admin, Autore presso MARIO AMURA

Di Marino: Vesuvio, una visione instabile

admin — Wed, 25 Mar 2026 07:31:26 +0000

Mario Amura’s «Napoli Explosion» project, on view at Naples’ Real Albergo dei Poveri

by Bruno Di Marino

In the nineteenth century, when photography was still in its infancy, many photographers turned to “Pictorialism” in order to overcome their inferiority complex vis-à-vis the visual artists, imitating the subjects and stylistic conventions of painting. In the early years of the twentieth century, once photography had been accepted as an art form, there was no longer any need to disown its own identity. And yet, with the historical avant-gardes, many artists experimented with the photographic medium, producing images that were non-realistic, if not overtly abstract. It is to this tradition, in some way, that Mario Amura belongs. Since 2011, he has been pursuing his project Napoli Explosion, currently on view at the Real Albergo dei Poveri in Naples (through March 8).
FOR FIFTEEN YEARS Amura, together with a group of friends, has documented New Year’s Eve in Naples from the summit of Monte Faito, recording its extraordinary spectacle of light through the simple use of exposure time and camera movement. Over the years, this has yielded thousands of images which, when presented on a large scale, fascinate the viewer, left spellbound before photographic compositions that seem like paintings. As the curator Sylvain Bellenger (former director of the Museo di Capodimonte) explains, “these images move beyond the descriptive dimension to assume autonomous, abstract, painterly forms. What emerges is a reflection on the relationship between light, time, and perception—one that places photography back at the center as a cognitive language, capable of uniting artistic intuition and scientific analysis.” The works—around thirty in all—are displayed in one wing of the immense palace, currently under restoration (one of the largest in Europe). In a few cases they are mounted on light boxes, but for the most part they are high-resolution prints, illuminated with impeccable care. After all, Amura, a graduate of the CSC, also worked in the past as a director of photography for filmmakers such as Sorrentino and Guadagnino. The result is that the texture of each work asserts itself before the viewer with an unprecedented material and chromatic density. At times, one can make out the silhouette of Vesuvius rising above the Bay of Naples, seeming to catch fire at the stroke of midnight; at others, luminous trails, flourishes, arabesques, fields of color, and so forth are inscribed upon the surface, giving rise—after the initial sensation of astonishment—to a reflection on the relationship between realism and abstraction.

WHAT ARE WE LOOKING AT? A reproduction that has a real-world referent of its own, or a representation without an analogon? What sensation—even on the level of perception—does one experience before a composition of this kind? Once it has been established that these are photographic images, or, if one prefers, works that incorporate light within themselves (but that are also the result of precise and calculated movements of the apparatus), one does not feel any more reassured about the nature of these images. And why should one, for that matter, given that today the digital has rendered the status of any image radically ambiguous, and the gap between the true and the false has become constitutive and structural, indeed almost intrinsic to the work itself? In fact, the very status of the photographic image is founded upon a fundamental semiological instability, since it is, to use Peirce’s terms, a mixture of index and icon. What appears, then, is a luminous trace encoded as an illustration.
“From the very beginning, I tried to tell the story of the bond between the people of Naples and Vesuvius through a kind of contrappasso, immortalizing the city as it explodes while the volcano remains silent. Over the years, I have pursued an obsessive search for an icon of Vesuvius that would not be stereotypical, already seen, perhaps a vision capable of dislodging the gaze from its expectations. The image of the black, silent silhouette of the volcano submerged beneath the clamor of colors from the fireworks struck me as a representation that had to be seriously pursued, and along many different paths.” These are the artist’s own words, included in the second volume of the Napoli Explosion catalogue, which runs to 190 pages, features 92 color illustrations, and includes texts by Sylvain Bellenger, Erri De Luca, Serafino Murri, and Salvatore Settis.
The artist is quick to point out that these images were not subjected to any post-production work that would have altered their form, but only to a process of color correction that allows colors registered in the creative act itself to emerge—almost alchemically—and that, in the final print, present themselves to our eyes in all their beauty and expressive power. Whether analog or digital, real or abstract, natural or artificial, painterly or photographic, these images begin in reality only to transfigure it; they proceed from movement in order to arrest it in a view or in a detail.

THE SHOTS that make up NapEx instinctively lead us to draw comparisons with the history of painting (Turner, Monet, Op Art) or with abstract photography. But they are also concrete images of fireworks—that is, of an abstraction materializing in reality, which the digital apparatus allows to coagulate into an unstable, shifting, volatile matter.
The thousands of explosions that simultaneously illuminate and color the sky over Naples may be read as the ecstatic sublimation produced by the collective unconscious to exorcise and ward off the not impossible eruption of Vesuvius. The explosion of these “virtual” fireworks solidifies not into lava but into photographic prints, arousing in those who behold them a suggestive power no less intense than that offered by the formidable spectacle of nature.

