Last time I visited Lorenzo Taini I felt a certain correspondence and balance of the senses in his work that I had missed during his years of study in Brera. I asked myself if there was an external reason for my sudden understanding or if it depended on the amount of brain cells I had that day.
I’m convinced that the reason lies in the space in which Lorenzo’s work was confined.
The limited space produces a gathering of images, of sensations, of immediately comparable perceptions, that translate into a synthesis of meanings.
The distance between the painted canvases and the wall installations has immediately shown their common foundation: repetition. Beyond the object, there is the same concept. In the repetition of a sign, does repetition prevail or do the characteristics of the sign prevail? Hume taught us that repetition doesn’t alter what is being repeated but changes something in whoever observes the repetition. Of course there’s a difference between lines and beans, but in art the real difference lies in the intention. Taini doesn’t realise he’s acting in two worlds when he aligns lines and beans. What interests him is the ordering in line, in a series, creating sequences that have continuity, persistence. This he does with lightness, avoiding accumulation and turning repetition into an extension.
The canvases are painted and sutured, a daily craftsmanship, a simplicity of gestures that draw together and compose different materials. Gestures that repeat themselves, translate themselves into lines, with no other goal than that of measuring the infinity of repetition.
An infinity that manifests itself in installations where nails hold beans, sugar lumps, pencils, and coffee beans that invade the wall with the light breath of their suspension.
Detached from the surface, these tiny objects project their shade on the wall: the intangible sign of transition, the idea of movement.