Gibellina Nuova Gibellina Vecchia, Cretto.

On January 15, 1968 it was razed to the ground by the earthquake that hit the Valley of Belice. It was snowing that night, and among the bleating and bellowing of the dispersed animals, the inhabitants of Gibellina set out, those who were not trapped under the rubble, went towards Castelvetrano, towards Alcamo and towards Mazara del Vallo. Senator Ludovico Corrao immediately took an interest in the national and regional governments to proceed with the reconstruction. The idea they gave birth to was to rebuild Gibellina on the land of the Salvo’s brothers from Salemi, cashiers of the Mafia, friends of Andreotti. A nice pour of cement, in either case, when art and politics are mixed concrete is the form.

Gibellina no longer exists. In its place is the “cretto” of Burri, an immense surface of pure and white cement, a stone over a story. Today, it is a destination for instagrammers and influencers who rest their asses on the head of a dead man behind a layer of concrete, it is a funny sight. Take the car and go to Gibellina nuova the road is full of curves, pass Santa Ninfa, continuing to descend you arrive in Gibellina Nuova, a small town in the desert of the Sicilian latifundia. Despite the impressive architecture, the city is inhabited by just 3000 inhabitants, the growth rates of the city have been negative for the last 25/30 years, more people die than are born. Gibellina Nuova is destined to become a desert and for this reason Ludovico Corrao the senator decided to create a cathedral there.

If you want we can stop under the star of Consagra for a souvenir photo, or in the square Joseph Beuys under the minaret of Alessandro Mendini, or take a walk under the dome of Quaroni, but we do not want to make fun of you. So let’s take a walk among the uninhabited stores of the System of Squares, in the abandoned school or rather in the unfinished houses or even in the squares inhabited only by wild grasses or among the guts of the terraced rows of houses all the same, where among the concrete flowerbeds, every now and then a palm, a fig, an olive tree appear. This is what remains of the Mediterranean Dream.

At the end of this psychographic drift, we meet at the Agora bar in Joseph Beuys square. He had come at the end of his life for a project that remained unfinished, perhaps the only one for which he could hope that this cement was only the structure, but the structures have remained empty and for the oak grove of 300 trees above the Cretto there is no more time. You have to hurry, the money has arrived, you have to build again, wind turbines and expanses of photo-reflective silicon, serving the ghosts that once were and are still today.