Bruno Di Marino

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TRECCANI – Con Napoli Explosion il reportage si fa arte

admin — Thu, 06 Mar 2025 10:08:46 +0000

With Napoli Explosion, Reportage Becomes Art

Interview with Mario Amura

The message that Mario Amura conveys through his work is an invitation to look beyond appearances in order to reach unexplored heights, and to discern, beyond the confines of conventional visual language, a more sensational beauty. As a photographer, cinematographer, and visual artist, Amura has spent part of New Year’s night atop Faito—the mountain that dominates the Gulf of Naples in front of Vesuvius—with his camera in hand for over twelve years. He feels no need to shoot merely to highlight the evolution of Naples’ urban fabric, nor to narrate the multifaceted urban theater that has long inspired films and novels. Accompanied by his loyal crew and immersed in what is considered one of the most fascinating places in Italy—unique for its geological, natural, and historical significance—he captures the dazzling effect on the volcano created by a festive cascade of fireworks: an ancient ritual in which a deafening roar drives away the evil spirits that spread misfortune, while a kaleidoscope of light attracts the benevolent ones. Like a skyward city artist driven by a sincere desire to extend his gaze as far from reality as possible—seeking unprecedented affinities between photography and painting—Amura breaks the ice by recalling how, as a teenager in Torre Annunziata, he would open his bedroom window each morning to offer a reverential greeting to Vesuvius: a living presence—even though silent for about eighty years—to which everyone living on its slopes feels deeply connected. The spark that ignited what is now a true artistic mission, however, came in 2006, when he spent the end of the year on those heights for the first time: “The pyrotechnic display I witnessed made me reflect on the connection between ephemeral explosions and the fear that the volcano’s dormant power might erupt. A few years later, in 2010, I began observing the celebrations from the summit of Mount Faito. That scene manages to upend the classic iconography of gouaches or masterpieces by William Turner, Joseph Wright of Derby, Pierre-Jacques Volaire, William Marlow, and Andy Warhol: the erupting volcano, painted by the lava that engulfs it, appears inverted—like an immobile shadow—immersed in a landscape that seems to burst around it, blurring the perception of microcosm and macrocosm.”

Your photographic project bears the evocative title: Napoli Explosion. Let’s discuss it.

Each of us, as children, fantasized about having a superpower. I dreamed of the gift of invisibility. This desire propelled me to choose a profession—photography—that has allowed me to connect with people and distant worlds in search of a truth that, though guided by a strong point of view, is more the result of careful observation than an inner elaboration. Capturing real life enables one to reveal who you are through what you observe rather than through what you evoke from within. One of the core values of the Napoli Explosion project, I believe, lies in its role as a witness to a collective performance enacted by the people of Naples in front of the camera. Of course, my crew and I have a lot of fun during the shoot, even “drawing” with the lights of fireworks; but, as with every work of authentic photography, it remains true that only in that singular moment—on New Year’s night and from that specific vantage point atop Mount Faito—is it possible to immortalize that event.

Napex 22318, 2022. Museum and Real Bosco di Capodimonte Collection (courtesy of the Artist) © Mario Amura

The public loves to feel involved in the experience of art. It is a magic that does not always occur, because contrary to what the market-driven subculture would have us believe, not everything is art, nor does everything succeed in evoking positive reactions. The works that make up Napoli Explosion work. Why?

I worked for many years in cinema, and through that art form, one naturally aspires to engage as broad an audience as possible. The world of contemporary art often produces provocative experiences that can sometimes be inaccessible to a wide public, basing their success more on the pursuit of reverence than on genuine sharing—much like in Hans Christian Andersen’s tale, The Emperor’s New Clothes. Napoli Explosion has emotionally engaged many, and I believe this is due to the sense of communal spirit that it exudes. The grand scale of the works and the particularly functional use of color are formal elements that have contributed to this widespread appeal.

It should be noted: your art is not a vehicle for dissent or social denunciation. You belong to those artists who have finally put an end to the refrain that art must necessarily sensitize and stir consciences.

I draw a clear distinction between those who photograph to denounce and those who photograph what they love. I belong to the latter category. For me, commitment can only manifest as a profound act of gratitude and love for that which one chooses to immortalize. When we consider the images of Henri Cartier-Bresson, we recognize in every shot a gaze seduced by the world and a consistently humble point of view—not one inflated with a denunciatory ego. Even in the photo taken in Dessau—in which a concentration camp prisoner recognizes the one who denounced her to the Gestapo—there is a sense of pity preceding denunciation. The only way to move consciences is to evoke emotion, and what I seek is the sharing of that which moves me.

Besides Cartier-Bresson, who else inspires you?

I have had many mentors, but undoubtedly the most important was Giuseppe Rotunno, who loved to say, “One must be aware of one’s limits.” This statement, coming from a man who made the constant challenge of limits his mission, almost sounds paradoxical. Over time, I have come to understand that the only way to know one’s limits is precisely through this constant challenge—through determined and continuous provocation—until one reaches them and perhaps even accepts them.

