One thing I can tell you is that I’d never be a gallerist.

GP: Have you been realizing projects that involve young artists for a long time?

GI: No, not very long, since 2015. We’re on our third exhibition now. Davide Monaldi and Luca De Leva were the first two, and now Andrea Romano. I already have two of his works. I really love his expressive language, the marked contrast in his work between fragility and hardness, and particularly the ambiguity and innovation with which he approaches a classic medium like pencil drawing. He’s an extraordinary portraitist but his works go well beyond formal beauty. This aspect is evident throughout his project at my firm: more than figuration in itself, the artist is interested in the subjects he chooses, their physiognomy or their character, and the way in which he depicts them. He chooses to work the marble that “encloses” the pieces — presented at my firm for the first time — with his own hands. That emphasizes all the more the sense of alienation you often get from forms and materials that simultaneously attract and repel each other, which is characteristic of his work.

GG: How do you see the future of the collection?

GI: I hope to always have the strength to keep going forward. Right now I have various projects in development, for both the 1930s collection and the contemporary one. And for me, in a certain sense, it’s a single collection. My dream is to create an exhibition that stages a confrontation between the blood of Scipione and the blood of Qureshi, to show that the human soul is always the same.

by Gea Politi and Giulia Gregnanin

(translated from Italian by Tijana Mamula)
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Il Collezionista /

Mauro De Iorio

Il Collezionista is a column curated by Gea Politi and Giulia Gregnanin. Structured around a series of interviews with crucial figures in Italian collecting, the column will survey the attitudes, tastes and outlooks that have shaped a wide range of unique collections.

Gea Politi: In several interviews you’ve spoken about art as a passion. When and how was this passion born?

Mauro De Iorio: There wasn’t a real first moment. I suppose I had tendency to think in images; when I think about something, images pass through my mind. That has also conditioned my professional choices: after studying medicine at the university, I decided to specialize in image-based diagnosis.

When I was eighteen, I began to be interested in cinema and to take photos with a Nikon that my father gave me as a gift. In Bologna, at the university, two friends and I set up a darkroom in our apartment; we had to wait for summer to have a stable temperature for color printing. The results weren’t amazing, but we were satisfied anyway. At the time, I was fascinated by David Hamilton’s soft-focus photographs of young girls and tried to imitate him. Being politically engaged, I also photographed the protests and other events I took part in.

GP: In what way were you politically engaged?

MDI: Those were the years of the student movement, and Trento, the city where I was born, and particularly the Faculty of Sociology, was one of the centers of the revolt: Lotta Continua was born there, with Mauro Rostagno, and also the Red Brigades, with Renato Curcio and Margherita Cagol. But my own rebellion began in the 1960s with the hippy movement. It was a behavioral revolution against the reigning conformism and moralism: we really thought we would change the world.

GP: Do you remember the first work you purchased?

MDI: I bought my first works from Massimo De Carlo in Verona. That’s where I got Giulio Paolini’s Orfeo (1976), in 2002, which is still among my favorites. Today I buy works capable of moving me. I don’t presume that they’ll become a part of art history; I just know that they’re part of my own research, and that’s enough for me. I’m interested in young artists because their works allow me to try to understand the times I live in. But I also appreciate modern artists who speak in the language of contemporaneity; figures like Alighiero Boetti, Pino Pascali, Gino De Dominicis, Paolo Icaro, Gianfranco Baruchello, Giulio Paolini.

Giulia Gregnanin: And so we arrive at the two-faced Janus; looking back in order to turn the gaze forward and read the present.

MDI: For me the Janus face isn’t just a question of past and present; it’s also a looking inward. I’m very interested in the metaphysical art of almost ideal pure forms. I love Spalletti’s work, for example, his soft and powdery monochromes. When I look at his work hanging in my living room, I lose myself in the colors; I feel like I’m on an airplane, coming out of the clouds and entering the blue sky.

GP: Are there works you’re particularly attached to?

