The title of Rebecca Ranieri’s first solo exhibition M’haju allibbirari (I have to free myself) owes it origins to the Sicilian dialect which is officially recognised as a language independent of the Italian language. Sicilian has many variations, particular to the different areas of the Mediterranean island and its towns and villages. Sicilian and its dialectal derivations stretch back to even beyond Hellenistic times.
Ranieri’s late grandfather was Sicilian. He taught the young Rebecca many life lessons such as the importance of family love and that life can be very cruel at times. She dedicates this exhibition to the grandfather whom she loved deeply, a man who experienced the indignity of facing deportation to World War II concentration camps.
A’ trappula (The trap)He spent years authoring two books, Il Filo Spinato and Viaggio nel Passato.
“Just as he was unable to exorcise his pain except with writing, I am unable to exorcise my feelings except with painting,” the artist observes.
When she was young, she spent summer holidays visiting him in Sicily and, thus, she got accustomed to the vernacular of the language. She remarks: “Sicily is where part of me belongs.”
Through this exhibition, the artist explores her roots while attempting to reconnect with the various aspects of her heritage. Memories and feelings, at times locked away in her subconscious, could be manifestations of this too.
Supravíviri á lu juornu (Surviving a day)The main concept of M’haju allibbirari revolves around a Sicilian widow, engrossed in her solitude, darkness and silence. Death has robbed her of love and painting has provided a release, a way to exorcise the pain of loss.
“In the Greek world, the handmaids used to play the funeral dirges. In the almost forgotten peasant Sicilian world, the women of the deceased’s family used to watch over their loved one,” Ranieri explains.
“Each work in this exhibition represents a particular fraction of my intimate, sentimental world”
She continues: “Through singing, the relatives conversed with the dead. They talked to them lovingly, reminded them of the bad and good events they experienced together, asked them paradoxical questions, reproached them affectionately, thanked them for the wisdom with which they had lived, recommended themselves to them for the future. In short, the scenes of a real life were reviewed as in a movie. The intensity of the moans, which also became impressive screams, increased when other relatives or friends came to pay homage to the body.”
Piagnone were women who were paid to make a scene, cry and lament their heart out for the dead one. Everything was adorned in black, the colour that symbolises mourning.
Quannu tuppulía ú duluri (When pain knocks)“Today, death has almost become a taboo. It seems that it does not concern us personally or that it always and only concerns others. In the past, this was not the case. Death was perpetually present. It was something familiar,” the artist points out.
“It was always looming. The average life was short because natural selection was killing many lives, especially children, since medicine was not as developed as it is today.”
Lurdata (Stained)The artist as a Sicilian widow
“In this exhibition, I take on the role of the Sicilian widow, the stereotypical Sicilian widow who embraces the pain but lets it sink inside her and screams internally. She does not make a show out of her feelings, she paints. Each work in this exhibition represents a particular fraction of my intimate, sentimental world. Memories, thoughts, feelings,” Ranieri affirms.
The artist seeks to liberate herself from the labels that limit her expression. Existential questions plague her with doubts. Artistic expression goes some way in tackling these conundrums. Thus, she partially conceals and blurs the figures and their narratives. Voltaire once claimed that doubt is an uncomfortable condition – the ephemeral texture of the paintings in this collection could be interpreted as portrayals of this discomfort.
L’úocchi to’ misericurdiusi (Your merciful eyes)
Nun ci a facìeva chiu (He could not take it any longer)
“Figures are essential to me, and I use them as a means; as a bond between my spiritual dimension and anyone out there to look at it,” Ranieri elaborates. “I also have a soft spot for instinctive gestural acts that I often combine to figurative elements. These two sides of me are complementary and necessary.”
Besides being a quest for personal freedom for the artist, M’haju allibbirari is also an introspective search for the soul of things, rather than their consistency.
M’haju allibbirari, curated by Etienne Farrell and Mark Mallia, is hosted by Art by the Seaside of 65, Triq il-Mina tax-Xatt, Senglea. It runs until Friday, December 10. Log on to the event’s Facebook page for opening hours. COVID-19 restrictions apply.
Ú vúolu (The flight)