Yet the Napoli Explosion project seems to know no limits. Its influence has reached two significant institutions of Neapolitan art.

Indeed, Sylvain Bellenger decided to conclude his tenure as General Director of the Museo e Real Bosco di Capodimonte with the Napoli Explosion exhibition, defining the project as a celebration for the newly begun millennium. Bellenger was particularly struck by the fact that in an era of artificial intelligence and total image manipulation, it was photography—the oldest form of capturing reality—that proved to be the most imaginative. Subsequently, a work from the project (Vesuvio Napex 7303222) was incorporated into the permanent collection of contemporary art at the Pio Monte della Misericordia, the esteemed museum that houses Caravaggio’s Seven Works of Mercy.

In which direction will your artistic research move after the Napoli Explosion experience?

For decades, I have been working on as-yet-unreleased projects that explore the boundaries between photography and cinema, seeking to intersect the static nature of a photographic image with the flow of cinematic time. One of these is Sleepers, which—along the lines of Pier Paolo Pasolini’s The Decay of the Angel—explores the sleep of those who wander the streets of New Delhi. Another long journey, begun in 2010, surveys impoverished China, and since 2012 I have been weaving the narrative of a visual story about the Fujenti: devotees of the cult of Madonna dell’Arco (venerated at Sant’Anastasia in Naples), who represent the most striking extra-liturgical phenomenon in Campania. This latter theme, already explored by Mimmo Jodice and Roberto De Simone in the marvelous Chi è devoto, is treated by me in a different manner, as I continue to photograph the ritual—now for thirteen years—to narrate the transformation in the faces of the faithful: girls becoming women, men growing old. The common thread running through all my projects is the documentation of reality through an empathetic gaze, with the ambition to engage both the public and the art world—a realm that too often has considered reportage a minor branch in the panorama of contemporary photography.

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FOTOIT – AUTORI – Mario Amura

admin — Wed, 05 Mar 2025 10:47:04 +0000

by Giovanni Ruggiero

We imagine fireworks dancing in the sky, competing with the stars. They rise high, then let themselves go, surrendering, and finally dying in the night, like Narcissus in the lake where he once saw his reflection.

These are languid dancers—not wild, frenzied spirits unleashing a mad, frantic dance—like the fireworks that Mario Amura has been photographing for fourteen years beneath the sky of Naples, in front of Vesuvius. In the twenty minutes following the stroke of midnight on December 31, it is as if a propitiatory dance takes place. Everything explodes into a luminous sarabande. And when this happens, since 2010 the photographer has been there, on Mount Fàito overlooking the volcano—a distant black silhouette—and on the concrete expanse of the Vesuvius towns. Soon, everything will turn into a radiant, dazzling, fiery magma. Accompanying Mario Amura are some lifelong friends engaged in an open, collective work, still in progress, following his instructions. The photographer directs their shots while his friends comply. Long exposure times and the movement imparted to the camera—sometimes swaying, sometimes oscillating, sometimes making abrupt shifts, sometimes gently rocking—are key. Thus, the lights of the fireworks, distinct against the dark sky, blend together and merge, evoking an apocalypse, as it might be if Vesuvius were to erupt and rebel. It is called “Napoli Explosion” (or “NapEx”), this “collective reportage” that transcends the banality of mere representation. Just like a true reportage, it starts from reality, but soon transforms it. “NapEx” is the fantastic and magical documentation of a real event. This endless expanse of concrete, however, is made up of people with feelings, fears, desires, and aspirations. One must consider that behind every light, big or small, and behind every flash, there is a person who, through these fireworks, expresses and exorcises his fear of the dreaded yet beloved volcano known to Neapolitans as ‘A Muntagna. “While Vesuvius remains silent,” says Amura, “the city unleashes itself in a propitiatory and even superstitious rite to ward off an eruption. Alberto Saporito, from Eduardo’s ‘Voci di dentro,’ plays the elderly Zi’ Nicola who, having abandoned words, expresses himself solely by launching firecrackers. In the way they decide to fire cannons and fireworks, I seem to recognize the motions of hope, fear, joy, and anger of the people.” This grand work, which for Mario Amura represents a new fusion of his identity as an artist and photographer, is offered in large images (1.60 x 2.40 m) mounted on lightboxes that illuminate them. It was presented at the Capodimonte Museum, in the dim light of the “Cellaio” the hall that served as the New Year’s Eve venue. “Napoli Explosion,” Sylvain Bellenger wrote for the occasion, “is a work in which photography, painting, and pyrotechnic art converge into one single event. The main theme is not Vesuvius, which appears as a silent shadow, but the city overwhelmed by fireworks capable of transforming fear into joy. What Amura has aimed to capture over time is the relationship between photography and painting. The link between photography and light has become the central theme of his work. One must gaze at these images for a long time, immerse oneself in them.” Two works by Mario Amura will remain in Naples, the city/the theater of his fireworks. “NapEx 223181,” featuring an imposing Vesuvius that seems to float in incandescent magma, published in these pages, has become part of the collection of the Museo e Real Bosco di Capodimonte. Another work, meanwhile, is part of the heritage of the Pio Monte della Misericordia. It will be exhibited in the seventeenth-century palace in the historic center, which, among other masterpieces, houses Caravaggio’s grand canvas of the Seven Works of Mercy.