MDI: The Paolini sculpture, which I already mentioned, is one of the works I love the most. The head broken in half makes me think of duality, a principle I always engage with: extremes confronting each other, yin and yang. And then Andra Ursuta’s sculpture Broken Obelisk (2013): a collapsed obelisk sitting on a blue chair with a sad, melancholy gaze. Another sculpture I love is Untitled 3 (Bronze Bodybuilders) (2016) by David Altmejd, the five hands digging through the surface of the body; my granddaughters call it “grandpa’s monster.” Another “grandpa’s monster” that I really love is Pawel Althamer’s sculpture Filip, which I have in my house in Verona: a skeleton composed of an explosion of bandages that almost make it look like an ostensorium.

GP: I feel like there’s a lot of references to anatomy here.

MDI: Yes, many. I’m particularly interested in works that depict faces in a way that isn’t necessarily realistic but that hints at something else. The art that intrigues me always has a symbolic dimension.

GG: What tools do you use to stay informed, to stay up to date with the flow of information?

MDI: Many. First of all, gallery exhibitions and newsletters, and then art fairs, magazines, recommendations from collector or gallerist friends, but also what I see online. On Instagram, for example, I follow people who can give me information. I’m interested in artists who use the platform to publicize their works; that way, if I see something that interests me, I immediately contact the gallery.

GP: There is often a very pronounced individualism in Italy. How important is integration for you, and the creation of a network among collectors?

MDI: Very. Right now I’m part of the ArtVerona committee, where I proposed to create a collectors’ consortium that would be open not only to the established collectors but also to “minor” ones who may not have vast collections but do have enormous passion.

GP: And how is your relationship with the gallerists?

MDI: Very good. Over time, I’ve established relationships based on respect and friendship. From Massimo De Carlo, a very lively and likeable person, to Giorgia Boccanera, to Massimo Minini and his wonderful family, to Chiara Rusconi [A Palazzo Gallery], to Raffaella Cortese, to name just a few.

GG: The previous edition of ArtVerona ended up being quite in line with the models of collector involvement that you outline: ten collectors were paired with ten young curators, who were invited to give their own reading of the collections. How did the project go?

MDI: Very well. They paired me with Sofia Silva, whom I didn’t know beforehand, and it was an exciting experience. Initiatives like these, which involve various agents in the art world in the same project, are excellent.

GP: What do you think of the idea of the collector as curator?

MDI: I think we have to stop viewing the roles of the curator and the collector as so rigidly defined. I look very favorably on the contamination of roles, on collaboration. It’s also a way to grow.

GG: How would you define your relationship with your local area?

MDI: I think it’s important for a collector to support the art system in their area. Art is a primary need. It’s like the air you breathe, the food you eat: you need it in order to be alive. It’s also an inalienable stage in an educational process. That’s why it has to have widespread local presence and to be available to everyone. Whoever is lucky enough to collect has to contribute to making this system grow. My own reference points are, in the first instance, the cities I live in — Trento and Verona — and then Italy in general.

GP: Do you ever buy or sell at auctions?

MDI: I’m not too familiar with auctions. I’ve bought at one only twice: from Phillips, where I won a Roger Hiorns diptych, Untitled, which was shown by Saatchi at the beginning of his career and now hangs in my studio in Rovereto; from Christie’s I bought a work by Nan Goldin called Gilles and Gotscho (1992–93), a series of four photographs that I’d seen in a museum in Oslo and that, in my opinion, is among the most touching testimonies to the drama of AIDS. But I’ve never sold anything, neither at auctions nor elsewhere. One of my pieces by Danh Vo, bought from Isabella Bortolozzi, went sky-high in value at the London auctions. Everyone advised me to sell it. But it didn’t make any sense to me; the work was part of my narrative, my experience… and it looks great above the sofa.

by Gea Politi and Giulia Gregnanin

(translated from Italian by Tijana Mamula)
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Il Collezionista /

Angela Missoni

Il Collezionista is a new column curated by Gea Politi and Giulia Gregnanin. Structured around a series of interviews with crucial figures in Italian collecting, the column will survey the attitudes, tastes and outlooks that have shaped a wide range of unique collections.

Gea Politi: Angela, your art collection is eclectic and varied. How would you define it?

Angela Missoni: If one were in a different era one might describe the collection as a cabinet of curiosities. I am not a collector, I am an assembler. I have collections of many things.

