In 1962, Spoleto hosted the exhibition Sculptures in the City.
As conceived and curated by Giovanni Caradente for the Festival,
The show brought forth a new view of sculpture’s place in the city:

No longer men on horseback, sovereigns or generals … but the forms of liberty of expression that imbued art in the XX century, with the people [passing among them in the streets] dealing with every-day matters, and the still presence of the sculptures in the background.

The exhibition was captured by the famous photographer Ugo Mulas,
And I have vainly set out over the years to retrace his footsteps.
(On YouTube, for the first time, I have seen some of Mulas’ work.)

Today, heading south of the central city, I thought I was bound for
The last two stations of my quest. But as I turn back to the pages of
The City’s Sculptures, I run up against a stone-cold wall of facts.

First off, the painted stairs we’ve seen in photos are a 1980 intervention.
In that same year, Sol LeWitt realizes Muro, a sculpture just outside
The city center, on the lawns of vialle Matteotti. Maybe now I get why

Open air’s not actually in the city proper, though that still leaves me
Wondering how a plain old wall, standing perpendicularly within a field,
Counts as anything other than a “structure,” the name which he preferred.

As for the other, outside the old city wall as well, The Gift of Icarus
Takes its twisting flight above the stationary figures on the tourist buses.
Such a strange place, perhaps, for the daring young man to come to rest.

From the overture on, the loveliest of melodies.
From the very first scene, a magnificent set.
Between libretto and subtitles, a dissonance.

One of those cases where, “It ain’t over till it’s over.”