MUCHO MAS! è un Artist-run space a Torino, fondato da Luca Vianello e Silvia Mangosio. Mucho Mas! espone artisti italiani e internazionali focalizzati nella ricerca sulla trasformazione dell'immagine contemporanea.


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PAST EXHIBITIONS:

_AETERNA
by Lorena Florio, Katrina Stamatopoulos
07/03/2024 - 21/04/2024

_FLOWER-LIFE
by Nobuyoshi Araki
22/08/2023 - 20/02/2024

 _NEW GENERATIONS
Mostra collettiva: Giorgio Andreoni, Claudia Catanzaro, Flaminia Cicerchia, Brenno Franceschi, 
Alessandro Manfrin, Deborah Martino, Gabriele Provenzano.
13/10/2023 - 08/10/2023

_NSENENE
Michele Sibiloni
19/05/2023 - 30/07/2023

_MEDIUM. MEDITATION. MODULARITÄT.
Alexander Binder
23/03/2023 - 24/04/2023

_EXPLORING THE LIVING STUDOIO
Eva Kreuger
16/06/2022 - 17/09/2022

_SOGLIE
by Alice Faloretti
Curata da Elena Bray
16/06/2022 - 17/09/2022

_HOW TO RAISE A HAND
Angelo Vignali
31/03/2022 - 31/05/2022

_DIACHRONICLES
Giulia Parlato
14/01/2022 - 27/02/2022

_SPACE IN MIRROR IS CLOSER THAN IT APPEARS
Stefano Comensoli_Nicolò Colciago
02/11/2021 - 18/12/2021

_EPICENTRO (PSALM)
Massimiliano Tommaso Rezza
20/05/2021 - 18/09/2021

_BRODO
Stefano Comensoli_Nicolò Colciago, Luca Baioni, Achille Filipponi, Stefano Maccarelli, Silvia Mangosio, Caterina Morigi, Luca Vianello
21/09/2020 - 21/11/2020

_TANT DE LOINTAINS BLEUTÉS
Stéphanie Majoral
13/02/2020 - 30/07/2020

_HONESTY OF MATTER / Sincerità della Materia
Caterina Morigi
25/10/2019 - 22/01/2020

_TENTATIVI DI TRASCRIZIONE
Achille Filipponi
at Salon du Salon
24/10/2019 - 24/12/2019

_LOST ANGELES
Richard Newton
19/09/2019 - 20/10/2019

_DALLE SOGLIE DEL SONNO ALLE PRIME LUCI DIURNE
Luca Baioni & Jonny Briggs
19/06/2019 - 28/07/2019

_MESSAGES FROM DARKROOM
Alexander Gehring
05/04/2019 - 10/05/2019

_FEROX - The Forgotten Archives
Nicolas Polli
24/01/2019 - 03/03/2019

_DECOR
Thomas Kuijper
30/10/2018 - 30/11/2018

_ANCHE QUESTE FIDATE COSE TI SARANNO IN ETERNO IGNOTE
Achille Filipponi
19/09/2018 - 19/10/2018

_CAMILLE LÈVÊQUE
Camille Lévêque
03/05/2018 - 31/06/2018

_XIII
Enrico Carpegna, Pablo Balbontin, Valerio Manghi Cleo Fariselli, Handegg.
13/03/2018 - 24/04/2018

_DEMONS
Luca Baioni
09/02/2018 - 25/02/2018


SPOT EXHIBITION

_ALFPC
Luca Baioni
30/09/2021

_Incanto e paranoia (tra due istanti)
Di Stefano Comensoli_Nicolò Colciago, in collaborazione con Annika Pettini.
Sonorizzazione di Alessia Li Causi
19/02/2021 - 21/02/2021

_NEI BOSCHI PIU' ALTI
Stefano Maccarelli
02/10/2020 - 02/10/2020

_COMPITI PER CASA
Guerrila spam & Pomodori Flash
08/03/2019 - 10/02/2019

LOST ANGELES
by Richard Newton


Get Lost: A Hitchhikers Guide to Nowhere

"All paths are the same: they lead nowhere."
Carlos Castaneda, The Teachings of Don Juan: A Yaqui Way of Knowledge.

From the beginning, my provenance was highly suspect, like a bastardized counterfeit piece of art. As my mother and I traveled south on the train, from Oakland to the outskirts of Los Angeles, I began, at age six, a nomadic life of confused identity. I don't even remember my mother's face on that trip; just the mug chatting next to us. Eva, my mom, had a way of striking up conversations with strange men. We were on the run now because she'd forgotten to mention to her husband in Oakland, that the son he so proudl named Junior, was possibly the progeny of a passing Portuguese Man. My feet were thus planted firmly in the moving landscape that was and is the hallucination we call California. My journey across this landscape is and was a search to know my place.

So, I took to the road. Destination: unknown. But like The Thing, a roadside attraction in Southern Arizona, the unthinkable was just around the bend, in trucker rest stops, all night cafes, and motels in towns with deadbeat bars. Like Simon & Garfunkel, I was looking America, and myself and finally for my mother, whom I never saw again after the train ride to L.A. I was abandoned to find myself in Los Angeles, and Los Angeles allowed me to invent myself. There is a name on my birth certificate, but like a Hollywood actor, I took on the persona from the script my life was writing. I love California.

Art crawled over me like a stinking cockroach in a fleabag motel. I pulled back the sheets and reached out for the voluptuous clammy body next to me. Then it hit me. The smell on onions. From the post office just north of Mexico, I sent out a few hundred postcard invitations to an art performance: I take you to a room in Brawley and we smell onions. At the time and on the surface it was a gender bending excursion into the erotic landscape. I would live in this landscape for several years, creating visceral and conceptual art. As the feminist art movement asked for equality, I wondered where masculine merged with feminine. It was my own path to whole body sexuality, to completing the puzzle of a fractured identity, and unsuccessfully knowing my mother.

As a child I learned to appreciate smut. A word that described indecency and pornography. But sounded dirtier. Much dirtier. I knew there were things you could do In The Privacy of Your Own Home. Some of them were being done by my foster parents, the Newtons.

When I was old enough to stick my thumb out, I did, got picked picked up and got lost.
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