My knowledge of Fosco Maraini's work dates back to my time at the classical high school when, due to a sort of infatuation typical of youthful years, together with some classmates we began to repeat almost obsessively the verses of a composition entitled The Lonfo, the work of an author, until then unknown to us, who the history and philosophy professor had introduced to us as one of the most extraordinary personalities of twentieth-century Europe: «The Lonfo neither gulps nor glushes/ and very rarely barigatta,/ but when the snakes blow, the snakes blow/ he slackens a little and gnagio s'archipatta./ The Lonfo is rusty! It's full of wolfish/misleading and deceitful greed!».
This poetic reference alone would be enough to understand the singularity of the figure, and it is no coincidence that the monograph Fosco Maraini. The Image of the Empresent. Beyond the Gaze. Man, the World, and Travels represents a significant contribution to the field of scholarship on a figure who defies traditional disciplinary classification. From the introduction, Francesco Paolo Campione places Maraini's work and figure within the context of the major transformations of twentieth-century anthropology, emphasizing how his work developed "within these paradigms [...] albeit with a certain propensity for the American anthropological school," yet achieving "a largely original approach."
Maraini, in fact, though self-taught and outside of the most rigid academic institutions, developed a methodology based on direct observation, cultural comparison, and a constant tension between universalism and relativism. This position is central to understanding his work. As Campione further observes, "perhaps more than a research path, his was an interior journey," capable of blending "careful analysis [...] with exquisite literary prose and visual documentation" of the highest caliber.
Maraini's distinctive trait, therefore, lies in his ability to transcend the dichotomy between science and art, configuring a form of knowledge that is both empirical and aesthetic. Maraini's biography appears as a sequence of experiences that nourish and sustain this vision.
Born in Florence in 1912, into a cosmopolitan and culturally rich environment, he developed an early curiosity for non-European cultures, fostered by family travels and encounters with prominent figures in Italian culture. His studies in natural sciences provided him with a rigorous method, while his interest in photography and documentary film, already evident in the 1920s, foreshadowed the integration of languages that would characterize his entire output.
The turning point came with his travels in Asia, and in particular with his expeditions to Tibet with Giuseppe Tucci. Here, Maraini developed an ethnographic approach based on participant observation and the use of photography as a cognitive tool. The images created during these expeditions were not simple documents, but true acts of interpretation, capable of capturing the symbolic dimension of the cultures observed. It is no coincidence that some of them today constitute unique testimonies of monuments that disappeared after the Chinese invasion of 1951.
The relationship between photography and knowledge is analyzed in depth in Moira Luraschi's essay, which identifies Maraini's photographic practice as a central "epistemological device" in his research. Photography, far from being a simple means of recording, becomes a tool for "gaining in-depth knowledge of things and people." In this sense, it integrates with anthropology and writing, forming a unified system of investigation.
Particularly significant is the concept of "empresente," which gives the volume its title. It designates the moment in which the photographic act succeeds in capturing the instant in its making, before it slips into the past. As Luraschi recalls, it is the "art of hunting the face of the present," an operation that requires not only technical skill but also profound interpretative ability. The empresente thus becomes the point of convergence between perception, knowledge, and artistic creation.
This conception is closely linked to the figure of the "citluvit," the "Citizen of the Moon on an Educational Visit to Earth," through which Maraini defines his attitude toward the cultures he observes. This perspective implies a critical distance that avoids both naive identification and ethnocentric judgment, allowing for an empathetic but not assimilative understanding. In this way, Maraini anticipates some of the most relevant issues in contemporary anthropology, particularly the focus on reflexivity and the observer's position.
Alongside the anthropological and photographic dimensions, the volume highlights other fundamental aspects of his personality, including mountaineering. In Antonio Massena's essay, the mountains appear as a privileged space for experience and reflection. Maraini is not a mountaineer seeking heroic achievement, but an observer who finds in the mountains a form of knowledge and spirituality. As he himself states, "the mountains are like a church for me," while encounters with the men who inhabit them constitute another fundamental source of learning.
This existential dimension is also reflected in his writing, which represents the other major axis of his work. His travel books, from Secret Tibet to Japanese Hours , combine documentary rigor and literary quality, helping to define a hybrid genre that defies traditional categories. Writing thus becomes the place where the diverse experiences—scientific, visual, existential—that characterize his journey intertwine.
The contributions contained in the volume effectively convey the complexity of a figure whom Campione rightly defines as "one of the great outsiders of twentieth-century European culture." Maraini, in fact, despite being recognized and appreciated, remained on the margins of academic institutions and dominant schools, maintaining an intellectual freedom that constituted the very condition of his originality.
In conclusion, The Image of the Present is not only a tribute to a great author, but also a critical contribution capable of illuminating the multiple dimensions of his work. Through the dialogue between the various essays, a coherent and nuanced image of Maraini emerges, in which anthropology, photography, writing, and travel are configured as aspects of a single cognitive project. A project that, even today, appears extraordinarily timely, inviting us to rethink the relationships between disciplines, languages, and forms of experience.