Lucania, 1995 © Mario Amura

Maria, 1993 © Mario Amura

In “NapEx” converge the two paths that, coming together, led Mario Amura to photography. First of all, Henri Cartier-Bresson: he encountered him as a young man, and then cinema—as happened to the same French master who was Jean Renoir’s assistant. “I understood from his photographs,” says Amura, “how powerful a single shot could be, and how evocative each image is. The beauty of photography, compared to other expressive forms, is that it allows you to narrate what is within you through something happening outside of you.” Mario Amura, essentially just over twenty, wanted to “learn to see.” Before Cartier-Bresson, it was as if he had never truly seen what was before him. “I used to observe everything with emotional detachment,” he says, “while he was able to tell the story of a life flowing before my eyes that I had never known how to grasp. Photographing enhances the visual perception of emotions and marks the point of coincidence between what happens outside and what you feel inside.” This lesson is evident in all his early images collected in the volume “Fotografie 1995–1999.” “Mario Amura,” writes Serenella Iovino in the afterword, “moves among images with curiosity and discretion. Through images, he narrates his research, his way of seeing, his boundaries. Amura observes, and he is never ‘visionary’ or ‘metaphysical.’ He moves among things without lingering, allowing them to tell their story without emphasis, without aesthetic concessions to the fragment. His photos are not visual notebooks, but images detached from an individual biographical path. They are marks of a deeper, impersonal, collective experience—the very same that we find in Ernesto De Martino’s ‘Sud e magia.’ Of the South,” she adds, “he is interested in the underground and pagan phenomena, those that settle and crystallize in the ‘Christian-popular’ collective memory: a neorealism with a Pasolini lineage.” His reportages around the world (Wuyuan, London, New Delhi, Istanbul, Kiev, New York are some of his destinations) have been realized with a humble eye. The humility of his gaze lies in entering the lives of others without presumption, without disturbing the equilibrium of any existence. In these lives, Mario Amura treads lightly. For example, consider how respectful the images of “Sleepers” are, portraying the sleep-deprived poor of New Delhi. “Photo reportage,” he says, “is the only form of photography that interests me. Compared to photography that reconstructs, sets up, or redraws spaces and situations, I prefer one that draws completely from reality.” This humility with which he has carried out his many reportages—some say his ability to become invisible while photographing, giving the photographed world the chance to express itself—Mario Amura learned from cinema. After discovering Bresson, and as Bresson did, he knocked on the doors of cinema. He attended courses at the Centro Sperimentale di Fotografia, particularly the classes of Peppino Rotunno. The great director of photography used to start the day with his students by reading excerpts from novels, then imagining how to stage them in the most effective way. “This exercise of translating written pages into filmed images,” the photographer explains, “made me understand that the humility of the gaze lies in being able to adapt one’s eye to the story to be told, to the reality to be documented. Rotunno taught me that the director of photography submits his self to the altar of the story to be told.

Napex 223181 - 2022 (Collezione Museo e Real Bosco di Capodimonte) © Mario Amura

Club 69, 2008 (Buenos Aires) © Mario Amura

Sleepers, 2007 (New Delhi) © Mario Amura

Ultimately, I learned to do this work in cinema to learn to see with eyes different from my own.” In 2003, with the short film “Racconto di Guerra,” Mario Amura won the David di Donatello and later provided the cinematography for many directors such as Luca Guadagnino, Paolo Sorrentino, Vincenzo Marra, Sabina Guzzanti, and Paolo Genovese. Photography/reportage and cinema/movement: two approaches that have never drifted apart over the years; in one way or another, they have confronted each other, echoing one another. “NapEx” is a symphony of movements frozen in time. Every single work is a frame of energy fixed in space. Just as cinematic movement and photographic stillness converge in the “StopEmotion” project. “With the advent of digital,” says Amura, “I began experimenting with narrative paths using streams of photographs taken in sequence. With this, I realized live performances in which I display the images in tune with the rhythm of the music that serves as the emotional backdrop.” Everything is movement. The images dance, just as in the sarabande of fireworks around the totemic mountain.

Mumu - 2009 (Lightbox) © Mario Amura

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RAI Tg1 – Il cielo di Napoli come una tela da dipingere

admin — Tue, 04 Mar 2025 14:37:00 +0000

From the RAI TG1 broadcast of January 2, 2025e proprio rito

Mario Amura, a Neapolitan artist with a background as a cinematographer, explains: “On December 31st, the people of Naples do not celebrate—they engage in a genuine superstitious ritual.” The extraordinary display of fireworks on New Year’s Eve at the stroke of midnight was captured by visual artist Mario Amura from Monte Faito.

