Lois Anvidalfarei
∗1962, Italy
lives and works in Badia, Italy
Lois Anvidalfarei attended from 1976 to 1981 the State Art School in St. Ulrich (Ortisei) in Val Gardena. In 1983 he began studying at the Academy of Fine Arts in Vienna. There, his decisive formation as a draftsman and sculptor was shaped through his encounter with the work and personality of Professor Joannis Avramidis. After completing his studies, Lois Anvidalfarei returned to his homeland in 1989. The sculptures of **Lois Anvidalfarei** emphasize, despite their full, rounded, and abundant forms, a physical lightness — a sublimation of weight within both body and thought. Placed on the ground, they establish a perfect relationship of balance between occupied space and structural support. The bronze from which *Adam, Cain and Abel* are cast lends the works their full strength and original energy.
Adam has his arms wrapped around his head as a sign of shame and humility, though not of despair. The artist is convinced that from the very beginning, human beings — like Adam — were granted the endless possibility of a “new beginning,” that wonderful opportunity to rise again and continue despite failure. Thus, he does not give the figure a closed, self-contained posture, but rather a sense of “straightening up” throughout the entire body, hinted at by the slightly bent right leg. His proud nudity reminds us of death, which has been transmitted to us through Adam — but not of sin. The adornment of his dignified soul is expressed through the pronounced gentleness and supreme harmony of the lines that construct the work, as well as through its rich and soft volumes.
A philosopher once claimed, “God is a great artist, and Adam His masterpiece, thanks to the extraordinary elements such as fire, wind, dust, chaos, the abyss, and darkness — without which no work would be conceivable.” All these elements are given to Adam’s personality, and some are also present in Anvidalfarei’s sculpture: the fire of the casting process, the abyss and darkness of the bronze, and the chaos of human contradictions that Adam embodies.
In *Cain and Abel*, the artist rightly reminds us of the notion of offering. Cain presents to God what he has left over, while Abel gives of his very best. And God, who accepts Abel’s gesture and rejects Cain’s, provokes the latter — wounded and humiliated — to kill his brother, leaving his body exposed among weeds and stones, to the wind and the sun. It seems to be precisely this moment in the story that Lois Anvidalfarei illustrates: Cain, angered with God, does not seek explanations, suppresses his resentment, and directs his hatred toward Abel.
It is moving to see Cain’s face, which — unable to turn its gaze away from his brother — throws his entire body off balance. Abel’s “fault” is that he did not hear Cain’s anger. No one should turn away in the face of another’s suffering: lifeless, Anvidalfarei’s Abel turns his back on the loneliness of his brother.
The sculptural group possesses, in every sense, undeniable qualities of composure; violence gives way to an achieved harmony, sealed by the artist in the uncertain twist of Cain’s body and in Abel’s heavy abandonment.
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