RESEARCHER AND CURATOR OF THE PRIZE LE CANTINE DI PASOLINI.
"I think the link between culture, creativity and the rural world is intrinsic and deep. Man has an effect on the Earth where he lives, making it fertile and molding it according to his own needs and survival"
In your opinion, what is the relationship between culture, creativity and the rural world?
I think the link between culture, creativity and the rural world is intrinsic and deep. Man has an effect on the Earth where he lives, making it fertile and molding it according to his own needs and survival. Similarly, the human mind has an effect on the 'already given' in order to build what is essential or useful to it, not only at a material level, but also at a spiritual and intellectual one. That is why what we define as 'culture' cannot disregard the very act of creating, let alone the territory we live in, which is often, like Lucania, poor in inspiration, and frequently leads to a surplus of creative effort.
In which terms can we talk of social and cultural innovation in the rural world of Basilicata? Tell us about the experience of the Cantinando Wine & Art festival.
It is innovation which truly has the courage to rediscover the 'rural' roots of the world we belong to, releasing them from the prejudices which associate the farming legacy with a non-value, as synonymous with poverty and social subordination. The experience of Cantinando, in Barile, talks about that, in its ongoing effort to give an authentic and healthy value to the fruit of our land by simultaneously valorising all the deep and ancient things which revolve around the Parco Urbano delle Cantine: stories of migration, fatigue, work, environmental logic based on a progress which does not always rhyme with capitalism and sustainability.
If you think of the food/agricultural traditions of Lucania, which one comes to mind and why?
I come from a small village in the Vulture area, Rapolla, so what comes to mind is olive oil, another precious fruit of our land, one that my grandparents, with whom I was lucky enough to grow up, used to keep in a small, white alcove cut into the tuff, where I was often found playing with my cousins. In there I could also feel the sweet smell of flour, milled every year from our family's wheat, which perfumed the air. Still, if I concentrate, I can hear our voices muffled by that magical and secret place, inaccessible to grown-ups who, being farmers, always had a good reason to be engaged in a thousand chores.