Lunch with “mascararo” craftsman Guerrino Lovato

How did it all begin?

I was born in Vicenza in 1958, where I attended art school. Then I moved to Venice to study at the Academy of Fine Arts. I have never been a fan of painting or abstract art. Even when I attended the Academy, I was more interested in performance and body art. I don’t come from a wealthy family: my parents were farmers and I had seven siblings. Even when talking about art, I always thought of it as something I had to sell to live so I didn’t hesitate when the opportunity arose to open a mask shop with other students from the Academy in the late 1970s. It was the post-terrorism years and people were desperate to be out in the open. The theatre adapted to this mood and went out into the streets. We made masks in the old Venetian style, which hadn’t been made in Venice for centuries. In fact, all production had stopped since the end of the Republic and the arrival of Napoleon.
The carnival as we know it today dates back to 1980. It was organised for the first time as part of the Biennale Teatro, which was a festival of street performances. We were already in business that year and we were overrun. Three years later, I opened my own studio, Mondonovo Maschere, where I worked for thirty years. I closed the business nine years ago. We had an immense catalogue of approximately 500 masks which has now become the basis for a museum in Malo (Vicenza). I have collaborated with theatres all over the world; my creations have breathed new life into La Fenice in Venice; I have worked for the Kremlin in Russia and for The Venetian in Las Vegas; my masks appear in the films of Zeffirelli, Kubrick and Branagh.

What is it that you like about masks?

I like masks because I am a figurative person. I like the fact that masks represent transformation and are an amplified expression of the human self and soul. A mask, if you think about it, is the accentuated characterisation of the human face. And what is the face, if not the summary of a life? The mask is therefore the centre of the human being.

Children, who usually have the most honest reactions to things, are often either scared or excited by masks. Were you ever scared of them?

I don’t think so. Sadly, I am an adult now and I know that they aren’t real, especially as I create them. The tales of Phaedrus and Aesop teach us that a fox finds a mask and after being surprised, realises that it is empty. Children do not yet have this cunning, this intuitive ability, so they are either frightened or entertained. To this point, it is said that Walt Disney’s theme parks took hold so well in the U.S. because more culturally accustomed Americans don’t want to imagine the man behind the mask and can therefore really get into the experience. With Europeans, it is more difficult. When I had a shop, there were always queues of children: they would be in their mother’s arms or huddled next to them for safety, but they wanted to see the masks and to believe. They would cry, run away, laugh, and avoid looking at the stranger ones: they cannot understand that it is make-believe, for them it is all true. A bit like it was for all of us before the arrival of cinema and television.

Do you mean religion?

Of course! Think of some of the paintings you see in churches and cathedrals: they are meant as a warning. They were created to frighten us, and they succeeded. We are all visually vulnerable. VB And how does the mask fit into all of this historically? GL Let’s talk about the history of western masks, because eastern masks come from a completely different tradition. The mask was born in classical times with the theatre, where comedies or tragedies were staged. People went to the shows to laugh or cry about their own misfortunes, virtues and desires. Masks were used in the theatre for technical reasons: the actors could be seen better by the general public and their voices were projected. The mouths of the masks functioned as vocal amplifiers. The audience was not seeking realism but a good story with a well-constructed plot. Every city, even the very smallest, had a theatre.
With the arrival of Christianity, however, the Church stated that comedy should be banned culturally. Living a religious life meant no laughter. The scripts for comedies from the Roman period were all burned, and they were no longer staged. The masks disappeared. Only tragedy remained, probably more conciliatory to the pain of Christ, but even that was no longer staged. There was no longer any stage fiction. The Church created its own form of theatre in which a group of male actors told the stories of Jesus and the Saints. But even this new type of theatre required an element of fiction: the devil. He had to inspire fear and there was no man ugly enough, so they had to resort to a mask.
They based it on the classic Satyr mask, complete with goat legs, to which they added bat wings. It was a reappearance that only really evolved in the fifteenth century, at the peak of Humanism. There was a return to the study of classical texts, even non-religious ones, during that time. Venice, above all, where the population was Christian but not papal like in Florence and Rome, saw the revival of popular street events, especially during the Carnival, or the month of freedom that preceded Lent. During this period, the Lords would open their courts for street performers to recite and dance. These events were real parties: people ate, danced and had sex. It was eroticism that led to the creation of masks with ever more phallic noses, the Zanni, and the increasingly characteristic characters that would be the beginning of the Commedia dell’Arte.

Speaking of Commedia dell’Arte, can you tell me why each region has its own mask and how it all started historically in Venice?

