“Why the hell did you call her
” Negra” ? She’s blue!“
This is the most frequent question of Scattoinvespa’s guests.
When I saw this machine the first time she was desperate looking. Alone, in an iron shack with creaky doors. It was dark outside, cold, I remember. I could only see the shape hidden in the shadows. When I forced her outside the shed far from that little metal crevice, I realised she had been rushed in black spray colour. Concealing an old metal sheet dense of history and past adventures made me think of the kintsugi, a Japanese practice which uses molten gold to restore broken ceramics. The main idea that embraces this practice is give birth to a new form of beauty – eventually even more solid and remarkable – from an old wound, a break, a difficulty. Imperfection hides a much broader concept in the oriental culture, which in my opinion can be extended to our common imaginary. What is the reason to hide more than thirty years of road exploration? Can the dents, the scratches, tell thirty years long adventures during raids? Can they tell more about a machine? This, made me think. I decided to remove all that black paint on the body, revealing everything. Coming out from that little metallic hovel I remembered the final part of Petrarca’s sonnet, in “Canzoniere” opera. Which sounds in english like that: “(…) widow, disconsolate, in black dress/ vedova, sconsolata, in veste negra.” Sonnet 268.
It could just be a 1981 P125X Vespa. On the contrary from that day on it was no longer a widow nor disconsolate. SHE became the “Negra”.