The Anatomy of a Rose ~ by Davide La Montagna
Davide La Montagna's "The Anatomy of a Rose" was presented before live audience at Centrale Fies, Dro, Italy on August 8, 2025 as one of 24 acts, (curated by Elisa Giuliani) at the occasion of the AEROPONIC ACTS 2025: CHOREIA (convened by Gabriëlle Schleijpen).
Here you will find an introduction by the presenter, video-documentation filmed by Baha Görkem Yalım and a written report by Grant Watson.The report includes a summary of the spoken, improvised comments by esteemed guest respondents Barby Asante, Sandi Hilal, and Zairong Xiang.
Anatomy of a Rose
Davide's question: If this is just a dream, can you feel it? If pierced, does it bleed?
Davide's intro:
It all started from a colour, then morphed into a rose. A red, red rose. Eyes closed, light passing though my eyelids: red curtains & total blindness. It’s midnight. I’m walking barefoot through a storm of roses. I feel a metallic after taste on my pinkish gums, my heels are bleeding. It’s midday already, the alarm went off and I was too busy dreaming. Saliva on the pillowcase, undone bed. Lights on. Let’s start all over again.
Grant's report:
The stage is set with a leather chair and a bunch of white roses in a vase on the floor. A voice offstage says: a rose is a rose is a rose. The lights go down and there is a spotlight on this grouping. A voice off stage speaks about shoulder pads, chains, lace, a passion for blood, black clothing. A figure enters wearing black, holding a microphone. We hear anecdotes from adolescence: I want to wear glittering eyeshadow it feels like freedom; I was in the kitchen with my uncle Franco who threw himself off the balcony; a brother swept away by a boy driving a motorcycle. The figure in black sits on the chair and recalls an incident in a wine bar, seated opposite a boy with brown hair and blue eyes like windows of sadness; let’s see if he can fuck me better than my brain does, the figure asks. The lighting is low and tinted red, there is a dim night-time atmosphere. I don’t wear makeup the seated figure says, my father almost broke my ribs because of black nail polish and eye shadow. He describes a dream in which, sitting on the loo, his mother opens the door, and sees he has cum stains up to his neck. This dream repeats endlessly. He laments the money he has spent on therapy. He describes a series of encounters with men and wonders why he always falls in love with people who present narcissistic behaviour, how past relations ended because of his feelings of suffocation. His father has been to prison four times he explains, while he was busy hiding in a rose garden. He wonders: how come any father would be a better option? Walking around the stage he speaks about violence, and how it has changed him, set him free. If this is love, he says: I don’t want it.
Barby Asante finds this performance compelling, moving but also minimal, giving space to a confessional story. A story which comes from violence and the entangled relationship between father and son, and then the experience of loving other men. It reminds her of the covert language used in early gay literature, which is confessional but not able to be fully confessional. That the work inhabited the space of fashion, with the artist dressing for the occasion and that it hinted at the one person television show. She suggests the artist slow down and pause when speaking because words get missed. She is interested to know what it would be like to read the text on the page. Barby agrees that this could be a possibility given the empty moments referred to in the piece. It could be a beautiful way to use symbolism.
Zairong Xiang thanks the artist for a dreamy experience. He likes how it moves through a change of lighting, clinical white light, then the dry ice, and then a switch to red, which was a nice manipulation of the visual. The roses almost changed colour from white to yellow. He mentioned that he couldn't always hear the words because of the acoustics and echo, and suggests working on the articulation, to enrich the piece. He liked the darkness but wanted to see more of the beautiful costume. In an interdisciplinary work like this, he says, every detail has to be considered. Zairong adds a note about the fashion side of the things. Wishing to emphasise the light and how we might see the artist, because that would help build a contrast between a sad story of anger and a beautiful presence of defiance.
Sandi Hilal had a different experience. As soon as she saw the empty chair and the white roses, she had asked why? She thought the empty chair was meant for someone missing. She recalls how she and others were obsessed with Khalil Sakakini, and at a certain point in the house of Emily Jacir, they put out a chair for him, and then it was incredible how they began to talk with him. When the artist started to speak about death, she thought he was doing something like that. So she was disappointed when he sat in that chair. Every time the chair was left empty she thought of death.
