The big book of Coppa Pizzeria Post Berlin
May 2024
It is very difficult to explain the Coppa Pizzeria to someone who has never been there.
We could summarize it as a grand collective act that balances between a football tournament, Oktoberfest, the Viareggio Carnival, and a lesser pavilion at the Venice Biennale: an event where unpredictability and chaos reign supreme, where the ordinary becomes extravagant and the predictable becomes surprising.
In just under 3 weeks, together with Daniele Sigalot (the artist and the mind behind the Coppa), we curated and brought to life this oversized 224-page tome. The book generously captures, with ample photography and noble pencils alongside razor-sharp pens, the really first three editions of the tournament.
We don’t believe you’d want to know more, and we’re sure that the following exceptional text by Giuseppe Pizzuto won’t clarify things for you at all.
It’s hard to imagine that a commonly used feminine noun like “coppa” (cup) could have such a vast array of meanings and uses. It can indeed refer to, among other things, a mechanical component in cars, the cup of a bra, a rivet used in bookbinding, even an ancient unit of measurement used in the Marche region (and, from direct testimony, I can confirm also in Abruzzo) to indicate either an area (28.2439 ares) or a capacity (35.08 liters) depending on the province in question.
The complexity behind apparent simplicity. It often happens that things that appear simple, when observed closely, studied, and analyzed, reveal their full complexity. This is particularly true of a “strange phenomenon”: the Coppa Pizzeria (in short, CP or simply Coppa).
In the sense that concerns us here, this is the definition of “coppa” given by the famous Treccani dictionary: Feminine noun. Trophy made up of a metal cup (usually silver) or crystal, awarded to the winner of a sports competition, or even cultural, artistic, or film-related events and competitions: awarding, winning the cup. Sometimes such a trophy is named after the person who established it or the place where it is awarded, and, in turn, it gives its name to an event, especially a sports one (e.g., the Rimet Cup or World Cup, for the football world championship; the Davis Cup, for tennis, etc.).
And here instead, always from our beloved Treccani, is the definition of “pizzeria”: Feminine noun. A public place where pizzas and similar items are prepared, generally baked in a wood-fired oven, and served to customers, along with other quick dishes. It may also include a restaurant service (restaurant pizzeria).
Pretty simple, right? Now let’s try combining the two nouns and consult the one true oracle and spiritual guide of our times, Google, to see what it returns. With some surprise, we discover that the Genoese venue “Le Pizze di Koppa” secures the top 4 results (they sure are strong in marketing), followed by the “Pizzeria Fradiavolo” in Milan and the “Coppa” restaurant hotel in Dazio.
Daniele Sigalot with the “real” Coppa Pizzeria only lands in seventh place. But, as it’s known, the seventh shall be the first. This is anyway the result of a proud reluctance to accept the relevance of new technologies. Those who love the Coppa despise modernity and even more so contemporaneity. Those who love the Coppa are conservative at heart, always ready to exalt some previous edition of CP at the expense of the current one. The reverence for the “Berlin period” (which no one cares about anymore), the “heavy absences” of the current edition (“Captain Cossu is missing,” “maybe Manes won’t be there,” “hopefully they’ll finally kick out the Velascas” are just some of the useless expressions veterans of CP love to spout mainly to sound important), the lost original spirit, the rampant corruption, etc. It feels like being in Stefano Benni’s bar dello sport, just without the poetry or humor.
Anyway, on the page dedicated to the “Coppa Pizzeria,” we find only images and videos. Indeed, it is very challenging for anyone attempting to describe CP using only words. Unsurprisingly, the publication in your hands is predominantly filled with images. Only those can try to convey something to those who—unfortunately—have never participated in the Coppa Pizzeria.
“You see, the world is divided into two categories: those with a loaded gun and those who dig. You dig.” With these words, Sergio Leone has Blondie (Clint Eastwood) address Tuco (Eli Wallach) in his 1966 masterpiece “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.” The few hundred people who have had the (mis)fortune of participating in CP are Blondie, while poor Tuco represents the other unaware 8 billion, who don’t know what we’re talking about and rightly don’t care.
The glittering world of contemporary art is often criticized for excessive self-reference. The Coppa Pizzeria is a monument to self-reference. If contemporary art speaks to a “niche” of experts (artists, critics, curators, collectors), CP speaks to a niche within a niche within a niche within a niche of fools (who could forget the “dance, fools” from Cavoni’s memory?).
So, what remains of this attempt to define the Coppa? The human mind has an innate need to structure reality. As a species, we can’t resign ourselves to the chaos surrounding us and the profound sense of injustice permeating our society. “God did not invent man, man invented him / And here they punish the wicked but do not reward the good,” sings Massimo Pericolo in his song “Ansia” (Scialla Semper, 2019, Pluggers and Lucky Beard).
And speaking of God, morality, and divine judgment, we can’t avoid quoting Monsignor Pizarro / Corrado Guzzanti, who reminds us that: Back when we were in the Middle Ages, still in the Ptolemaic system, you could actually believe in God’s punishment. There was only the Earth, the Sun, three little planets, and the stars were holes in a black curtain letting the light pass through… the Universe was all there, it was the only toy He had, so maybe you could believe He could amuse Himself watching us, making fleas, peeping through a keyhole, sending people to hell. But today—even assuming He exists, you know, I have an open mind—but have you seen what’s out there? Billions upon billions of galaxies, billions of stars, planets, black holes, quasars, pulsars, oceans of dark matter, neutrino belts, antimatter… Even if He exists, do you think someone who made all this cares if on this little pebble of a planet, we cheat, kill, betray our wives, and entangle with one another… Do you truly think our morality could be the central issue of the Universe?
The Coppa and its followers clearly understand this total irrelevance of any “moral issue.” Anything goes to win the Coppa. But still, the important thing remains participation.
We mentioned that statistically, the “people of the Coppa” (as this band of enthusiasts loves to call themselves) represents something close to zero. It’s like when in the leaflet of that headache medicine, available over-the-counter, among the contraindications and side effects, we find “in very rare cases, it may cause death.” We rightly assign that phrase the equivalent of a “zero risk,” so statistically irrelevant is it. But zero, the true zero, is one of the few numbers that cannot be questioned. When you score zero in school, what can you argue about with your parents or teachers?
So, if the Coppa and its people represent a zero, it cannot be questioned; it can only be loved, ultimately ending in hatred. The Coppa, like Marvel’s Thanos, is inevitable. The Coppa Pizzeria, in its absurdity, its elusiveness, its unfairness, its senselessness, its carefree spirit, its elitism, its audacity, its irrelevance, its beauty, its total lack of morality, its light-heartedness, and its mere existence is as close to life as we can imagine.
It’s a pity that the 2024 edition, as has long been announced, will be the last. Long live the Coppa.
Giuseppe Pizzuto, CUP of Cups.
Inside the Book, pp. 14-15.