STORIES: Gina Pane

We live with the constant idea of running away from pain. In search of a disposable happiness, made of purchases and likes, we read messages every day that want us winning, smiling, satisfied. As if a happy life were one without suffering. As if the goal to reach were to feel only positive emotions. And if you feel anything else, well, that's it, you're wrong, weak, sick. So what do we do? We refuse it, we flee, we pretend. And this constant search for the perfect life, without any pain, becomes a constant source of dissatisfaction. Which, mind you, has to be hidden. Because, of course, you must always be satisfied and sure of yourself, of your goals, of your objectives. Run, run, run, run and you will (not) reach that finish line with a lovely fake smile, an empty life, an immense hole inside and a total inability to stay with pain, to feel suffering as a natural and temporary condition. Because yes, you are constantly being bombarded: you shouldn't suffer, but above all, if you do suffer, keep it to yourself. Hide it. Reject it. Suppress it. Silence it. Leave it for years to "ferment", that really does you good. That's the message. And then, watch out, especially if you are a woman. A crying woman can hardly be beautiful, can she? Or an angry one? In fact even laughing too much isn't really on, because you risk getting wrinkles. Yes, you are a woman: not only must you always be happy, but also always beautiful, and not beautiful the way you want, but the way others tell you. Beautiful means plump lips, big breasts, a perfect body, no wrinkles, thin of course, and then, come on, dress decently, go to the hairdresser and the beautician, and what about your nails? Don't you know that it's from the hands that you can tell whether or not a woman takes care of herself? I mean, if your nails are perfect, then yes, you really love yourself. And heels, for heaven's sake, because in flat shoes your legs look short. Never mind if you ruin your feet, that's not where people can tell whether you love yourself or not, I told you, you can tell from the hands. And oh, do be careful, woman: in heels, keep your head still so you don't mess up your hair, don't touch your face or you'll smudge your make-up, and while you try to keep it all working, remember, SMILE!

Well, this is why Gina Pane. A woman, an artist who turned her body into a white canvas on which to cry out all the pain each of us carries inside. The pain is there. Oh, it is there. For everyone. And it is not a moment. And it is not something to be silenced. It is not something to run away from. In her performances Gina Pane represents it with all the authentic intensity of a woman who atones for it even on our behalf. Here it is. The pain is here. In front of you. Don't run away. You can overcome it, but only if you go through it. Just like in her performances. She cuts herself, wounds herself, pricks herself, yes, of course it hurts, but in the hurt there is life. Blood comes out. In blood there is life. There is truth, authenticity, closeness, humanity.

One of her most famous performances is Azione Sentimentale from 1973. She enters the scene in a white dress, holding a bunch of flowers. Everything is so aseptic, so delicate, almost like a bride with a bouquet. She sits down. The flowers are roses. Roses are beautiful even though they have thorns. She removes the thorns from the flowers. One by one, the thorns into her arm. It hurts. Of course it does. You can feel that hurt too. It is there to tell you that everything is fine if you feel it. You are not sick. Take it with you, welcome it. It is the thorn of the rose. Don't throw away the whole rose out of fear of the thorns, and please don't buy roses that have had them removed. They are fake. And instead Gina Pane tells you: pain makes you real.

In Il Bianco Non Esiste, another famous performance, she suddenly cuts her face with a razor blade. She wounds herself. She wants to break the mirror. The image. To seek the truth. Every cut represents an abused woman. Beauty outraged.

Artist, feminist, a woman of unique intelligence and culture, performer and one of the leading exponents of body art. The courage to be her own work of art in her very humanity. Hers is the story of a woman who dedicated her life to communicating all those emotions from which we are constantly fleeing. Her body, like a white canvas, becomes the receptacle of the deep pain that we hide every day behind a cover-girl smile. Her body becomes a symbol. Of unexpressed pain, of hidden pain, of the woman's body, of anger, of everything we are told is wrong, mistaken, sick, ugly. Thank you, Gina, for the blood you shed in your performances, because it is everyone's. Thank you for showing the pain we cannot admit. Thank you for saying through gestures, body, performance, art, what so few of us manage to say. I suffer. And therefore I Exist.

Alice K.

STORIES is a column dedicated to great stories from the past that can inspire your present.