Chets For Poptropica H

Italian: Arrigo Del Rigo

I do not know if for reasons di spazio o per incomprensibile malafede, nella pagina biografica dedicata ad Arrigo Del Rigo, in http://www.pratoshop.com/perso_rigo.shtml , si scrive che « Rievocandone succintamente la vicenda, Ardengo Soffici scriveva nel Frontespizio (Dicembre 1939) queste righe: “Il 26 febbraio del ’32 Del Rigo morì in un’aura di tragedia e di mistero. Così modesto e candido com’era, egli non fu forse sorretto nel momento fatale, dalla coscienza del proprio valore. La sua morte prematura privò i parenti di un figlio bene amato, gli amici di un compagno indimenticabile, l’arte italiana di una luminosa speranza”.» Orbene, certo che Soffici non avrà inteso scrivere an essay, and hence he devotes an entire small page of the magazine to this beautiful young promise, cut short too early. It does little, the soft, to place this young man (a young hopeful promise and I stress) among the Italian artists, was acknowledged as a beautiful oblivion given him more than Italy and Prato (the city of Del Rigo), ideally democratic convintamene and anti-fascist. But I will not point
embroiled in a controversy that does not interest me, as with those who are blind to the facts or in bad faith there is no reason to hold.

remember though, that some thirty years ago I decided to take care of the staff, writing about him or dedicating an article (perhaps) an integer number of arcimodesta a publication that was published at that time. So I asked, the sculptor Quinto Martini (but I had also asked Gino Brogi Peter Bugiani and Giulio Pierucci), when reminded of the staff: - Of course, that I remember! - Incalza immediately, and began to tell. - Do me a favor - I said at the end. - All these things, write them!
And so a couple of months after we met in the foundry and gave me "his memory", which was entrusted to three typewritten pages which, tornatemi his hands these days, I give public willingly.
course, to read what I wrote Quinto Martini accorgo che senz’altro avrà integrato le lacune della memoria con la sua fervida fantasia d’artista, ma tant’è! Senz’altro si tratta di quanto il Martini amava rammentare del suo coetaneo più sfortunato.




Ultimo incontro con

Arrigo Del Rigo

È passato più di mezzo secolo dalla tragica scomparsa dell’amico, e molti ricordi si sono sfocati perdendo il loro contorno reale. Ma, fra i tanti incontri con lui, uno è rimasto ben chiaro in my mind, and it is 1'ultimo of 1932, shortly before its demise.
not remember the exact day but it was the early hours of a cold, gray afternoon. Blew a gentle fade away sharp, typical of the city [Prato] from many chimneys. It was at Piazza delle Carceri, he came from Via Pugliese, with his hands in his coat pocket and the well-worn dark hat on his head. We said goodbye, smiled as usual, exchanged a few words looking at the church [Santa Maria delle Carceri of Giuliano da Sangallo ] and after a while 'I took the bike and, as a boy, he repeatedly circled the empty square and windy. When he stopped me and made it, stamping their feet on the ground said: "Moviamoci, it's cold." Crossing Piazza San Francesco, Via Rinaldeschi went in to say hello Zola's friend Taylor. His shop was a meeting place for us young anti-fascists, taken from art, literature, where he also talked about politics, who was in prison, and especially Russian literature. I left the bike leaning against the wall near the sports shop, and went, as so often, a quiet stroll through the city, speaking of friends, our labor and material difficulties in order to devote more things to serenade the art.
We had the same age, and the military for over two years & it was behind us. When I greeted him to return to my country, mi disse risoluto: "Ti accompagno per un pezzo di strada. Sono uscito di casa perché avevo bisogno di prendere aria... Mi sentivo in prigione."
Allungò il braccio destro e guardando le nuvole, tracciò nell'aria un mezzo cerchio. Camminava sul marciapiede, parlava e fischiettava, dondolandosi leggermente com'era sua abitudine. Prima di uscire dalla Porta Santa Trinità, mettendo la mano sul manubrio disse, senza guardarmi: "Anche se fa buio, vedo che ci hai il fanale a carburo." Appena fuori Porta, si tirò su il bavero del cappotto marrone, si abbottonò bene, infilò i pollici nelle tasche, e, accostandosi alla mia bicicletta, cominciò ad animarsi parlando della sua pittura e dei suoi problemi personali: man's problems rather than the painter. (I was surprised, because I had not thought so introverted.) It was a time, the ones where you feel sluggish all around, and the aspirations of the twenty years you'll see less and less feasible. He spoke of his innermost feelings with abandon, revealing its nature as a big child, shyness and uncontrolled reactions that often features the most authentic artists. Speaking of his reading, you realize that was an excuse to tell him, someone to confide his fears, doubts most intimate, all his conditioned life in the riots that feeling, to feel his torment and that in turn different faced with identical situations: almost trying to clarify himself certain moods and feelings of his own youthful fullness.
Despite all this, I thought that his great love for art, and a little humor to life were the lifeline for the troubled and restless nature. We greeted the dark.
I squeezed her hand, smiling, saying: "So when you come to Prato, play the bell." I immediately turned away. Walk towards the city. As I lit the lantern, I saw him get lost in the lights of the many bicycles that workers came from the factories. Even if, along the way, I reflected on some of his secrets, I was far from thinking that the cold night would be our last meeting and reminded of his lighter, which would close so soon after his tragically. young lives.

Quinto Martini (1986)

Portrait of a Young, 1930

Puppet Theatre, 1931

Still Life, 1930

La Rissa, 1932

Portrait, 1926

By Bruno Stepic

San Martino, July 4, 2009, San Procopio

P.S. Quinto Marini nasce a Seano, Firenze (oggi Prato), il 31 ottobre 1908 e muore nel suo paese il 9 novenbre 1990.

Checché possa aver scritto e detto successivamente, negli anni del suo presunto antifascismo se ne stava attaccato stretto stretto a Soffici, del quale "giustamente" beveva ogni cosa come oro colato... ma collaborava anche, nei modi grafici suggeriti da Soffici, con gradevoli xilografie al fascistissimo "Selvaggio" di Mino Maccari.