Mario Amura

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Il Sole 24 Ore Settis: Mario Amura immortala Napoli di Fine D’Anno

admin — Thu, 20 Feb 2025 08:16:34 +0000

by Salvatore Settis Napoli Explosion

It took the convergence of an unparalleled location (Capodimonte), a director at the end of his tenure (Sylvain Bellenger), and the multi-year project of a true Neapolitan (Mario Amura) per lanciare «Napoli Explosion», una mostra dove fotografia, pittura e reportage si sommano e si confondono. Sul limitare del Real Bosco e in vista della reggia-museo, nel severo “cellaio”, dove in età borbonica si tenevano vini e cibarie, si allineano in fantasmagoria di colori quaranta grandi stampe fotografiche (fino a circa cinque metri per due). Par di vedervi ora uno stagno di ninfee, ora un fondo marino popolato di meduse, un prato cosparso di fiori, le costellazioni di un cielo esotico, le luci affollate di una metropoli lontana, il balenare dei fari di un fiume di macchine sull’autostrada. Qualche volta, in quella festa di luminescenze, troneggia lontano il Vesuvio. Da tredici anni Mario Amura, con un piccolo corteo di amici armati di macchine fotografiche, la notte di Capodanno sale sul monte Faito (difronte al Vesuvio, sulla baia di Napoli), e aspetta la mezzanotte, quando i fuochi d’artificio esplodono nelle case lì in basso. Muovendo liberamente gli obiettivi, ognuno scatta decine o centinaia di fotografie, riprese arbitrarie di un altrettanto capriccioso tripudio pirotecnico. Da questo impensato inventario di esplosioni e di bagliori nascono migliaia di foto, o ipotesi pittoriche, in un ventaglio che include il più spinto astrattismo e l’irruzione in un immaginario figurativo dove tutte le forme suggeriscono qualcos’altro da sé. Tutte salvo una: il Vesuvio. Amura ha davvero qualcosa da raccontare. La sua è la registrazione fotografica di una festosa coralità a cadenza calendariale: le migliaia di persone che affidano ai fuochi un sussulto di emozione contribuiscono, senza saperlo, a un’opera di pittura fotografica. Il senso ultimo di questo rituale collettivo ne risulta capovolto: non appare tanto come lo scatenarsi di un cieco festeggiare, quanto come una sorta di potente esorcismo. Napoli risponde alla perpetua minaccia del Vesuvio mettendosi in gara con esso, dispiegandogli davanti una sorta di eruzione effimera, che solo la fotografia (appunto) può fissare nel ricordo. Perciò «Napoli Explosion» è un’opera autobiografica, un inno di Napoli a sé stessa. E al Vesuvio. Ecco dunque la “notizia” che emerge da questa atipica cronaca di una notte, dalla molteplicità e concatenazione degli scatti di «Napoli Explosion»: il popolo napoletano inscena di anno in anno una propria eruzione e la esibisce all’incombente vulcano, come omaggio o come sfida. Che è anche una sfida al tempo: muovendo i dispositivi come reti per farfalle, chi fotografa cattura le luci lontane; cambiando i tempi dell’esposizione, fissa e distilla il percorso dei fuochi nell’aria. La triangolazione fra il coro pirotecnico dei napoletani, il Vesuvio destinatario del tributo e Amura coi suoi compagni di avventura innesca il momento fortemente autoriale dove l’intuizione e il lavoro del “regista” mette a punto la sua antologia di storie e immagini suggestive. THE SHOTS TAKEN ON NEW YEAR'S EVE ARE HALFWAY BETWEEN ABSTRACT ART AND NEW FIGURATIVISM The outcome we see (unintentional?) sits at the crossroads between abstract art and new figurativism. But even the most abstract images, born from the close dialogue of the photographic lenses with the anonymous crowd unleashing the fireworks, carry a strong narrative content, indeed two: an apparent narrative, for what the images seem to evoke (sunsets, children's games, seabeds), and the real narrative of New Year's nights in Naples. The hyperbolic coexistence between people and Vesuvius brings to light the city's imaginary. The powerful figurations of "Napoli Explosion" absorb the likeness to the real of photography, and by incorporating it into the artist's conceptual and technical work, they return it as a vision, a ritualized hallucination. As an aspect of reality, but also as a lasting ritual, a promise of perseverance.Mario Amura Napoli Explosionhttps://napex.art/

Il Sole 24 Ore Sunday 17 March 2024 - N.76

Salvatore Settis, Maria Michela Sassi e Mario Amura

L'articolo Il Sole 24 Ore
Settis: Mario Amura immortala Napoli di Fine D’Anno proviene da MARIO AMURA.