The Commedia dell’Arte is the comedy that had been censored by the ancients: it was supposed to make people laugh - otherwise it would have been called the tragedy of art - and some theatre companies spontaneously picked up again and started re-enacting it. These amateur actors gradually became professionals who acted, danced and knew their lines off by heart. They began to be invited to the various Venetian palaces, then outside Venice and later even outside Italy. In each turné, they brought with them the language, dialect and culture of our country. The companies, originally Venetian, began to be formed of actors from Rome, Naples, Tuscany and all over, each with their own idioms, gestures and dialects, which were absorbed into the acting and all the various itinerant shows. They wore masks, in reference to the old figure of the Christian Satyr-demon, to show that we all have human vices and desires. That is why even Harlequin, who is a cheerful character, has a dark and vaguely disturbing mask. 
The Commedia dell’Arte was important for our culture because it was, for a long time, the only form of non-religious entertainment in our country. Not surprisingly, with the Unification of Italy and the arrival of compulsory schooling, when it was thought that children should not only be taught Christian doctrine and Greek and Roman history but something a little lighter as well, the Commedia dell’Arte was chosen. Once it was taught in school and studied at desks – moreover, it had been a form of narrative more traditionally belonging to the north until then – each region wanted its own mask to represent it. Naples found Pulcinella, Rome Rugantino, Milan Meneghino, Bergamo Arlecchino and so on. This culture continued into the 1960s. In the decade after that, with the arrival of comics, cinema, popular television culture and other characters, everything changed, and that world disappeared.

Who is responsible for their legacy?

The writing style has found other stories to tell but the archetype of the imaginary is always the same. Phaedrus and Aesop became the brothers Grimm and La Fontaine, who became the Commedia dell’Arte, which evolved into something else. They develop, change and decline in an increasingly articulate and interesting way, but the prototypes are always the same. As I said, the Commedia dell’Arte, with Arlecchino, Pulcinella and so on, still exists thanks to the works of authors such as Ruzzante, Calmo, Gallina, Gozzi and Goldoni, who wrote down the stories that were handed down vocally from the 16th century onwards, to be staged. The theatre has never stopped talking about itself and so it still talks about the Commedia dell’Arte to this day, staging its written works.

Masks were used in everyday society in Venice too, weren’t they?

Yes, there were two main society masks: the bauta and the moretta. They were used from the 16th century until the arrival of the Republic. The bauta was a white mask, with a beak-like shape, that could be worn by both men and women, rich and poor. I would call it a democratic mask, which was no small feat in an oligarchic society. The beak shape meant that the wearer never had to remove it, not even to eat or smoke a pipe. It was held on the face by lace straps. The moretta, however, was only for women. It was a small black mask, as it had to highlight the pale white of the skin. Tanning, after all, only became a beauty trend in the 1920s, when for women it became synonymous with freedom, travel and fun. Until then, women’s skin had to be as pale as the moon. The moretta was not held on by laces but by a button that was clenched between the teeth, which is why it was called a mute mask and, in paintings, women with this mask are shown holding it in their hands when speaking. I would add a third mask: the plague doctor. At the time, it was thought that disease was transmitted by miasma and this mask therefore had a long hollow beak that contained perfumed materials. Original society masks can’t be found in museums because, being intended for everyday use, they were thrown away when worn out. They were made of paper, wax, fabric or leather. I was the first to remake the ‘modern’ plague doctor mask in the 1970s for the 1980 carnival. If I remember correctly, it was also used in La Traviata by Zeffirelli (1982).

What materials do you use to make your masks?

Mostly paper. It is not recycled paper because that is full of lead, which wouldn’t do much good to a craftsman like me who uses it every day. Newspaper paper is unfortunately too thin and has already been processed with glue. I get the paper I use from Prato, which is famous for its textile industry and the paper is in fact called wool paper because it is created by processing fabric waste with pure cellulose. The resulting paper is spongy and very solid, perfect for this type of craftsmanship. It is used to make masks, but also floats. We used white paper towels once upon a time. The model used to make mask is made of clay. My main job, especially when the workshop was still open, was to make the model. Generally, my employees dealt with applying the paper.

What have been the highlights of your career to date?

When I had my Mondonovo Maschere workshop in Venice [right next to the Ponte dei Pugni – Bridge of Fists – where we are having lunch, which got its name because Castellani and Nicolotti used to meet here to challenge each other to fist fights], I really enjoyed being with my clientele. During the Film Festival especially, we would see well-known names from the world of entertainment and beyond. I have served Mitterrand, Mick Jagger, and Sandra Milo, as well as having worked on set design for the directors I mentioned: Zeffirelli, Branagh and Kubrick.

How did your collaborations with the world of cinema take place?

Sometimes the set designers would come to the shop to choose from existing material and sometimes they would come with designs of what they wanted. In Branagh’s case, his production designer, Tim Harvey, came to ask for specific masks. Emma Thompson, who was his wife at the time, was in the film, and I don’t know if you know but she has actually taken up residence in Venice now [at this exact moment, Emma Thompson walks by arm in arm with her husband Greg Wise].

As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?