My acquaintance with the works of Fosco Maraini dates back to my time in classical high school when, due to a sort of infatuation typical of youth, together with some classmates we began to almost obsessively repeat the verses of a composition entitled Il Lonfo , the work of an author, until then unknown to us, whom our history and philosophy teacher had introduced to us as one of the most extraordinary personalities of twentieth-century Europe: « Il Lonfo neither vaterca nor gluisce / and very rarely barigatta, / but when the stream blows to bisce bisce / he slackens a little and gnagio archipatta. / Lonfo is rustling! He is full of lupigna / misdirected and sofolent grabbing! ».
This poetic reference alone would be enough to understand the singularity of the figure, and it is no coincidence that the monograph Fosco Maraini. The Image of the Empresent. Beyond the Gaze. Man, the World, and Travels represents a significant contribution to the field of scholarship on a figure who defies traditional disciplinary classification. From the introduction, Francesco Paolo Campione places Maraini's work and figure within the context of the major transformations of twentieth-century anthropology, emphasizing how his work developed "within these paradigms [...] albeit with a certain propensity for the American anthropological school," yet achieving "a largely original approach."
Maraini, in fact, though self-taught and outside of the most rigid academic institutions, developed a methodology based on direct observation, cultural comparison, and a constant tension between universalism and relativism. This position is central to understanding his work. As Campione further observes, "perhaps more than a research path, his was an interior journey," capable of blending "careful analysis [...] with exquisite literary prose and visual documentation" of the highest caliber.
Maraini's distinctive trait, therefore, lies in his ability to transcend the dichotomy between science and art, configuring a form of knowledge that is both empirical and aesthetic. Maraini's biography appears as a sequence of experiences that nourish and sustain this vision.
Born in Florence in 1912, into a cosmopolitan and culturally rich environment, he developed an early curiosity for non-European cultures, fostered by family travels and encounters with prominent figures in Italian culture. His studies in natural sciences provided him with a rigorous method, while his interest in photography and documentary film, already evident in the 1920s, foreshadowed the integration of languages that would characterize his entire output.
The turning point came with his travels in Asia, and in particular with his expeditions to Tibet with Giuseppe Tucci. Here, Maraini developed an ethnographic approach based on participant observation and the use of photography as a cognitive tool. The images created during these expeditions were not simple documents, but true acts of interpretation, capable of capturing the symbolic dimension of the cultures observed. It is no coincidence that some of them today constitute unique testimonies of monuments that disappeared after the Chinese invasion of 1951.
The relationship between photography and knowledge is analyzed in depth in Moira Luraschi's essay, which identifies Maraini's photographic practice as a central "epistemological device" in his research. Photography, far from being a simple means of recording, becomes a tool for "gaining in-depth knowledge of things and people." In this sense, it integrates with anthropology and writing, forming a unified system of investigation.
Particularly significant is the concept of "empresente," which gives the volume its title. It designates the moment in which the photographic act succeeds in capturing the instant in its making, before it slips into the past. As Luraschi recalls, it is the "art of hunting the face of the present," an operation that requires not only technical skill but also profound interpretative ability. The empresente thus becomes the point of convergence between perception, knowledge, and artistic creation.
This conception is closely linked to the figure of the "citluvit," the "Citizen of the Moon on an Educational Visit to Earth," through which Maraini defines his attitude toward the cultures he observes. This perspective implies a critical distance that avoids both naive identification and ethnocentric judgment, allowing for an empathetic but not assimilative understanding. In this way, Maraini anticipates some of the most relevant issues in contemporary anthropology, particularly the focus on reflexivity and the observer's position.
Alongside the anthropological and photographic dimensions, the volume highlights other fundamental aspects of his personality, including mountaineering. In Antonio Massena's essay, the mountains appear as a privileged space for experience and reflection. Maraini is not a mountaineer seeking heroic achievement, but an observer who finds in the mountains a form of knowledge and spirituality. As he himself states, "the mountains are like a church for me," while encounters with the men who inhabit them constitute another fundamental source of learning.
This existential dimension is also reflected in his writing, which represents the other major axis of his work. His travel books, from Secret Tibet to Japanese Hours , combine documentary rigor and literary quality, helping to define a hybrid genre that defies traditional categories. Writing thus becomes the place where the diverse experiences—scientific, visual, existential—that characterize his journey intertwine.
The contributions contained in the volume effectively convey the complexity of a figure whom Campione rightly defines as "one of the great outsiders of twentieth-century European culture." Maraini, in fact, despite being recognized and appreciated, remained on the margins of academic institutions and dominant schools, maintaining an intellectual freedom that constituted the very condition of his originality.
In conclusion, The Image of the Present is not only a tribute to a great author, but also a critical contribution capable of illuminating the multiple dimensions of his work. Through the dialogue between the various essays, a coherent and nuanced image of Maraini emerges, in which anthropology, photography, writing, and travel are configured as aspects of a single cognitive project. A project that, even today, appears extraordinarily timely, inviting us to rethink the relationships between disciplines, languages, and forms of experience.
