Diamond Dogs, Officina post industriale,1984—1987 Napoli, probes the flooded imagery of Italian underground, talking about Naples and specifically about a unique and symbolic place: the Diamond Dogs.
The volume reproduces, for the first time, the complete archive of Neapolitan photographer Toty Ruggeri who followed the local stage in his activities from 1984 to 1987. The author’s visual language doesn’t leave room for any photographic formalism and leads us in the first person in the artistic community of Naples; the DD becomes a symbol, a little volumetric space, in which the human presence, the gestures, the look, are trenchant signs of the change that was happening in those years. While the attention of television and newspapers was focused on urban disrepair (decline) and on the social ills of the city, dozens of artists of all types and discipline (musicians, painters, writers, poets, actors and directors) were starting the new cultural rebirth of Naples. The Diamond Dogs was their hangout, a place that welcomed the needs of that generation, enhancing them and taking care of them, hosting live concerts, performances and experimental theater performances, becoming the focal point of Naples’ underground and new artistic avant-garde of the city after the 1980 earthquake. The book features an essay by journalist and writer Paolo Pontoniere.
“…fragments of suburban proletariat avant-garde with morphine’s brothers and sisters. That I encounter in the petrified city’s magma, more at the world’s center of nothing. The sunset of proletariat’s circles, p38 and futureless down, with a foot in Acerra before the incinerator, and a maimed eye toward Berlin. What day was that in Berlin? If then in Naples mother’stit co-existed with an already faraway atomic bomb. How atrociously beautiful was that wall! with the Brandenburg’s quadriga westward s/butting…heroes just for one night. Davidboo-ee…nuwev…postmodern, lsd at diddi.
Lucky, great anarchical spirit, worked at the National Library. Who knows…he may be still working there. But is more likely that he fled who knows where, seeking for who knows what. He hid the ‘CHE’s’, t-shirt, under his librarian attire, and when-if-you went visiting he would wearily show it. Mat…PARTENOPEAN PUNK WITH THE HEART eternally in Berlin..RIP ON THE ROCKS! Leopold…acerra-noo yawk-paradise one way with the sho’men and jemsbroun in the legs diddì Diamondó uber alles.
Love pizza Caravaggio and diamondogs…”