For young people interested in art at that time, I think that going to the United States was a great dream. I decided to go at the end of 1962, when I was 26. Compared to others, I had the advantage of having an American wife, and so integrating was much simpler for me. In October 1962, Sarah and I embarked on the Cristoforo Colombo in the port of Genoa. The voyage lasted eight days. It was not entirely smooth, and in fact we ran into a hurricane as well. After arriving in New York, we went by car to Washington, to Sarah’s mother’s house. During the voyage we had met a really nice American girl with whom we stayed in touch; she was very kind and later we were guests in her house somewhere near New York. With her help, in the space of a couple of days we found accommodation on Third Avenue in New York. In Florence I had met the daughter of Lee Holt, the collector and editor of Art in America. I had her phone number, so I contacted her and she invited us for cocktails. Here I also met many Italians, including Alfredo Bonino, who had art galleries in New York, Buenos Aires, and Rio de Janeiro. At the beginning of 1963, I found a studio to rent on Spring Street.
In the adjoining studio was a South American graphic artist who was good friends with Salvador Dalì. Through this mutual friendship I met the great artist. He lived in a hotel near my home, and his studio was there too. I remember he used to call very early each morning. He called me “Gamboni,” and he was very flamboyant. He liked going to places and doing happenings. He also kept jaguars in the hotel, which he needed to haul the cab during the Holy Week procession in Seville. They were rather ferocious, and when I went to see Dalì they attacked me. There were lots of artists in the area where my studio was. I remember Louise Nevelson, who often invited me to lunch, and at her house I saw her niece again, who I had met when she lived in Florence as a child with her father. I often saw Louise because we used to go together to hunt for wood from old furniture that she used for her sculptures. She then started using Plexiglas to create her structures, but I preferred her works in wood. In the area where my studio was there were lots of artists—Italians as well—including Claudio Cintoli. Here I met many American artists. I remember I often used to go to the studio of Roy Lichtenstein. I greatly admired his magnificent paintings, packed with color. I must say that my time in New York was a very positive experience that enabled me to get to know the American contemporary art scene first hand. I even met Andy Warhol. He was a regular at the Cedar bar, where underground artists used to meet up and where I would go too with some friends. Beat Generation poets and literary figures met there too, like Allen Ginsberg and Gregory Corso. They did fantastic performances there, which I took part in too. They were wonderful. Thanks to my friendship with the poet and director Gerard Malanga, I met Andy Warhol. I often went to Andy’s studio, the Factory, which was quite close to my place. All the walls were covered with silver paper. It really was a factory because all kinds of things were produced there. Andy was a very shy and sensitive person, and did not like art critics much, but I took Franco Russoli and Guido Ballo to his studio, and they were well received. My New York paintings were shown in several group shows at the Galleria Bonino, where Mario Ceroli exhibited too. I worked a lot with the Korean-born artist Nam June Paik.
I helped him to mount his exhibition with computers, televisions, and robots at the Galleria Bonino, surrounded by miles of cables. He talked in Korean and I replied in Italian. I met lots of people, but one great point of reference for me was Mark Rothko. We were introduced by my friend Fabio Coen, the director of Random House. Rothko and I met many times. I talked to him about his show at the Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna in Rome in 1962.
I remember that he became quite emotional. I asked him where those magnificent large canvases were. He replied that he had burnt them. He had three beautiful studios, one of which was in an old carriage store. I was one of the few people to whom he was well disposed, and I often visited his studio. I also took some Italian art critics to see him, and they were surprised and bowled over. He was a marvelous and thrilling storyteller. We often went to New Jersey together to play bocce, a game he loved greatly.
I never imagined he would commit suicide, an event that was a big shock for me. In New York I had the good fortune to meet the great Italian poet Giuseppe Ungaretti. I went to pick him up at the port of New York when he arrived from Italy in 1964. He was due to deliver some lectures as a visiting professor at Columbia University. I remember that together with my journalist friend Lucio Manisco, the editor of an important Italian paper, we organized a meeting between Ungaretti and some American poets. It was a very successful event, and the painter Mario Schifano was there too. Ungaretti spoke in Italian, and we tried to translate what he said, but it was very difficult because his language was quite complex. I remember that in the evening I went to get him from his hotel, and I accompanied him to the Village to buy Le Monde. Then we continued our stroll, until eventually I re-accompanied him to his hotel. At the end of 1967 I decided to return to Italy. I can’t say exactly why. I was fine in New York and lacked nothing. Probably because I missed my home country. After returning to Italy, I moved to Milan, where a solo show of my work was organized at the Galleria del Cenobio. It was presented by Germano Celant and was a great success. Milan and New York are two very different cities, but they are similar as well because certain things that happen in New York happen in Milan as well. My wife Sarah and I lived in Milan until 1969, the year of the sudden death of my father Guido. After that my interests were prevalently in the field of ceramics in Florence.