Edicola Notte was a seven-by-one-metre exhibition space in the heart of Rome’s Trastevere district curated by artist H.H. Lim. Viewed through a French window, it was otherwise inaccessible to the public. Edicola Notte turned on its lights every night when other museums and galleries closed down, offering a kind of nighttime ‘newsstand’ of the contemporary, like one of the many aediculas (literally ‘little temples’) that still populate Rome’s alleyways. Invited to create a work for the gallery, Mauri decided to dedicate his ‘sacred representation’ to his artist friend Gino De Dominicis, who had died a few months earlier, suspending a chair on the rear wall, a citation of his work L’immortale, l’invisibile e il luogo (The Immortal, the Invisible and the Place) (1989). A simple, unequivocal handwritten dedication on the glass door read: ‘A Gino, Fabio’. ‘Gino’s passing is akin to an unseen yet brilliant exhibition we hear about. A plug rather than mourning. Almost too formalised, and completely unexpected. An unattainable exhibition. Days before, at eight o’clock (I was going out to get X-rays at a testing laboratory), in the deserted street I met Gino, neat, elegant, in black. Given the unusual hour for both of us, I greeted him with lively gestures. Gino did not respond. He pulled over, held out a hand to me and said, ‘Hello, Fabio Mauri’, sounding out the words. I was displeased. That meeting was unlike any other, where we hugged, laughed, or he urged me to arrange some evening “gruel”, or suggested that he, I, and (always) Prini should put works up for sale in his house or mine at a billion each. I carried on without looking back. Then, a few days later, the far-fetched news of his death, and dismay. Comprehension slowly dawned. Perhaps Gino was speaking to me from his elevated chair. From where he was saying goodbye, to me at least, with objectivity […] A phrase he once said to me at the dal Bolognese restaurant comes back, returning to mind, “I work better far away”. Maybe it’s true, dirty dog. He works better than well. But that gives me no comfort, just pain. I need to understand.’1

1. F. Mauri, ‘Gino De Dominicis’, Rome 20 May 1999, unpublished text, Fabio Mauri Archive, Rome.