Loredana Longo with Agata Polizzi on “We Are Cannibals” – a powerful, ferocious, and poetic exhibition

AP – “We Are Cannibals” – a bold, even provocative title. What message did you hope to convey with such direct and deliberate words?

LL – We are the cannibals – we human beings – not because we literally consume members of our own species, but because we’ve learned how to devour every resource this planet has to offer. I have no interest in launching into a pitiful eco-moralist polemic – it’s clear that the path we’ve taken is one of no return, where the first victims are ourselves. The logic of cannibalism leaves no room for anything or anyone, and the taste of blood only calls for more. The West is spoiled by its own affluence, and poorer populations aspire to that same wealth – it’s a never-ending battle. But Earth cannot give indefinitely. Perhaps, once we are extinct, animals and the plant world will be able to flourish again in what we call the natural order. And I will always maintain that human beings are part of Nature – but they’ve distorted the very notion of existence through an excessively anthropocentric lens.

LL – We are never truly alone or perhaps we always are, and both ideas hold weight because we are part of this world: we live within family systems and within ourselves, we must make these mental and physical spaces coexist simultaneously. I find it impossible to fully detach myself and not to bring external stimuli into my work.

LL – The title of my last book, published by Silvana Editoriale, is “Strong and Fragile”. It features works created with materials that appear very robust but are actually fragile. This dichotomy, alongside a creative process that involves both construction and destruction, is a constant in my artistic practice. In this latest solo show, there are works made from a wide range of materials – objects whose original functions have been violently disrupted. In “mangiare dallo stesso piatto” (“to eat from the same plate”), I bit into fresh ceramic plates and shared the act with workers in the factory. In “Consumption”, dozens of broken bottle necks are embedded in the wall, literally spitting out long drops of lead. It represents a diagram of the consumption of the Earth’s resources—a long line that inexorably tends to grow. In “The Clan of Human Eaters”, five flesh-coloured leather hoods reveal an open mouth, surrounded by lead casts of my teeth. The “rulers of the world” debate among themselves, resembling a hybrid of Ku Klux Klan members and scarecrows. The bite is a symbolic act; the presence of an autobiographical element positions me on the same level as those who perform this act – and as all of humanity.

LL – Without tension, there is no creativity, and without creativity, there is no life – at least not for me. That’s why I fight destruction by destroying, in order to reconstruct something: my vision. At times, I understand it may be easy to fall into stereotypes, but I’ve never been afraid to fail, and above all, I’ve never feared taking risks. My explosions prove it, the performances where my body is subjected to pain – not as self-punishment, nor from masochism, but as a necessary practice for the formation of that thought. In “Trilogy of a Fall”, I let myself drop – completely coloured in pink – onto cotton sheets, leaving imprints of my body. Falling implies the impact of the body on the ground, the loss of balance. From the fabric, small steel points emerge and scattered burns radiate like a spider’s web. I didn’t intend to hurt myself, but it was necessary that I fall without hesitation – and I did get hurt.

LL – In every way possible – often through force, frequently with fire, but most of all with a free and independent thought. As I often say: onward. Because, as with all important things in life, there is no going back.