Essay  /  michelerovatti.com  /  2026

The Mirror Facing the Mirror

On the neverending present, the death of historical consciousness, and what Justin Bieber pulling up YouTube at Coachella has in common with veterans of twenty years of war who feel their wars never happened.

Michele Rovatti  ·  June 2026

At his 2026 Coachella headlining set, Justin Bieber performed some of his older hits by pulling them up on a laptop via YouTube. Not by playing them. Not by performing them live. By finding the videos — the existing recordings, the already-produced content — and playing them to the audience as part of the show. A concert in which the performance of previous performances replaces performance. A video of a video, played to a crowd who filmed it on their phones to post as a video. The mirror facing the mirror, the reflections receding into a vanishing point, no original anywhere in the sequence.

It would be easy to dismiss this as a curiosity, an artist in uncertain health taking the path of least resistance at a high-stakes event. But the gesture is too precise to be accidental, and its precision reveals something about the era we are in that a more conventional concert would have hidden. What Bieber did at Coachella is what the content economy does to everything: it replaces the live event with the circulation of previous events. It substitutes presence with reference. It converts the unrepeatable moment into a loop of already-existing material. The neverending present does not generate new events. It recycles the ones it already has.

The Proportions Are Perfect for the Space — On Banksy, Westminster Council, and the End of Transgression

Addendum  /  The Bud That Never Blossomed  /  May 2026

The Proportions Are Perfect for the Space

On Banksy's Waterloo Place statue, Westminster City Council's warm welcome, and what it means when the institution congratulates the gesture that was supposed to unsettle it.

Michele Rovatti  ·  May 2026

This is an addendum to The Bud That Never Blossomed, which argued that the system no longer represses cultural threat — it absorbs it before it can mature. What follows is a case study, delivered by events ten days ago.

On the morning of 29 April 2026, Londoners walking through Waterloo Place found a new statue among the monuments to King Edward VII and the Crimean War dead. A suited man, holding a large flag. The flag blows back into his face, covering his eyes. He steps forward confidently off the edge of the plinth. He cannot see where he is going because the thing he is carrying for pride has blinded him. The base of the plinth bears a signature. Banksy had installed it overnight.

By the following morning the BBC had confirmed the attribution. Galleries went live. Commentators gathered. The piece was identified as a critique of blind patriotism — timed, the press noted, to coincide with King Charles III's state visit to Washington, where he addressed Congress in defence of NATO. The placement was observed to be pointed: Banksy's anti-establishment gesture installed among the monuments of British imperial and military history, the subversive work taking its place in the civic landscape of St James's.

The Ibiza Case - Politics, Spectacle, and the Management of Narrative

 

Essay  /  michelerovatti.com  /  2026

The Ibiza Case

On how a dictatorship accidentally created the conditions for one of the twentieth century's most fertile cultural experiments, and what the growth imperative did to it next.

Michele Rovatti  ·  May 2026

Pliny the Elder recorded the name in the first century AD. The Greeks had called them the Pityussae — islands of pines — for the forests that covered them. The pine trees and the gnarled juniper, the sabina, introduced by the Phoenicians and cultivated for its extraordinarily hard wood, were the first thing anyone noticed about the place. They are still there. Some of the junipers at Cala Bassa, on the island's west coast, are a hundred years old. They are classified as cultural heritage under Spanish law and cannot be touched. The beach club sets its Balinese beds in their shade.

The trees are the right place to start, because what happened to Ibiza is the story of a place whose aura — whose specific cultural gravity — was produced by conditions that had nothing to do with commerce, and then consumed by a commerce that could not have existed without them. The aura is now eroding. The trees are still there. The question is how long the trees can outlast what is being sold in their shade.