Von exotischer italienischer Männlichkeit über protestantische Schweizer bis zu Black Masculinity in Johannesburg: Ein Gespräch mit dem Performer und bildenden Künstler Nicola Genovese über Machos, Mütter und Doggystyle. Sein Stück «A Novanta» wird im Oktober im Fabriktheater uraufgeführt.
Fabrikzeitung: In the performance you’re playing yourself: An Italian living in Switzerland, examining your masculinity. How does Italian masculinity differ from Swiss one(s)? Do you think catholicism plays a role in that?
Nicola Genovese: It’s difficult to define one single Italian masculinity. My point of view is from the north eastern part of the country. Italy, in general, is in a sandwich position between north European masculinity and a new masculinity of the south. Italian masculinity is different to the northern protestant masculinity, not just from a religious point of view. The cultural background is different. The stereotype «macho» is actually a way to emasculate and exotizise the men from the south. Being a macho is hyper-masculine, to the extent that you become overemotional. And in that moment, you are emasculated.
What is catholic masculinity and what is the protestant one?
Protestant masculinity is the perfect example of how to be a man. Its special feature is emotional detachment. I’m horrified by protestant masculinity. What caught my attention living here was this impossibility to talk about private life. It’s a general Swiss issue, but among men it’s even harder. This transforms into hyper-control behavior. I address this in the performance. «A Novanta» is a gesture that signifies doggy style. It’s a movement men do among other men to display masculinity. There are two types of movement regarding this gesture: back and forth with a lot of control – not to get pleasure for yourself, just to give pleasure. It’s an extreme act of masculinity not to need sex. A sort of spiritual masculinity, where power is not connected to the penis and the sexual function, but it’s something almost mystical.
The other sort of movement is used to make fun of men unable to perform. It’s faster, and in this faster position you look almost like a dog – it’s the depiction of the man who is out of control.
So this gesture «A Novanta» is an emasculation tool. All masculinities in Italy have this idea of how a man is supposed to be – but they fail in several ways. This has to do with the economic situation, but it’s also cultural. The majority of Italian men live with their mother. This is not a sign of being a «good» man, according to the narration – if you live with your mother you’re not the real breadwinner. Italian masculinity is a failed masculinity in that sense.
The German theorist Klaus Theweleit argues that German masculinity is closely intertwined with militarism. Do you think Italian’s facist history still influences Italian masculinity today?
Nationalism intersects with masculinity often in the Italian context: Salvini, Lega Nord, a little bit with Berlusconi – though Berlusconi is an example of extremely feminized masculinity. All of Europe makes fun of him: he’s a macho, he’s a predator of women, but he’s also ridiculous. But there’s been a backlash against fascist masculinity. Today, what gives shape to the Italian idea of men is rather the figure that developed after the second world war, the sad, melancholic lover.
Your master thesis was called «White masculinity in crisis through the frame of visual and performing arts» – what does it mean to say that masculinity is in a crisis?
What I see from a man’s perspective: there is no crisis. The narration of the crisis of masculinity exists since the industrial revolution. It can’t be that you’re in a crisis for 100 years.
Some people, especially from certain socio-economic backgrounds, perceive a threat. The academic discourse is creating more exclusion than inclusion, which gives room to phenomenons like Trump – if you leave the white working class out, you have a disaster.
«A Novanta» investigates the white cis-heterosexual man – why this restriction?
Who are we talking about when we say white cis male? A worker who lives in Greece, in his sixties, or a white guy in New York, with a rich family background? Putting these two men in the same category is a huge mistake. How can you address to this old guy in Greece with 500€ per month that he is the problem, he is privileged? Fundamentally, I’m a marxist. In my opinion, gen-der and race can not be put in the same level as class. I can’t put myself in the same position as the «Putzkraft» here at Toni Areal.
