At the intersection of the sacred, the profane, and the political, we find the Madonna of the Filthy Water
During my last trip to my hometown, Padova, I discovered my new favourite piece of art: La Madonna dell’Acqua Lurida by Federico Soffiato. Deemed by some as irreverent at best (and blasphemous at worst), I personally was extremely moved by its universal message, which can be found at the intersection of the sacred, the profane, and the political.
I was born in Padova, a city in the Northern Italian region called Veneto, mostly known for its University and for being the set of Shakespeare’s comedy The Taming of the Shrew. Or, at least, these are the references that have been proven to work best according to my long experience of Paduan abroad.
Galileo Galilei, the Italian natural philosopher, astronomer, and mathematician whose discoveries with the telescope revolutionized astronomy and paved the way for the acceptance of the Copernican heliocentric system (eventually resulted in an Inquisition process against him) taught at the local university for 18 years. I personally got both my Bachelor’s and my Master’s Degree at Ca’ Foscari University of Venice, therefore I do not have a particular connection to Padova’s university scene; however, I hold dear to my heart a place which is commonly known to Paduans as ‘Galileo’s Tower’ — we like to say (read: brag) that he made most of his revolutionary observations and discoveries from there, even if we all know that’s a myth. But I digress.
Every time I go back to Padova, I try to visit at least once La Specola — the real name of ‘Galileo’s Tower’. One of my favourite things about that place is a mysterious plate commemorating a future event. You read right! It says: “In memory of the heroic group of researchers who sacrificed their lives in the first attempt at lunar teleportation — April 12, 2154”.
This year, in the water surrounding the building I saw something that seemed completely out of place: at first glance, it looked like a classic example of XV century statue of the Madonna and Child.
On closer inspection, I noticed something that surely lies outside the traditional Christian iconography: the Madonna is in fact pinching the nose of baby Jesus. The message is pretty universal: Mary, a mother, protects her child from the water. In this case, its smell, caused by the fact that the water is — as suggested by the name — filthy.
As I said before, I found this sculpture extremely moving. For you who don’t know, I am a PhD candidate in political science, and in my research, I explore the nexus between climate change and human migration. I am particularly interested in the narratives regarding so-called ‘climate refugees’, and this piece of art immediately evoked to me sea-level rise scenarios.
Sea-level rise is caused primarily by two factors: the increased quantity of water present in seas and ocean coming from melting glaciers and ice sheets, and the fact that (sea)water itself expands in volume when its temperature warms. According to satellite measurements, sea level increases on average by 3.3 mm/year (NASA, 2020). Taking sovereign states as an example, some could be affected in the entirety of their landmass. There are several countries whose very physical existence is threatened (notably, low-lying island-states), meaning that there is a concrete possibility that all the available land surface could be permanently submerged by the rising sea level and increased (in number and volume) natural disasters such as king tides and typhoons. There are several open-access tools to verify which land is projected to be below the annual flood level. I usually refer to the Coastal Screening Tool of Climate Central. According to popular (as in mainstream) projections and narratives, the States often indicated as at risk of disappearing are Kiribati, Tuvalu, the Marshall Islands (and others).
But it is not only Pacific island-states that are forecasted to be submerged. Many areas, including vast territories in Iraq, Bangladesh, India, Thailand, Vietnam, and China (etc.) are expected to be below the annual flood level by 2050. In Western Europe, the areas that appear to be those likely to be the most impacted belong to the Netherlands, Germany, Italy, and the UK. Therefore, new questions arise, for example, questions of responsibility for environmental disruption, questions of environmental justice, questions of sovereignty and citizenship.
But enough with my academic endeavours. I had the pleasure to call Federico Soffiato, the artist, in order to ask more about this piece that strikes me so much. I cannot explain why, but I could not stop thinking about it and rest assured that this will be my first purchase if I ever become an eccentric millionaire.
The story of the Madonna dell’Acqua Lurida (Madonna of the Filthy Water)
Federico told me that the idea behind this artwork has been in the making for over 10 years. Finally, in 2019 he had the chance to create the first sculpture in terracotta, inspired by the XV century icons of Renaissance sculptor and goldsmith Andrea Briosco — also known as ‘Andrea Riccio’ or, simply, ‘Il Riccio’ (the curly-haired one). The original artwork, which is located at Federico’s private house in Padova, was subsequently digitally scanned and remade out of wood, painted by Federico himself. More than one copy was made, and curiously enough the one that was exhibited in Venice (next to a Banksy’s artwork depicting a presumably migrant child with his feet in the water with a life jacket and a signal rocket, trying to point the distracted passerby to something by capturing our attention) has unfortunately been stolen.
Even the choice of the material of the first polychrome wooden sculpture exhibited in Padova on the occasion of the Future Vintage Festival in 2019 holds a strong (political) meaning. In fact, it comes from a larch tree fallen during the natural disaster known as the Vaia storm, a meteorological extreme event that affected the Italian north-east (especially the mountainous area of the Dolomites and the Venetian Alps) in October 2018. The event is erroneously known as a “storm”, but the winds have reached “hurricane” speeds on the Beaufort Scale, winds that commonly originate only in tropical or subtropical waters on the planet. For this reason, some people argued that the main cause of this natural disaster is climate change. The wind was blowing between 100 and 200 km/h for several hours, crashing to the ground millions of trees, resulting in the destruction of tens of thousands of hectares of forest.
One interesting detail of the sculpture is the hand gesture of the Child, known as the ‘sculptor’s greeting’, first introduced by Federico’s friend and fellow Paduan artist Stefano Marchetti. This hand gesture represents the three axes X, Y, and Z and is meant to be a homage to both the artist(s) and the art(s).
Federico and I talked over the phone. We did not video call as he was working to renovate his boat — and I was probably equally ‘unpresentable’ after spending a few hours at a lake close by the Swedish University where I work (to celebrate the end of a typical online conference in times of pandemic). This is telling of how, for Padoans (and Venetians alike), water has always been a central aspect of our lives. Archaeological evidence confirms the existence, around the XII century B.C., of a settlement in a marshy area formed by the presence of the Brenta river, for the Latins, “Medoacus”. The same Roman name of the city, “Patavium”, would refer to Padus, (river, marsh, or the ancient name of the river Po, a branch of which it then reached the city) and would testify to the close relationship between the settlement of the first Padoans and the river water.
Unfortunately, the waters of Padova are not as clean as they were just a few decades ago, and surely it is not possible to swim within the city walls, despite the presence of many bodies of water. It was the rage of not being able to live the relationship with our water in its entirety that inspired the idea for this work, told me Federico — who recently moved in a house overlooking the Bacchiglione river (also known as Medoacus in Roman times).
I invite you to visit the website of the Madonna dell’Acqua Lurida, where you can also light a virtual candle through a donation aimed at supporting this project. Some people (read: politicians) criticized this artwork for being ‘blasphemous’, however, according to the artist the use of this sacred iconography hints at an ancestral knowledge that is instrumental to deliver an immediate and universal message: our children will have to live on this Earth. Water is the basis for life, however, the current state of most bodies of water is worrisome as a result of this consumeristic lifestyle and economic interest that allowed for production and (mass) consumption to prevail over the health of our planet — and life itself.
Madonna dell’Acqua Lurida, pray for us.
