Filippo Fimiani

Shutter Island is a much-criticized and highly debated film. Scorsese, in fact, has been accused of distorting the facts and altering his historical sources. The depictions we see of the Holocaust are false, not based on visual documents, a mix of incompatible evidences and iconographies, an amalgam of irreconcilable informations and representations. The director has created a visual style and a sound design that vacillate between thriller and horror, drama and fantasy, while betraying the medial transparency of the reconstruction and the ethical responsibility of interpretation. The viewer sees and believes in the images of the concentration camp of Dachau which are, in reality, dialectical imaginings of another scene: in these images, constructed according to the clinical and critical vision of Scorsese as cinephile, the past and the repressed return in the present. In our present too. On the one hand, in fact, the viewer participates empathically in the mental images relived and suffered by the protagonist in his post-traumatic hallucinations; on the other hand, the viewer is prompted to recall the pictures quoted or paraphrased from the archives of the imagery of cinema and of the photojournalism of war–in which Pontecorvo, Resnais, Fuller, George Stevens and John Huston live side by side with the RKO horror films of Jacques Tourneur and Mark Robson. For Scorsese, the images of the violence of war and of the horror of extermination cannot be linked to an origin or past that have definitively been concluded. They are more than recorded pictures or concrete evidences: they are clues and symptoms. They come from a conflictual and endless descent of which cinema is the living and ambiguous memory; they are the open wounds of an original struggle between human and inhuman and of man–they still survive, here and now

“Art”—what is it? What sort of entities are artworks? “Art”—when is it? Normally, when we visit an art exhibition, when we listen to a concert or when we look at a performing art in a setting, we use to read the titles, the tags or something textual, a threshold not crafted by the author, about the exposed or executed artworks in order to grasp their subject, style, history, and author. But: how does a title, a non-fiction depiction or a pointing, and different ways of para-textual activation, entitle and unable us to such an operation and to live an aesthetic relation? This issue of “Aisthesis” explores the conditions under which it could be useful to distinguish between aesthetic objects and artworks–visual, musical, literary, performing arts– and to admit that the existence of the latter depends on a marginal and basic component of them: tags. The issue contains articles by Jerrold Levinson, Bernard Sève, Filippo Focosi, Alberto Voltolini, Giulia Alberti, Pietro Kobau, Jean-Pierre Cometti, Isabelle Thomas-Fogiel, Filippo Fimiani, Bertrand Rougé, Leardo Botti, Michel Déguy, Jean-Marie Klinkenberg, Micla Petrelli, Andrea Olivieri, Alessandro Ottaviani.

This paper is dedicated to the Εἰκόνες of the two Philostrati and to the Ἐκφράσεις of Callistratus, that is to say to three Greek works that bear important witness to the genre of art criticism in Antiquity and which concern both literary history and the history of art. The first series of Εἰκόνες is the work of Philostratus the Elder (2nd-3rd century AD) and comprises sixty-five descriptions of paintings with mythological subjects, which the author assures us he has seen in a gallery in Naples. Another Philostratus, who claims to be the grandson of the former, and who is traditionally referred to as Philostratus the Younger, wrote a second, shorter series of Εἰκόνες, which describes seventeen paintings. Finally, a certain Callistratus, who probably dates from the 4th century AD, is the author of the Ἐκφράσεις, which group together fourteen descriptions of statues in marble and bronze.1 Ecphrasis is a subject that is often the focus of contemporary research. Perhaps its importance stems from the fact that we live in a civilization dominated by images, and we feel the need to control the visual imagery that surrounds us, to govern it and to make sense of it through language. The attention given to literary theory, rhetoric and sophistry today also helps to explain the success of this subject. The present book is situated in this field of research. The "La Licorne" series in which it is published specializes in the study of ancient and modern literature, a specialization to which this volume corresponds. This volume has two points of focus: (1) the literary form of description and the complex relationships between word and image, between the oral and the visual (hence the title Le défi de l'art, which signifies, among other things, that the art of the painter and of the sculptor challenges the sophist, who tries to describe works of art with words); (2) the Nachleben of ancient texts, because Philostratus and Callistratus were well-known to posterity, particularly during the Renaissance.

In the ontology of the artwork and its regimes of existence, Gérard Genette gives but little room to the theory and practice of restoration. However, restoration is seen in relation to the identity of the work itself and to its material and pragmatic temporality and anachronism. In the wake of Nelson Goodman, it is also understood as a form of actuation and implementaion of the aesthetic experience. Starting from these premises, the present essay intends to examine the relationship between Genette’s and Daniel Arasse’s reflections on restoration and the history of art, highlighting their similarities and differences with Cesare Brandi’s theory of restoration and, therefore, pointing out their as yet undischarged debts to Sartre’s phenomenology of image.