Who will pay the price

Years '70

WILLY DARKO

Video, 7′, 2000

As usual in my research, I draw from the works realised in my career as an artist: not a “past” but, as I am used to say, a “long-lasting present”. The works Years ’70, both the video and the photograph, fully reflects my work, thoughts and lifestyle.
The video, by means of the images, tells the history of that period using parts of films collected by the Archivio di Stato: the riots of the Seventies, the first mass parties, pictures taken directly on the stages during the concerts. So we can enter into the political and social disputes, by means of the images “hybridised” by the mix of the freak ideals with the strong emotions aroused by the Rock music. The poetry inside the texts makes them strongly “theatrical”. So the excerpts taken from the most important texts of the period of psicadelya, as a unique narration and performed by an actor, become “icons”. The mixing goes on and becomes “performance”. Images, sounds, colours group together and in the same time cancel one another in order to reshape themselves in a work unique. A new work, the bearing wall for the coming “unique present”.

Statement of the author Willy Darko

ROCK

It is five feet two,
and it is six feet tall and four,
He fights with missiles and with spears.
It’s the universal soldier, the real culprit,
his orders do not come from very far:
are from here and from there, by you and me,
and brothers, you see, is not the way to end the war.
Kill, kill, will make you feel better,
so he told my captain, and so should be.
Kill, will give you mental calm,
kill, I’ll get you a great relaxation.
How do you feel to break your child now,
and to let him die in the grass, in the sun?
What you see when you look at one another?
Tell me, old man, tell me, where will you run?

It is always the old to lead to wars
and the young to die.
Now look what we have won,
with sword and rifle.
Tell me, it was worth it?

The propaganda, the lies
They do not force you to take up arms,
the pride arms of my enemies,
and I not fight according to their rules,
which moreover is madness.
Their ignorance is fucking them
And no one will cry,
because their children are growing up
and quietly van tiring
to live with fanatics and silver cups
with which they have fed them, could tirarvele him.

And you tender,
you can not know the fears
they grew up with those before thee
and so help them with your youth.
Teaches love your parents
The hell of their children
slowly fade
And feed them on your dreams,
the only thing to collect,
the only thing to be learned.