Dove – Corriere della SeraNapoli Explosion: Mario Amura e il suo progetto di Capodanno dedicato al Vesuvio

admin — Mon, 17 Feb 2025 08:22:43 +0000

by Teresa ManciniIl visual artist Mario A

The visual artist Mario Amura recounts his Napoli Explosion project, inspired by the fireworks surrounding Vesuvius on New Year’s Eve: “a handful of minutes to capture the essence of what is happening and to tell its story.” An unpredictable adventure. Between art and reportage.

Mario Amura Captures the Fireworks Explosion on New Year’s Eve from Mount Faito

The oldest depiction of Vesuvius is two thousand years old. It once adorned the wall of an ancient Pompeian residence, the House of the Centenary, and today it is preserved at the Mann, the National Archaeological Museum of Naples. The volcano is painted as a gentle conical hill, adorned with chestnut trees and flourishing vineyards, oblivious to the days of fire and ash of 79 A.D. that would forever imprint universal memory, transforming it into a powerful symbol, both feared and celebrated by the community that gathers around it. In the views of Turner, Marlow, Voltaire, and Warhol it is colored with incandescent lava. But in Napoli Explosion, Mario Amura’s photographic project, Vesuvius reveals itself differently: it is an unmoving guardian that seems to silently observe an explosion of light, this time generated by humans. “Every day, from the window of my room, my childlike gaze rested upon that imposing presence, capable of instilling respect and nurturing wonder,” begins Amura, a photographer, director of photography, and visual artist who grew up in Torre Annunziata, in a house overlooking the volcano. The Mountain would, unsurprisingly, become the setting for one of his future artistic explorations, intertwining with a career that spans theater and cinema, where he has “illuminated” the sets of directors such as Luca Guadagnino, Paolo Sorrentino, Saverio Costanzo, and Vincenzo Marra.

The Fireworks and the Bangs: A Way to Exorcise an Ancestral Fear

Mario Amura, photographer, director of photography, and visual artist.

Mario Amura, photographer, director of photography, and visual artist. But let’s return to that irresistible call: “After years away from Naples, in 2006 I decided to spend New Year’s Eve on Vesuvius with some friends. While I was taking photos among the ancient pines, I saw the fireworks burst in the distance,” he recounts. It is a revelatory moment, an opportunity to question the symbolic link between that threatening presence and the pyrotechnic rituals: “Perhaps the Neapolitan people have transformed fireworks into a way to exorcise an ancestral fear, I tell myself,” he adds.

This insight becomes an anthropological research: “Elsewhere, fireworks are shows orchestrated by pyrotechnic masters for the public – he continues – Here, instead, they are a firsthand experience that becomes a collective rite.”

The Fireworks Captured from Mount Faito

In 2010, Amura changed his perspective, moving to Mount Faito: from there on New Year’s Eve Vesuvius appears enveloped in luminous explosions: “I understood that a project could be born, an unusual visual narrative,” he explains.

Since then, every December 31 he returns to the summit overlooking the Bay of Naples with his dearest friends, historians, philosophers, intellectuals who have become his travel companions: they form the Napoli Explosion crew, following his directions like those of a conductor: “to capture this unique spectacle with the lenses of our cameras. We will wait for midnight on Faito again this year,” he anticipates.

A Symbolic Explosion That Reflects the Great Contemporary Fears

The images that come to life overturn the classical iconography of an erupting Vesuvius: here the volcano remains silent, a spectator and a backdrop to a luminous celebration. It appears as a mute, jewel-encrusted giant. Those shots, vibrant with glows and color, seem like paintings.

The work “Napex 7303222”, from 2017, immortalizes the icon of Naples, the Vesuvius volcano submerged in the explosion of fireworks celebrating New Year’s Eve.

From a personal, almost secret narrative, the work that Mario Amura has been cultivating over 13 years “evolving over time, in search of the feeling of light” has been noticed, captivating art critics and inaugurating a public dimension: thirty-seven large-scale works, mounted on lightboxes, were presented in recent months at the Capodimonte Museum, with one of them becoming part of the permanent collection.

“Amura’s technique is extraordinary: he captures a symbolic explosion that reflects the great contemporary fears,” wrote Sylvain Bellenger, curator of the exhibition, who chose this show as one of the last projects of his mandate leading the Museum and Real Bosco.

Another painting is visible in the spaces of the Pio Monte della Misericordia, in the heart of Naples’ historic center, where one can admire Caravaggio’s celebrated masterpiece, The Seven Works of Mercy.

A Handful of Minutes to Tell the Whole Essence

The fireworks that surround the volcano, captured in the shots, sometimes become nebulous shapes, or animals, starry landscapes, marine backgrounds. But Amura’s material is not a narrative constructed on a script, nor is there any graphic elaboration of the images. It remains, in every respect, a reportage: “We only have a handful of minutes a year to capture the essence of what is happening and to tell its story. An unrepeatable, real occasion, tied to the here and now,” clarifies the creator of Napoli Explosion.

