Once again I witness a performance by Antonio Di Ciolo which leaves me as always the bittersweet feeling of an intuition of what he is communicating, yet I am not sure that I understood him completely. I feel like a neophyte trying to solve a puzzle, to worm out an inaccessible secret.

From the wide open fencing bag on the floor the tools of the trade are emerging. They are non conventional also. A foil with two handles (French and anatomical?) placed in series extending abnormally the distance separating the student from the teacher to simulate an opponent with long levers. Another weapon in which the standard bell guard is replaced by a circular disk made of transparent Plexiglas to show the work of the master's fingers and, if necessary, of the pupil. These are the paraphernalia of an alchemist from which his magic spells are cast, judging by the striking results of his students, marks of a lively imagination and of the application of reckless theories.

After donning his maestro's gear Antonio start his drills, ambidextrous, elegant, rhythmic; a dialogue without words, sometimes punctuated with phonemes which could be close to cussing.

Mesmerized, perhaps as most of the audience, I contemplate that exchange of information from which some elements emerge recognizable as sequences which appear illogical, but as a shy kid, I don't dare to ask questions which could hurt the susceptibilities of the Maestro or that may backfire on me for the trivial and obvious solution which I was unable to immediately perceive.

My self-restraint is interrupted by some questions by those present countered by provocative answers open to multiple interpretations, cryptic. I'd like to ask to better understand, to put myself in the place of the student, to benefit directly from the tactile, visual interaction.

Slowly I leave the meeting, I descend in my own heart and mind to develop a parallel dialog to this performance, to put together all the tassels of this mosaic which I have acquired over time, pilfering not seen, or that, sparingly, Antonio Di Ciolo has given me. In fact, his performance is nothing but a small sliver of a single tassel which at the same time encompasses the entire spectrum of his art/craft.

Starting from the geographical origin, Pisa, which genetically molds the crust of this character who appears rough, controversial, irreverent, witty. Then I add the elements which are part of his cultural background: knowledge derived from ISEF (Italian High Institute for Physical Education) dramatically expanded by his natural curiosity for anatomy, biomechanics, and especially, psychology and pedagogy. Finally I take into account among the human aspects, his unique yearning for knowledge but also his shyness and humility which are often disguised.

I synthesize all this in a character that shields himself by showing roughness but that hides an uncommon sensitivity and sophistication.

The underlying philosophy of all choices by Antonio Di Ciolo is to reject standardization, the repetition which create rigid automatisms which once in place are hard to get rid of.

A corollary is the rejection of the tyranny of teaching, of the command that comes from above which must be accepted as a dogma (something he had to endure so much during his studies at ISEF). In his system there are no teacher and a pupil in the classic sense of the word, separated by a more or less codified barrier of authoritarianism. You work and learn together, mutually changing your own knowledge. The teacher proposes and the pupil solves the problem following the thread of his feelings and his imagination, according to what is "right" for him. Thus creativity takes the place of repetition in a sport that has little or nothing of repetitiveness and where initiative takes off in the management of the action.

The flexibility of Antonio Di Ciolo's methodology applies also to the psycho - pedagogical relationship with the athlete who, according to Carl Rogers (the very influential American psychologist) theories so dear to him, learns not so much a technique but rather the way of being of the teacher. How good and effective this approach is for anyone to see: shy and introverts, bullies and well balanced individuals they all attain success.

But practically speaking, how do they work in the Di Ciolo's laboratory?

As a young child, the athlete is "ginnasticato" [put through gymnastics moves] through games whose goals are to build the motor patterns best suited to fencing by being free in executing the movements according to their own feelings and qualities, always while being motivated to have fun. With throwing, the arms become lose and can then translate the request for precision. With fingering exercises the fingers acquire sensitivity and dexterity. With transporting small implements one can simulate the lunge movement and stimulate equilibrium and balance and so on. The plastic weapon is introduced to play-fencing following the thread of their imagination to continue becoming comfortable with their own body.

Finally, the lesson is an unwinding of multiple themes (dexterity, measure, rhythm, direction of displacements, etc. ...), barely hinted, just sketchy, repeated subsequently in different tempos, in other sessions. The student responds visually searching for his own solution of the problems, testing his skills and imagination. The gesture is refined with patience starting from rough movements over a a very long period of time (to make a champion, Di Ciolo thinks it takes fifteen or twenty years). For example, the parry "a braccio bischero" (a colorful expression to describe a parry with the elbow raised and pushed out) is not ruled out a priori or immediately corrected but is rather used as the starting point for a search of ripostes.

I awake from my rambling thoughts which suddenly disappear. I go back concentrating on the improvised lesson which takes place in a manner seemingly illogical, at a measure which is too close, without giving any respite to the student's blade. I try, following my inclination to be methodical, to bring all this into some frameworks but I still do not understand.

I feel like that this histrionic, mocking Antonio Di Ciolo has been pulling my leg for the umpteenth time and every now and then he looks at me with irony.

End of the performance. I postpone again my pledge to decrypt the apparently inconsistent, paradoxical message this eternal child with white hair has given us.

Alberto Coltorti

Translated by gram