GP: Yes, because this is not only contemporary art. You buy as much in markets as you do in galleries, without differentiating between the two; it seems to mirror your way of being.

AM: If someone asks me where the skill comes in, I answer “the eye.” I see with a level of definition not entirely common. I live trying to improve that which surrounds me, from the dresses to the rooms themselves. I am in a constant search for harmony, for my sake and for those who live and work with me. Another trait is that I look ahead. I am compelled toward the future while trying to enjoy the present and preserve a significant past. I grew up as part of a company, and all my memories are linked to the dresses and the details. I remember every single dress from the runway at Teatro Gerolamo, Milan, in 1966 and from Palazzo Pitti in Florence the following year. I was seven at the time. In twenty years as artistic director I have maintained the Missoni identity while also reinventing it over the period, lending an impetus born of a bold recklessness. I have adapted and updated the vocabulary of the Missoni style, invented by my parents sixty-five years ago, by injecting the words of a discourse both familiar to me and contemporary with me.

Giulia Gregnanin: I was wondering if those two qualities — attention to detail and forward-thinking — have influenced your collection of contemporary art.

AM: I don’t know if they have influenced me, but if they have, it is in terms of spontaneity. There is art and there are also nonart objects. For example, you’ll find glass bottles, a Do Ho Suh piece, the little details of the Branzi libraries — all are in dialogue in the same space.

GP: Do you buy these objects because they remind you of something?

AM: I purchased these because they attracted me and I recognize that some objects take me back: from the furniture, which often comes from a house in which I lived; to the chairs on the veranda that have followed me since the 1980s and were taken from the garden of the hotel I used to stay at with my grandparents in Ischia.

GG: One might describe the works in your collection as mnemonic traces that interweave memories with your contemporary tastes. This crossover is very powerful, also in the joining together of handicrafts and works of art, serving as part of the vocabulary of your collection.

AM: I suppose, yes. I would emphasize that I am not looking for something other than surprise. For this reason I love bazaars, second-hand markets, anywhere that might offer a twist.

GP: Is collecting a family passion?

AM: Certainly it is for my mother. My tastes are an evolution of hers. I know her taste perfectly and she knows mine. Today she appreciates the things she didn’t consider before. My parents live in an eclectic house, highly personal, where the valuable and the valueless cross over. They started out collecting the works of friends, from Luciano Minguzzi to Roberto Crippa, but those were different times. In 1972, when we moved to Sumirago, my father painted eight works “to hang on the walls,” because we didn’t have enough money to buy anything else. The paintings were presented at MA*GA (Gallarate) at the exhibition “Missoni. L’arte, il colore” (2016).

GP: And afterwards, did your parents start collecting works other than those of their generation?

AM: Yes, my mother more so. My father bought works by Bruno Cassinari, Filippo de Pisis, Fortunato Depero, Mario Sironi, Giacomo Balla.

GP: A lot of Italians there, a strong attachment to roots. The same seems true for you, even if your collection houses numerous international artists.

AM: Yes, for him strictly Italians, save his countrymen from Croatia — or Dalmatia as he knew it — such as Ivan Rabuzin and Ivan Generalić.

GP: Do you remember the first work you ever purchased?

AM: My father gave me Roger Selden’s totem, on show at Galleria del Naviglio. I was eighteen.

GP: And something you purchased but never sold because of a strong attachment?

AM: I’ve never sold my works. Now I see some works that I bought impulsively and don’t know where to put them. Maybe I should consider selling them, as it’s a pity to leave them in boxes. For example, a very important work to me is that by Aristarkh Chernyshev & Vladislav Efimov at the entrance, purchased at my first Frieze. I’m now grateful I had the chance to experience the atmosphere of the first Art Basel Miami as well as the small collateral fairs. For instance, I bought Máximo González when Scope Art Fair took place in little rooms of a hotel in Miami back in 2004. González presented some works on paper where he’d cut up Mexican pesos.

GP: From what I understand you’ve never bought at auction.

AM: No, I’ve bought some after-auction work but I’ve never really participated in auctions. It’s all that time — I’m not able to follow everything.

GP: Has anyone ever advised you about what to acquire — consultants, dealers, friends?

