This is the 38th dialogue of the Ettore Molinario Collection. Here are two extraordinary interpreters of Italian photography, George Sommer et Alinari brothers. And here is a book that guided me into the bowels of the Earth and introduced me to the beauty of the most extreme Grand Tour.
Ettore Molinario
My first dive took place in the pages of Journey to the center of the Earth. Initiatory reading in the canonical age then constant return, as if one after the other these layers of paper dragged me not only into the bowels of our planet, but inside me, into the deep cavities where resonates the freest and darkest, most authentic voice. . This year marks the 150th anniversary of the first Italian translation of Jules Verne’s novel, ten years after the release of the original edition in 1864. For me, this anniversary is a great celebration because I became a marine speleologist and collector of photography, synonymous concepts for me, thanks to this book that I read when I was little. Precisely a boy, because I felt like the companion of Axel, the protagonist and the nephew of Professor Lidenbrock, and with Axel I imagined translating the parchment into runic and by deciphering it I understood that the entrance door of the most incredible journey was the crater of a volcano. But above all, with Axel, I also took “abyss lessons” on the bell tower of the Frelser Kirk in Copenhagen and trained myself in what I would happily do years later: looking deeply, challenging the abyss without fear, feeling that the darkness of a sea cave, almost a hundred meters from the surface of the earth, is a house, another house, as intimate as it is frightening, but welcoming. A perfect house. And that’s where my collection took shape.
In Jules Verne’s masterpiece, the journey begins in the extinct crater of the Snæffels volcano in Iceland. The two heroes, joined by Hans, the Icelandic guide, follow the directions of the mysterious map and, following a shadow that points towards the bottom of the volcano at noon, they locate the entrance, the chasm which begins the journey towards the center of the Earth. Over the years I have highlighted these lines many times and I cannot help but relate them in their beauty. Axel writes: “I leaned over a rocky edge and looked down. My hair stood up. The feeling of emptiness came over me. I felt my center of gravity shift and dizziness rise to my brain like intoxication. Nothing is more terrible than this attraction of the abyss. I was about to give up. One hand held me: Hans’s.” Euphoria, attraction, abyss, these are magic words for me.
In retracing the story of the birth of my collection, I repeatedly recalled that my first abyss, the first change in emotional gravity, had been Man with dog by Joel Peter Witkin. But the first “place” that had the prophetic gift of uniting my dreams, my obsessions and the concreteness of reality was the crater of Vesuvius, represented by Fratelli Alinari. Immersing myself in this image, I retraced in an instant all my ages, the adolescence of the paper journey, the first maturity of self-discovery, the full maturity that I experience today. And even today it is enough for me to contemplate this old albumen print to find myself: I am on the edge of the volcano, the abyss is in front of me, the dark stain of the wall opposite looks at me like the empty orbit of a a skull. I also hear the crunching of stones under my shoes. This is how I discovered the greatness of Italian photography from the 19th century, feeling the distant times of my impulses which I believed were linked only to contemporary images. But no. Without even thinking about the extraordinary ending of Journey to the Center of the Earth when Axel, Professor Lidenbrock and Hans navigate the magma wave of the Stromboli volcano and return to the surface. To see the day again, I preferred to stay near Vesuvius and the gaze of Giorgio Sommer, another magnificent protagonist of the Grand Tour season. A moment and I found myself in the center of the Roman amphitheater of Pompeii. Like the figurine whose mission was to climb the architecture, I too am alone. I walk, I skirt the oval of the arena, I count the steps on which twenty thousand spectators once sat and I see the gladiators enter, ready to confront each other. Each time an image enters the collection, it is like that, a journey, a bet, a fight, a spectacle.
Ettore Molinario
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