This. Or rather, I always knew that I wanted to be involved in art. Although I am not religious myself, I come from a religious culture. I went to primary school at a seminary where I developed a love of churches and paintings, and I loved building nativity scenes... The masks are only one aspect, the best known, of my work. For the rest, I would call myself an expert in iconology and artistic and religious iconography. Just a few years ago, in Umbria, I recognised at a glance that a tabernacle by El Greco had been wrongly attributed. It’s a great story that tells you a lot about what I do. One particular figure in the Apocryphal Gospels is that is that of the doubting midwife. She is a midwife who, not believing in the virginity of the Madonna, is punished with an injury to her hands and is in fact always depicted with her hands spread and unmoving, which is often mistaken for a gesture of prayer. The miracle of the doubting midwife is Christ’s first miracle because he heals her. It is a figure that I have always been passionate about and I have become enough of an expert to have found several representations of her. Six years ago, I was invited to speak in Bettona in Umbria, and I was taken on a tour after the conference, during which I saw a tabernacle that I immediately attributed to El Greco. My attribution did not correspond with what art historians had said until then, but they must have believed me because that tabernacle is now insured for 2 million euros.

How did you recognise it was El Greco? Has your theory been recognised?

The church where the tabernacle was located had been built by Vincenzo Anastasi, a Knight of Malta who El Greco had already painted. Furthermore, the period to which the work can be traced, 1574, was El Greco’s “Roman” period, of which little is known, so much so that one wonders how he managed to live. Evidently under contract from the Academy of San Luca, he painted small tabernacles. The art historian community – which in this case of human error, wrongly attributed the work – has yet to agree on my theory, but I just carry on in the meantime: Umbria, Marche, Lazio, Southern Tuscany. If he was in Bettona, El Greco probably also toured the surrounding areas, so I am travelling a lot in search of new finds. Hopefully signed this time. This should show you that my job nowadays involves a lot of studying and rediscovering.

You are also working on a rural architecture project at the moment.

My family comes from a farming background. When I attended art school in Vicenza, I worked on a series of drawings of the rural architecture in my area. Then I left for Venice and started to work on other things, like masks, but that interest in my roots has never left me. After all, if you think about it, the rural home can be considered the farmer’s work of art. They had to think about it and build it, working with stones, bricks, wood... Their knowledge is all there. Their life and culture are all there. These are houses built in the nineteenth century that have no protection from the state. I’m not saying that the state should save them all but at least some in order to preserve this rural tradition. The state lends a hand with villas and palaces but not with farmhouses. To date, I have held conferences and exhibitions of my drawings and some decorated ceramics in Brendola, Vicenza. I don’t know how much longer I will have the strength, working here in Venice, but I believe that losing such a significant part of the history of our country would be a real shame.

You are collective memory, Guerrino.

I try to be. I think we all should.

Can you tell me your definition of beauty?

Starting with the fact that I consider it subjective, I would say that beauty is a figurative image – I am not a fan of abstract art - that evokes past, present and future pleasures and desires. It makes me smile to think that the most beautiful characters in religious art are generally the executioners and not the martyrs. This is because they were both represented naked but while one had to evoke divine grace, the other teased eroticism, desired but forbidden. Alongside Christ or the saints, male figures of this type appeared obscene and justifiably punishable by religion, despite making the ladies blush in Church. Think of Michelangelo’s works. And the same was also true of female iconography. All large buildings had a work depicting the Mary Magdalene because she was represented naked and beautiful, and she aroused the imagination: it was eroticism legitimised by religion. Neglect of God was translated as personal indifference, showing the body in its more animal and less spiritual form. Fortunately, we humans have always known how to get around problems and images have always been far more explanatory than words.

What are your plans for the coming weeks?

The French TV channel France 2 wants to make a documentary about my work. I participated in one of their features when the Notre Dame fire happened, they wanted to ask me some questions as I had worked on the restoration of La Fenice here in Venice. I have always collaborated a lot with the French. The most famous being Givenchy, for whom I did some work on his French house, which he also used as an atelier. I designed the ceiling of an oval library with a motif taken from a building in Venice but in different colours. Working for him introduced me to true wealth, which is both intellectual and tasteful.

And how did the collaboration with The Venetian casino in Las Vegas come about?

The founder Sheldon Adelson had visited Ca’ Rezzonico, home of the Museum of 18th Century Venetian, to consult on construction of the casino. The director of the museum called me saying that I would be the perfect person for the job because in addition to seeing what needed to be done, I would also be able to do it. Adelson couldn’t believe that he had stumbled upon a skilled craftsman and so we began. It was a truly incredible experience.

What is the question that nobody has ever asked you, but you would like to answer?

People have always asked me questions that are diplomatic to answer. I am from that school of thought which is why journalists often ask me the same questions, those are the things that people want to talk about and know about.
It’s like when people go to museum archives and say that there is more stuff in the archives than in the museum itself, complaining that it is not exhibited. But if they really looked, they would find replicas and plenty of boring or unimportant pieces. They then realise that somebody has already made the selection for them and has done so competently, the same way that a journalist does with information. On that basis, I think you have asked me everything that I could answer.