David Lynch, Paris Photo 2012

• Curated by Peggy Sue Amison
• Reviewed by Arnt Fredheim

Marco Vernaschi is perpetually immersed in thoughts about his art. Engaging with him is a captivating journey through raw honesty; he speaks about his work with full awareness, as if the answers to my questions were already processed in his mind. However, he refrains from giving explanatory details about his new project, PLACEBO (2010-11), because the photographs are extracted directly from his subconscious, as frames from a dream.

Marco describes Placebo as a project intimately linked to his human experience. Suddenly, his voice goes quiet, and his reflections become profoundly sophisticated. His silence is fertile, a pause revealing an earnest exploration of his soul, utilizing sexual energy to investigate the transition from our inherent darkness to light. His research method is complex and multilayered yet straightforward and honest, delving into the deepest chambers of self. As he explains: “Placebo is about healing and evolving through a symbolic rendering of my life experience. It’s about transforming the creative process behind the photographs into a sort of therapy, being aware that images are always just an illusion, a metaphor of reality.”

Through a detailed study of what some might mistakenly label as human darkness, Marco delves into the light. He collects and translates memories, scenes, and experiences similarly to Edward Munch. Rather than focusing on what he sees, he expresses what he feels. In the alleys of his subconscious, Marco delves into his existential truth. His exploration of sexual energy brings him close to the threshold of Diotima, knocking on the doors of Eros.

So, how should we approach Vernaschi’s unique imagery? Interpretation is left to each viewer, bound to be subjective. A photograph often tells an open-ended story, filled with potential literary suggestions and explanations. The viewer is often left alone, scanning for details that might illuminate that small frame of mystery. Unfortunately, the questions asked about such photographs are often as basic as the explanations given: what, where, when, and why?

Instead, we should approach Placebo as an objet d’art, free from inquisitorial practice. How would that impact our understanding? It would break from the usual type of interpretation, where analysis follows a strictly regulated argument, leading viewers from the physical description to its significance and symbols. A personal interpretation would be a reflective work (or even art) itself, adding to the piece rather than detracting from it.

With Placebo, Vernaschi elevates eroticism to visual poetry, transcending the inherently controversial nature of sexual imagery and leading the viewer to experience ecstasy. The primary role of meaningful art is to challenge our comfort zones, and Placebo certainly achieves this on many levels. It confronts the viewer, drawing them into a tumultuous whirl of contrasting emotions—from arousal to fear, from bliss to shock. In doing so, Vernaschi compels us to confront our own sexuality, delve into our deepest and least explored desires, and challenge societal taboos.

The two autobiographical series forming this body of work, A Rush of Light and BsAs Spleen, leave no doubt that Placebo addresses the solitude in the often unsustainable quest to remain authentic in an increasingly vain world. It’s a seed of human beauty, a drop of truth. Gazing at his blurred, powerful photographs felt like a steel train running through my head, leaving my mind blown away. Encountering his Bacon-like portraits, the Screaming Man on a Warhol-esque Electric Chair, and the raw yet intimate sexuality, I felt a simultaneous burst of guilt and relief. Placebo touches the deepest parts of me, both as a human and a sexual being.