The  Joy  of  Instant  Beauty
by  Patrizia  Cavalli

This exhibit troubles me; it tears me in two. However happy I may be that the stupendous lights  created  by Orsina  Sforza  will  be  displayed for  the  public’s  admiration,  I  am instantly   struck  by  angst  and  envy  at  the  thought  that  these  same  lights,  if  sold,  will end  up  who-­‐ knows-­‐where,  perhaps  in  strangers’ homes,  while  I  want  them  to  be mine,  all  mine.  And  yet   I  already  have  28  of  them.  When  I  leave them  on  (which  I often  do,  even  by  day,  because in   comparison  with  natural  light  they  have  a quiet vibrancy that  lays  bare the  soul)  and  in  my   to-­‐ing  and  fro-­‐ing from  one  room  to  the next I  see  the  Scozie lamp  that  warms otherwise-­‐ neglected  corners  with  a  red  glow, and  the  rippling Marie  Antoinette that imperiously watches  over my  studio  door,  or  else the  twinkling Nijinsky that  aristocratically  stands   apart  from  the  frenetic  Tutù  and  from the  sober  Scribacchine while  the  great  Ovipara broods  over the marble relics nesting  on my  desk and  the  Bernini  twists in  pale ecstasy   towards  the  Venosa; and  then,  one  after another, the Malevich,  the  Firebird, the  Pollock,  the   Africana and  those  many nameless Uniche that  shine on,  and  finally  the  sparkling Callas that,  placed  beside  an  armchair, almost  compels  me  to  sit  down  and  read  — I  think  that  my   house  is  truly  beautiful. They  animate  it  and  soften  it, and  there  is  no  room  I  ever  want  to   leave,  no corner that  doesn’t  draw  me  in.  In  the  matter  of lighting,  then,  I  would  have  to   consider myself  more  than  equipped.  But  this is  precisely  my  worry:  as  thoroughly   illuminated as I  am,  here  is  Orsina  Sforza  continuing to  create  new  lights,  always  more   astonishing than  the  last,  that  excite my  greed. But even  if  I  could have them all,  I  wouldn’t   know where  to  put  them  or,  more  importantly,  how  to  use  them. I  have  great  respect  for   objects  and,  for  me,  to  own something  that  is  meant  to  be  used  without  using  it  is unjust,  it   wrongs the  object.  Regarding  lights,  it  is  only  right  and  proper  that  they  give light  when  and   where  it  is  needed.  If  I  don’t  need  their  light,  what  other  use  could  I invent for  them?  I   cannot shamelessly substitute  them  for  the  ones  I  already  have,  thus upsetting  my  sweet   landscape  and  ungratefully demeaning  my  older  lamps’ heroic resistance, through  the   years, to  clumsy  accidents and  dust.  And  neither  can  I  reduce them  to  mere  collectibles.  Oh   no,  never!  True,  even  unlit they  are  gorgeous  — indeed, at  rest  they  better  reveal the   sculptural  sumptuousness  of  the  humble materials they  are fashioned  from; but  it  is  when   these  same  materials become  suffused with  light  shining from  within  that  they  achieve true   splendor:  when  the  glues  and  the  thickenings  of overlapping  papers  are  transformed into surprising  shapes  and  depths and  colors, previously  secret,  it  is  then  that  they  unfold and   cast  joy upon all  the  things around them,  which immediately  glow  with  gratitude.  It  is  clear: these  lights  want  attention, day after  day; they  want  a  place  to  turn  on  and  then  turn  off,  on   and  off,  and  so  on, forever.  A place  that  I  don’t  have.  No  choice,  then,  but  to  surrender completely  to  my envy,  directed above  all  toward those  fortunate few  who still  have some   corner  as  yet unlit,  and  thus  will  find  themselves — simply by  bringing these  lights  into   their  homes — in  the  joy  of  instant  beauty.  But  also  toward the  less  fortunate multitudes who,  when they’re  not  crawling like  worms beneath a  wan uniform  light  that  mocks the   rich  diversity of  creation,  exist half  dead  among  gloomy  lampshades  that  reveal unforgiving raw  bulbs: these people  will  actually  have  the  opportunity  to  resurrect entire  rooms,   thanks  to  the miracle  of  these true  lights.  Whoever  they  are,  to  them  I  dedicate  all  my  envy.   Unless I  decide  to  move.