A Magic Archive of Light and Glass

10,000 hand-painted slides

To me — an anthropologist in his 40s who has spent the past few years creating and managing extensive archives for large companies — this story begins in Padova less than one month ago. The museum is located in an attic overlooking a square called Prato della Valle. Looking out of the window, I could see the scene of a famous Canaletto painting, Il Pra della Valle in Padova. Minici Zotti and her son, Carlo Alberto Zotti (who’s also the museum’s director), closed it off and covered it with a curtain. Using a camera obscura — just like the one employed by the Venetian painter — they proceeded in a demonstration, projecting a series of moving images of the square onto a horizontal surface.

To Minici Zotti, who is in her 90s, though you wouldn’t tell, the museum has become a second home. When I met her, she was sitting in her office, just a few stairs from the main floor. She was typing on her laptop, her back turned.

In her lifelong dedication to magic lanterns, Minici Zotti hasn’t limited herself to collecting. She has made herself a name as a lanternist, staging magic lantern shows that re-enacted classical fables. She develops her stories based on her collection of slides — a mix-and-match of European capitals’ views, exotic characters, romantic landscapes, and phantasmagorias of ghosts and skeletons.

Hers is not an easy job, Minici Zotti explained. “You need manual skills, technique, and rhythm.” The lanternist usually works in the theater’s darkness, swapping the slides and handling the shutters to regulate the fading between the scenes. Most importantly, the lanternist coordinates the story. “First, you conceive the plot by selecting the slides and establishing their exact sequence and pace.” Timing, Minici Zotti said, is essential to avoid boring the audience with the same picture for too long. She also writes scripts for her shows, where actors perform in front of the lantern’s screenings, accompanied by background music.

Her performances took place in some of the world’s most prestigious cultural hubs: The Musée d’Orsay, the Louvre, the Cinémathèque Française in Paris, and the Library of Congress in Washington — only to name a few. Commissions and successes, she claims, came naturally. She has never wanted — or needed — an agent, except that one time when the Louvre neglected to pay. The lantern she used in her shows for over 50 years was displayed in a glass showcase. “It’s British,” she pointed out. “The best of the best.” The machine’s body has two lens barrels — the mechanical structures that hold the lens in place — and a hidden compartment for the light bulb. Originally, magic lanterns ran on whale oil and, later, on petroleum: The distinctive ‘chimney’ served as a smoke vent.

Fishing for fish in London

Carlo Alberto Zotti — who also teaches Film History and History and Technology of Photography at the University of Padova — remembers the long journeys accompanying his mother to her shows, her lanterns and slides filling his car.

“Then there was that night in London…” He muttered, referencing a three-hour cab ride the two underwent looking for…fish. One that could be “projected” with the lantern. Shortly before, Minici Zotti had found an old double glass slide in an antique shop: A miniature, projectable aquarium. Inserting it into her two-lens lantern, the first barrel projected a nature scene, while the second — with the special double slide — could project insects or small fish onto its natural background. “If she could find a fish small enough to swim in the machine, the result would be astonishing.” That evening, she had planned a show at the Magic Lantern Society’s headquarters in London. Mother and son drove around for hours and eventually found a suitable fish, small enough to fit the lantern’s backdrop. The crowd was thrilled. And for good reason. “She was able to create a unique, impressive example of moving pictures: a sort of live streaming ahead of its time.”

Darkness in the hallway of the stalls

In 1975, Prato, Italy, hosted the 11th edition of the “Salone Internazionale dei Comics e Cinema di Animazione” — an international fair of comics and animated films. As Minici Zotti was practicing to become a skillful lanternist and was beginning to work on her shows, magic lanterns and proto-cinematic arts were largely unknown. But some of her friends worked in the event’s organization and invited her to perform at the Teatro del Giglio — for what would be her first-ever projection in front of a large audience.

As she prepared for the show, she realized the theater was “full of obstacles.” Moreover, she ended up arguing with the theatre directors, who “continuously tried to control her movements and her position before the lantern.” They didn’t realize the magic lantern was “a complex device” that required special techniques. “You must respect its rhythm. You can’t just distort the story.”

The night ended with Minici Zotti relegated behind the screen, upstage. The audience could still enjoy the motion pictures she was projecting but couldn’t see her or the lantern. From that day on, Minici Zotti told me she has always worked from the crossing row, standing between the seats. “To closely enjoy the people’s amazement.”

Fragile memories, unpredictable futures

When asked if she still projects sometimes, Laura Minici Zotti replied she was too old for that “hard work.” But, as the interview proceeded, I learned her last show took place only a month ago. The next one, she said, will be in Spring. “Perhaps in Venice, where it all began.” As for her immense collection of slides, she said she was waiting to receive the most recent addition, which she purchased from the UK a few weeks before. It’s a reproduction of Ca’ D’Oro Palace, a Venetian landmark overlooking the Grand Canal. “It’s perfect for my next show!” she said, her eyes glistening with anticipation.

“Promise you’ll invite me,” I replied.

Despite having dedicated her life to a disappearing art, Laura Minici Zotti doesn’t look like someone obsessed with the past. Instead, she appears immersed in the present and naturally inclined towards the future. Rather than as an archivist, a museophile, or a collector, she sees herself simply as a professional lanternist. (She’s probably the last and only one in Italy.) The museum, the archive, the shows: Those are not the outcomes of a mere ‘passion’ or ‘hobby.’ That’s work.

Memories are often as fragile as the tiny, hand-painted glass plates this archive stores. If you collect, organize, and preserve them, they become shared knowledge to be passed onto future generations, and establish themselves in collective memory. If, instead, they shatter into pieces, the information splinters, and their overall meaning dissipates.

For now, Laura Minici Zotti’s archive is well-established and safe. It’s guarded inside the museum with the support of the city’s administration, which funds it regularly. Carlo Alberto Zotti, however, worries that the lanternist’s job — as well as the sophisticated techniques that make magic lanterns work — will disappear after his mother’s passing.

Personally, I hope reading this article will be a revelation for someone — spurring new interest toward a disappearing field that still offers immense creative possibilities for younger artists to explore. Just like 50-plus years ago, finding that mysterious box in the attic inspired Minici Zotti to become a professional lanternist. Who will be the next to embark on this journey?