“It is a creation distant from the gestural abstraction of an author like Pollock, whose splashes on canvas follow gravity – he adds – Each firework, however, creates a trace that reflects not only the light in the sky but also the intention and the hand that guided it.” Behind every gesture, who knows, there may be joy, irony, fear, hope for the new year to come.

“Napoli Explosion Is an Ode to the City”

Salvatore Settis, archaeologist and art historian, president of the Louvre’s Scientific Council, has written that Napoli Explosion is “an ode to the city,” because it presents “a pictorial-photographic work that prodigiously unfolds, faithful to the rules of reportage.” And it is for this reason that, this year, the professor will join with the enthusiasm of the scholar in the artistic reportage experience on Mount Faito.

Napex 22318. Mario Amura 2022. Museum and Real Bosco di Capodimonte Collection.

The “Candid Photography” Inspired by Henri Cartier-Bresson

Mario Amura also recounts having been inspired by the “candid photography” of a master like Henri Cartier-Bresson, whom he met when he was a boy: “The photographer must be invisible, respectful, an observer who does not interfere,” he emphasizes. Even Amura’s past as a director of photography was fundamental in this regard: “Cinema taught me to see the world through the eyes of others. A lesson learned from Giuseppe Rotunno, my teacher at the Experimental Center of Cinematography, of whom I later became an assistant.”

Amura’s Projects

Although the direction of lights no longer fascinates him, Mario Amura confesses: “I would like to return to cinema, but as a director.” There is so much material, however, that he is working on. Since 2005, with the advent of digital photography, he has begun to explore new languages, merging photography and cinema to tell the invisible: “I have developed the idea of narrating emotional flows through photographic sequences, a sort of ‘contemporary photo novel’ – he explains – images that capture fragments of reality, synchronized with music, where I merge two opposite concepts: photography that suspends the moment and cinema that lets it flow.”

For the project StopEmotion, still unpublished, he gathered images from Bosnia, India, China, France, England, and Cambodia, while since 2007 he has been working on Fujenti, an original reportage built over time and still in progress.

And if among the places with a special energy Amura unhesitatingly mentions the Bagnoli Pier, “a seaside promenade, a nearly one-kilometer walk suspended between sky and water,” here we are ready to move once again to Vesuvius to capture one last suggestion: “When I first took my daughter to the foot of the volcano, she was four years old – today she is eight – I said to her: ‘Look, Lea, this is Vesuvius; it carries within it fire, lava,’ trying to describe it between myth and legend. A few days later, I told her again: ‘Here, Lea, Vesuvius, say hello to it.’ And she, with the innocence and simplicity of a child, replied: ‘Yes, let’s say hello, but in a soft voice.’ Those words struck me more than a thousand theories: the volcano is not just a mountain, but a living presence that immediately inspires reverence. And it reminds us of our deep bond with nature and with the universe.”

L'articolo Dove – Corriere della Sera
Napoli Explosion: Mario Amura e il suo progetto di Capodanno dedicato al Vesuvio proviene da MARIO AMURA.

Bellenger: Napoli Explosion at Museo di Capodimonte

admin — Sat, 16 Dec 2023 13:59:31 +0000

An interview by Sylvain Bellenger

Napoli Explosion

Few cities in the world can be identified with a natural element. Naples is completely identified with Vesuvius. And there is no terrace, urban perspective, city window that does not seek a glimpse of Vesuvius. Naples is a kind of amphitheatre built around Vesuvius. But Vesuvius is also a memento mori. It’s a danger. It is the image of the explosion that the Neapolitans constantly have before their eyes. Naples is the Vesuvius, and the most cathartic moment, the most symbolic moment in the relationship between Naples and Vesuvius is New Year's Eve. When the city celebrates the beginning of the year with a series of fireworks absolutely incredible. A sort of Battle of Baghdad exploding in the Gulf. When they told me about you, Mario, and the project you were developing on Vesuvius (Napoli Explosion), I could not imagine the extraordinary relationship you have established with light. I was thinking of the landscape, the height of the volcano, to the shape of the Gulf. I was curious to see what you had done as soon as I heard that this project you developed it for twelve years. This obsession, this determination, the continuity of your curiosity truly intrigued me. When I saw the first works, I realized that the theme was not just Vesuvius but the relationship between the city and Vesuvius. What you were observing was not even the city itself but rather a kind of ironic explosion, the transformation of fear into joy, which is a firework. And this is what you initially sought, yet I'm unsure how much you foresaw it or if it was a subsequent evolution of your research. But the connection between photography and painting, the link between photography and light, has become the central theme of your work. Furthermore, I was deeply intrigued to see how, through this project extremely important on the relationship between photography and painting, reflections are developed that many 20th-century painters have made about photography. I am, of course, thinking of Richter, one of the artists most influenced by photography. The technique you employ for these photographic paintings is absolutely extraordinary and goes far beyond merely photographing fireworks, well beyond capturing the luminous trace of the fireworks. It captures the symbolic explosion at the center of contemporary fears: the fear of nuclear explosion, the fear of Infinite Space, the fear aroused by the continuous flow of images of explosions that the human consciousness can never accept and never will be able to embrace. There is an intellectual tension in this explosive image that conveys joy, perhaps, but even more so, terror. And all of this, at least, makes this work a true work of art. So, I thought it was relevant to include it into the Capodimonte, within our series of exhibitions that often explore the relationship between the historical collection and the contemporary gaze. And, of course, many visitors who will see this exhibition will recall that the Capodimonte collections include the works of Jacques Antoine Volaire, who has practically become a portraitist of Vesuvius. He painted the eruption of Vesuvius throughout his life. And, of course, Andy Warhol, that made Vesuvius a true portrait. So there is a strong coherence between the history of Capodimonte, the heart of Naples, the symbols of Naples, the fire, fireworks, the fire of Vesuvius, and our collections and this our new art exhibition.NaNapoli ExplosionNapoli Explosion

