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.
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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