AM: I’ve many gallerist friends with whom I share a certain perspective. I’m very attached to Mariuccia Casadio, whom I met many years ago. She often asks to accompany me on my rounds at fairs because I don’t get diverted, I move through the space and won’t be distracted by people. For her part, she recounts to me stories about artists with whom I’m unfamiliar, shows me works I haven’t seen, while I also show her my discoveries. I’ve never bought anything with an adviser; it’s always been my personal taste. It’s rare that one buys because one “absolutely has to have a work by a certain artist.” It doesn’t happen. I’m very happy to have this photo by Nan Goldin; it had been fifteen years since I’d previously seen it and then it happened. I didn’t even have to look for it.

GG: In the collection, one big visual leap is the massive presence of zoomorphic, phytomorphic figures. It’s as if you are looking to recreate nature at home.

AM: Maybe so, but only in individual works. Paradoxically, apart from the veranda, which I consider to be outside, at home I have very few real flowers. They are all fake flowers, elaborate fakes, every kind of fakery imaginable. They possess the gift of bringing joy.

GG: But why the interest in hands — a recurring motif in your home?

AM: I’ve been pondering that lately. What you see is just the visible part of the collection. I still have many other works in boxes left over from the last move. One day they will find their place. The hand is for care and affection but also dexterity, the act of doing.

GG: You have many chairs, even these little wicker seats for children.

AM: Those chairs confirm my affinity for the world of children. I collected children’s books even before I had any children of my own: animation books, illustrated, pop-up, 3-D and lenticular postcards, furniture.

GP: In one interview you said that as a child you wanted to become an architect and to redesign the world through architecture and children’s toys.

AM: One of the jobs that I could certainly do is that of architect or designer. I imagined every detail of this house myself. I love it.

GG: Do you envisage each home having its own identity?

AM: Yes, absolutely. For instance, the new summer campaign for Missoni was devised in the house in Sardinia, where I have other collections: Southern Italian ceramics, Sardinian baskets, shells. It certainly has a Mediterranean character.

GP: Who had the idea of entrusting some advertising campaigns to artists? For instance Autumn/Winter 2011, directed by Kenneth Anger. It’s one of the best films I’ve ever seen for a fashion teaser.

AM: That was my idea. The part of his work that interested me was the texture of his videos.

GP: And a year later Anger was at the Whitney Biennial. That was the moment I became particularly interested in you. I thought you must be very connected to contemporary art in a way perhaps you don’t even realize. Have you collaborated with other artists?

AM: When James Brett’s Museum of Everything began in London in 2009, I immediately said to myself: This is my home. At that moment I started working with Juergen Teller. For some time I’d wanted to create an image like the one on the cover of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band by The Beatles, to include family and friends. I knew I had to reach out to Peter Blake — the artist behind that famous cover — who was coincidentally, at the time, organizing an exhibition at the Museum of Everything. I couldn’t find him until I encountered Brett. At that museum, as is known, it is forbidden to take photographs; but I managed to convince Brett to authorize Juergen Teller to take pictures inside the museum, which Peter Blake was later to splice into the photomontage. From this picture I produced a lenticular postcard published in Tar magazine.

GP: Are there artists’ images to which you’ll return for a campaign?

AM: It could be successful. Certainly it has been in the past. I still remember the 1997 campaign with Mario Testino, in which we tried to create a Bloomsbury-type atmosphere.

GP: What do you think about the many fashion houses in Italy and France that are opening art foundations?

AM: It’s good. People with capital can afford to invest in these kinds of wonderful projects. We’re lucky they exist and have a vision to share with the world. We are all lucky. My parents were not industrial, and my father never subscribed to a class structure; he always wished to live humbly. Life must be lived for more than the simple accumulation of money. Nowadays, if you don’t take certain steps, you’ll struggle.

GP: You’re not interested in doing something like that?

AM: A project that I’d like to accomplish before I leave the scene — or even afterward — is the opening of a Missoni Museum. We have an enormous archive, which is an asset for our country and for the history of international fashion.

by Gea Politi and Giulia Gregnanin

(translated from Italian by Alex Estorick)
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