Sylvain Bellenger

L'articolo Bellenger: Napoli Explosion at Museo di Capodimonte proviene da MARIO AMURA.

Paesaggio civile. Napoli Explosion

admin — Mon, 25 Sep 2023 09:13:27 +0000

Paesaggio Civile

Paesaggio Civile. Storie di ambiente, cultura e resistenza Paesaggio Civile

Author Serenella Iovino
Edited by: il Saggiatore, 2022

Napoli Explosion is an artistic experiment I have been observing for several years. It is a visual art project, a live set performance by photographer Mario Amura, which has taken place every New Year's Eve since 2006. During post-production, hundreds of images are “played together” with music, often composed specifically for the occasion, creating a photo-choreography. As midnight approaches, the artist and his crew position themselves at the summit of Monte Faito, on the opposite side of the gulf, with Naples on one end and the entirety of Mount Vesuvius directly in front of them.
At the stroke of midnight, the explosion begins. Fireworks illuminate the night, with lights reaching nearly to the edge of the crater. In Amura’s elaboration, these lights dissolve or crumble, transforming into metaphysical landscapes of stars and animals, drops of matter and nebulae, streaks of color shooting vertically, delicate nocturnal compositions reminiscent of Paul Klee's paintings.
Yet everything begins there: with the explosion of light bursting around the volcano, the ritual repeated year after year, always the same yet always telling different stories. “This year, I saw more poverty and more anger,” Mario told me about New Year’s 2016, commenting on the photos of a particularly difficult year for Italy and Naples. Similarly, the transition from 2020 to 2021, after the first year of Covid, told its own unique story: “White lights. Zero noise.”
Thus, what might appear to be a repetitive experience changes every time, with photography capturing the synchronicity of a grand exorcism against the inhuman forces—the volcano, fate—that inhabit this place. However, this exorcism is performed by removing—once again, forgetting—the fact that the setting of this ritual is alive, among living elements.
This is what I see in these images: I see people who, because of fireworks, are mutilated or even die as if in a war theater; I see all the animals, domestic and wild, terrified and killed by these explosions; and I see the sprawling networks of illegality, exploitation, violence, and chemical pollution stemming from the production and use of fireworks. I also see how high real estate speculation has climbed on the slopes of Vesuvius: the lights reveal that houses completely encircle the volcano.
This means that, despite the evidence and any principle of precaution, in local imagination Vesuvius has reverted to being “simply” a mountain, covered by a crust of constructions, often illegal, as well as countless waste dumps, large or small, all illicit.
Its nature, along with its threatened vital environment, has been, once again, forgotten. But from this artistic experiment, one can also see that the volcano is there, dark amid the lights, silent beneath the explosions, one with the soul of this place. Amura has often told me that Napoli Explosion is an artistic experiment, yes, but also an anthropological and psychological one. It investigates how the volcano enters the fears, hopes, and emotions of these people, caught in a place that is both a womb and a trap.
Beyond folklore, these fireworks express periods of crisis, the desire to forget or rebuild, and, paradoxically, the need to resist while remaining part of a territory imbued with violent forces. Standing in the cold, atop the mountain opposite the volcano with his team of eight or nine people, Amura is like Pliny the Elder. He gathers the elements of this story, fully aware that the true protagonist is a landscape that could swallow us all.
But another thing his photos reveal, I believe, is the collective, unspoken desire to be swallowed by the porousness of the inhuman. This makes me think that all landscapes are porous, all can consume us, partly because of how we treat them; in fact, perhaps we are daring them to do so. When I speak of landscapes, I mean the planet.
Paesaggio Civile

Serenella Iovino

L'articolo Paesaggio civile. Napoli Explosion proviene da MARIO AMURA.