In Italy, people are talking pretty freely about it – I live in a villa, I go to the Malediva – so you understand their status. Here, everybody looks poor. Showing off is part of catholicism, and it’s also extremely homo-erotic. Homosexuality in Italy is more of a taboo because many Italian men are already feminine. In Switzerland, all my Italian friends seem to be gay – they’re straight guys. But the behavior, the gestures, the body language can be, according to German criteria, defined feminine.
Are you a man? If yes, what does it mean to you? If not, why?
If you really want to categorize everybody, you can say that everybody is a bit weird. I don’t like to have sex most of the time. So should I define myself as asexual? Also, I like to dress in clothes that can be considered feminine. Still, I define myself as a man. I don’t think it’s productive to hyper-define yourself.
When you say you’re an authentic queer, you’re playing into this essentialism that you were fighting against. The discourse falls apart once you say someone is not a «real» queer – if everything is a social construction, then everything can be true.
As a visual artist and as a theatre maker, I have a problem going to Tanzhaus and seeing a model being sold as a marginalized body. There are still very certain aesthetic criteria, and those people are not marginalized in terms of body aesthetic. An androgynous body is not something marginalized right now. There are other bodies that are marginalized, for instance people in psychiatric institutions, because their body doesn’t comply at all with any aesthetic in this society.
My body is a white male body, that’s for sure – but with my belly, with my ugly body, I think I am non-normative. And I’m old. If you put a queer body in his twenties on stage, everybody would like to have sex with him – it’s not like my body of a 50 year old man. I would never end up in a fashion magazine.
If you really follow fashion, it’s difficult to avoid the topic of commodification; the same moment you create exceptional people, you automatically create a market share. It’s not because they are commodifying you, but you give them the possibility to.
Besides performance, you also build sculptures using different materials. Is there a connection between exploring gender, aka exploring the body, and experimenting with materials? What happens if you put a moving body in between artworks?
I have to admit that in theatre, sculpture doesn’t exist. It’s just props. The context is fundamental to define the nature of those objects. In the art field, you can play with this boundary – you put the sculpture in a white cube, you activate it for ten minutes, and then it goes back to this sculptural aura. But in a theatrical, black box context, people already expect those objects to be activated. This potentiality transforms the objects into props.
I’m obsessed with textile and materials in general – how to put materials in conversation, how to tell stories just through the relationships of materials. Doing decorative art is not an insult for me, as it goes back to the idea of art as craft.
When I talk about queer, I try to consider that the body in transformation is something that has been around since the Roman grotesque. The carneval is a good example of how to disrupt norm. As artists, we should take a closer look at these traditions and not just reduce them to folklore.
You’ve worked in Switzerland, where you studied, as well as in Italy and now Johannesburg, where you’re currently doing your PhD. Does being a foreigner/living in a foreign country influence your idea of both your own and other masculinities?
If you come from an academic background in Europe, many of your beliefs fall apart when you go to South Africa. At a conference in Johannesburg, there was this woman. Her research was to rediscover ways of healing with herbs. If someone in Europe would do this it would be framed as right wing nationalism mixed with some yoga.
How is your work perceived there in contrast to the Swiss audience? What role do humor and parody play in your art works?
Swiss audiences perceive my performances mainly as funny, maybe a bit disturbing.
In South Africa the situation is different. If you put something on stage that is a parody of masculinity, but can still resemble an unpleasant situation for women, people are very serious. With men, it activates some sort of reflection on black masculinity as well. For women, I reenact something they experience every day on the street, harassing, sexist comments – of course it’s not funny to them.
Parody is still an important tool – in order to disrupt or deconstruct a concept, you have to embrace it in order to show its limits and make it look pathetic. Otherwise you’re just saying «how bad is this thing, how good are we».
Where does your interest in masculinity come from?
I think it’s nice to say that this interest in masculinity was triggered by a problem with erection. Sometimes men need to be touched in that point in order to really start to think about their body, about what it means to perform like a man. It’s a huge taboo for men, but it’s a huge topic.
Interview by Sophie Steinbeck