In my opinion, a tree is a prime example of a perfect sculpture. It is a living being that records every instant of its life and experience in its structure. It retains everything that has shaped the movement and form of its existence.

Tell us about your photographic series Alpi Marittime. 

I have always been interested in sculpture. It is created by touch, by compressing matter and space. I thought that the simplest way to radicalise the act of sculpture would be to take a chunk of clay in one’s hand and to press a form into it. That’s where my thought process started.

I knew the plant world because it was a part of my life, and I thought of trees as a fluid material that reveals itself over time. I imagined integrating the imprint of my own hand in the tree. So, I placed my hand on a tree, made a mould, and then, I affixed it to the exact same spot where I had placed my hand. As the tree continued to grow, it created an imprint of my hand. I applied this idea to several other actions that were tied to the relationship between myself and trees. They were always this simple and minimal.

I thought that this was an equable relationship, because I was an animal confronted with a plant, and when these two beings touched, their forms had the same value. The trees, which were on my father’s land, continued to grow until they had to be cut down. Ten, fifteen years later, they still bore the traces of my interventions. The trees that are now on show at the Bourse de Commerce are three of the four trees on which I worked at that time. One of them is being shown at the GAM, the Modern and Contemporary Art Museum in Turin, and I believe that it is the first of my works to be included in François Pinault's collection.  

You have made nature your subject, trees in particular. Why? 

Wood retains traces of the passage of time, and this allows us to enter the material and to estimate this time when we look at the cross-section of a tree. One day, in looking at a small board, I noticed a knot in the wood, and I understood that this was a ring in the tree's growth. That inspired me to try to rediscover the form of a tree within a small beam. This piece is being exhibited in the Rotunda of the museum. That was the first tree I made, back in 1969.

At the time, this approach also held a dialectical interest in relation to minimalist art, which was characterised by geometric, industrial forms. I was instead working with wood beams. I calculated a certain number of years, and then I removed the wood around a growth ring to reveal the tree’s shape at that age. It was a way for this material to go back in time, and to return a sense of life to the beam, which had become a soulless material. This idea prompted me to search for a way to reveal the trees in the beams over time. I have worked in this vein my whole life, and I continue to do so. One day, I would like to collect all these trees, this forest that I have uncovered within this wooden material.

What is your relationship to your material?

When you work with a material, you have to understand it and know it through and through. I believe that is the only way that you can create something interesting. In a way, revealing and following the material is the most fascinating and thrilling thing in my work.

A blacksmith once told me that iron, even when it is being forged, has to be accompanied. You have to follow it instead of forcing it into a certain form. This simple thought, from a craftsman who was intimately acquainted with his material, illustrates the idea that, when you observe a material, you can grasp the reality surrounding it and stretch your imagination much more than by imposing a form on the material that derives from a fixed way of thinking.

In some of your works, the body becomes an integral part of the creative process. Why is this imprint important to you?

When you touch something, that contact allows you to understand its surface. It’s extraordinary when you think about it. You put your hand on something and then take it away, and an image of another body is formed. It’s an animal image. It’s not the product of an intellectual intent, even if it can become that as you become aware of it. This is precisely what the large black drawing [Pelle di grafite – riflesso di ambra, 2007] illustrates: I drew skin on a black canvas, using graphite. Skin becomes visible and points of contact appear.

My piece Patate (1977) is also based on this idea. I put moulds of my face in the ground next to potatoes that were growing, and then I covered them with earth. When I uncovered the installation, I found the moulds with potatoes that had grown into them. Only five or six had acquired an identifiable, anthropomorphic shape. What was interesting about this piece was that I managed to create a sculpture without seeing or touching it. It lay just two centimetres beneath our feet, in this place that eludes our customary perception of space.

Another aspect that interested me was the breath of leaves and their relationship to weight [Soffio di foglie, 1979]. Leaves are living elements in the air whose form is determined by the wind's movements. So, I made a pile of leaves in which I then lay down and breathed. I created a void by breathing, and when I got up, the imprint of my body and my breath remained – something intangible and seemingly weightless. This experience reveals a form that is present yet invisible, which exists despite the absence of a perceptible weight.

What experience do you want for visitors when they discover your works? 

My work is based on material, on nature. In some way it eludes the intellectualisation of art. This allows for the creation of a direct bond to the work, beyond conventions and thoughts about art that can at times become very complex.  My knowledge of art and art history was fairly general, but I did have sensory knowledge, a relationship to the material and to nature. This is the approach that emerged immediately in my practice, and which characterises my work.

How would you define Arte Povera? 

Arte Povera is rooted in the past, in an idea of simplicity and in the poverty of things. In the postwar years in Italy, we witnessed a major change to our reality and the organisation of our society. We needed to find a language that could be shared across different cultures. This notion of simplicity and radicalism is what drove Arte Povera.

It wasn’t just a question of poor materials, but also of using industrial elements or forms of energy that hadn’t existed before. There was all this material that could be worked on. And I believe that one of the most important things that inspired Arte Povera at that point was the redefinition of artistic conventions. In fact, our traditional conception of art and culture was no longer suited to the era in which we were living. Since time immemorial, the artist’s role has been to reveal the reality that surrounds us through his or her sensibilities and thinking. This is also the role of poets. I think that this notion of artistic renewal represents one of Arte Povera’s fundamental values.  

The « Arte Povera » exhibition is presented at the Bourse de Commerce until 20 January 2025.