Party lines - art institutions in Milan, Italy that are managed by the private sector

ArtForum, Summer, 1997 by Giorgio Verzotti

On the night of July 16, 1993, the Pavilion of Contemporary Art (PAC) in Milan became the first target in a string of bombings that were later attributed to the Mafia. The Uffizi in Florence and a Roman church were damaged by explosives a few days later, and the PAC, an already fragile building, was razed when a car bomb set off a subsequent explosion in nearby gas lines. The city of Milan claimed that the pavilion would be rebuilt within a year, although it refused monetary aid from the central government in Rome. Milan had recently come under the rule of the Northern League, the federalist and now openly secessionist party that wants to cut ties with southern Italy, which is less prosperous than the northern region, and also with "thieving Rome." Because of this, it wasn't until last summer - on the third anniversary of the bombing - that Milan's only civic space dedicated to contemporary art was reopened to the public. Except for new lighting, a ventilation system, and modifications for handicap access, Ignazio Gardella, the architect who had built the PAC in 1943 over the war-torn stables of the Villa Reale, essentially re-created what was and still is an extremely beautiful building (save for the inexplicable white wallpaper throughout).

The PAC's inaugural show last summer was an homage to Leo Castelli, the American gallery owner born in Trieste. This was somewhat surprising given the longstanding contempt of Italy's public institutions - including those in Milan - for the art market and its agents, who are considered emissaries of the devil. Yet were it not for the city's thriving core of commercial galleries and nonprofit spaces, Milan would hardly be an obligatory stop on the art lover's tour of Europe. The public sector of Milan's art scene is in the midst of a long decline. Even at the PAC, the number of truly interesting shows in the past decade can be counted on one hand. Almost a year after its reopening, no exhibition schedule has been officially announced, and besides the Castelli tribute, the only other show mounted was a display of work from a famous private collection. Worse still, a director has yet to be named, and one even wonders if there are plans to do so: the PAC falls under the jurisdiction of the Civiche Raccolte d'Arte (Civic Art Collections), which directs all city museums, and whose head, Maria Teresa Fiorio, is a distinguished scholar of ancient art.

The show dedicated to Castelli was conceived by Milan's commissioner of culture, Philippe Daverio, who has made it clear that, unlike his predecessors, he will participate directly in curating exhibitions. A former gallery owner in Milan who also made a brief, unsuccessful go of it in New York, Daverio is not interested in the avant-garde (though he loves figurative art, from de Chirico to Sandro Chia's painted teacups). So it's possible that Robert Morris' felt pieces and Andy Warhol's Brillo boxes from the Castelli, show, which date back some thirty years, will be the most experimental art visitors to the PAC will see.

Ultimately, the stagnation at the PAC is just one facet of a scene in which politics and bureaucracy have led to widespread cultural decline. Many intellectuals accuse Daverio of being lazy, snobbish, and prejudiced; for his part, Daverio accuses his critics (including artists such as Luciano Fabro) of colluding with former civic governments supported by the Socialist Party. As with most other parties, the Socialists have now disappeared, after coming under attack from the judiciary which, starting right in Milan, arrested numerous political figurefigures, public administrators, and well-known business people throughout Italy on charges of corruption. Overlooking the antipathy, justified or not, that Daverio has inspired in certain quarters, his accusations may have some basis in truth. (For the record, Fabro was never involved with the Socialists, and his significant contribution to cultural policy in the city is no mere recent phenomenon.) Nevertheless, the Northern League has not made good on its promises to improve urban life. Transportation and sanitation services remain inefficient, even as charges of corruption have landed on the doorsteps of some of the Northern League commissioners - who are, by their own definition, incorruptible.

One of the cultural consequences of this less-than-edifying discovery: an exhibition of international scope planned for the city's central Castello Sforzesco was abruptly canceled without its chief curator, Adelina von Furstenberg, being notified. Then there's the case of the Piccolo Teatro di Milano, whose funding, in its fiftieth anniversary year, was decreased by about a billion lire - a perfect example of public officials' disinterest in cultural affairs. Moreover, construction of a new building for the Piccolo has been on hold for almost a decade. The project, backed by the theater's former director Giorgio Strehler, was blocked midway by bureaucratic snags and a lack of funds. The city's new government quickly resumed construction, but work soon stopped again and Strehler was dismissed, resulting in a scandal and a request that the Ministry of Culture resolve the decades-old problem. Walter Veltroni, the new minister of the center-left government (despised by the Northern League), intervened directly, appointing none other than Jacques Lang, the former French minister of culture, as the acting director of the Piccolo; yet it's doubtful that Lang can accomplish anything before stepping aside for a permanent director. So much for the Northern League's promise to streamline bureaucracy: compare this situation with the construction of the Bastille Opera in Paris, which took but a few short years despite the controversy that preceded it.