“When I was four years old, my family moved to the Lido, the island which separates the lagoon from the Adriatic Sea.
“There, I could ride my bike and play soccer – things I wouldn’t have been able to do if my family had stayed in Venice, where there are no open streets or soccer pitches.
“I still returned to Venice regularly to see my grandparents, who lived near the Church of Saints John and Paul, in the Castello district.
Having graduated from the liceo scientifico (high school), Carboni enrolled at the Ca’ Foscari University of Venice, where he discovered a passion for Oriental languages.
“I was fascinated by Arabic from the start,” he says.
“I immersed myself in the study of the language, taking every course that was available.”
From there, Carboni’s passion for Islamic art was fuelled, and he met German scholar of Islamic art, Ernst Grube, who became his mentor.
Carboni decided to apply his knowledge of the Arabic language to art, graduating with a thesis on Islamic art.
Upon his graduation, he applied for many academic positions, but the competition was tough.
“At the time, there was only one generic doctorate in Islamic studies, while the history of Islamic art was considered a marginal discipline,” Carboni says.
“Then one day, Professor Grube said to me: ‘Stefano, you should look for a position overseas; don’t stay in Italy for 20 more years, not making any progress’.”
Carboni followed this advice and began applying for positions at universities abroad.
Almost immediately, he was accepted at both Oxford and the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS) at the University of London.
“Of course I would’ve preferred Oxford, but the SOAS was the best place to study Islamic art, so I enrolled there and moved to London.”
Shortly after he began his PhD, Carboni won a scholarship to study Arabic at the American University in Cairo.
“I spoke about it with my supervisor in London, who told me I should accept the scholarship,” Carboni recalls.
“So I suspended my PhD and moved to Cairo, where I stayed for two years.
“It was an extraordinary experience... and one of the most important ones of my life.”
In 1992, after two years in Egypt, Carboni returned to London to complete his PhD.
In the same year, he secured a position at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, working in the department of Islamic art.
“Working at the Met gave me the tools to research and publish, and taught me how museums work, especially from an educational perspective, equipping me to teach university courses,” Carboni says.
In 2008, after 10 years at the Met, Carboni decided to leave New York.
“We had two young children and we wanted them to grow up in a less urban environment,” he explains.
“My wife was born in China but grew up in Geelong, so Australia seemed like the natural choice.
“At the time, the Art Gallery of Western Australia was looking for a new director and, after a few negotiations, they offered me the job.”
Carboni’s decision to leave the Met wasn’t an easy one.
“By accepting the job in Perth, I’d chosen a completely different role from the one I had in New York,” he says.
“Being the director of a museum comes with many challenges... challenges which you can never prepare yourself for.
“The director is responsible for the wellbeing of the museum and its staff... it’s an extremely stressful role.”
The Art Gallery of Western Australia is a public institution.
The state government allocates a budget, which covers only part of the museum’s costs.
It’s then up to the director to find additional funding in the form of collaborations and philanthropy.
Thanks to these types of funding, Carboni was able to boost the museum’s image.
“In the first few years it worked well because my task was to elevate the museum to a higher level,” he says.
“I managed to organise collaborations with MoMA, the Peggy Guggenheim Collection and the Victoria and Albert Museum in London.
“Lastly, I also managed to organise an exhibition with the Corsini family in Florence.
“Then the situation changed.
“Western Australia’s economy depends entirely on mining resources.
“It’s an economy of booms and busts: when the prices of resources rise, the government invests in arts and culture.
“But as soon as the prices fall, the government makes cuts, especially to cultural institutions.”
Is it hard to promote the Arts in Australia?
Yes, according to Carboni.
“It’s an uphill battle,” he says.
“Most state governments don’t recognise the importance of investing in culture.
“When a city has a vibrant culture with museums, concerts and exhibitions, it becomes a place where people want to live.
“You just have to look at the impact that the opening of the Guggenheim Museum has had on the image of Bilbao: it’s gone from a sleepy fishing village to a desirable location.
“This shift has had a very positive effect on the local economy, which has begun to change after many years of stagnation.
“In Australia, local governments don’t understand that even small but consistent investments in cultural institutions can achieve great results.
“They think that the only way to boost the image of a city is by building infrastructure, but research shows this isn’t the case.
“When I first came to Perth, the Western Australian government was allocating 0.75 per cent of the annual budget to culture.
“Now, with the end of the mining boom, that figure has dropped to 0.67 per cent.
“Countries like France and Spain, despite lacking the resources that Western Australia boasts, invest 1.5 per cent of their budget in culture.
“It’s not much, but it makes a huge difference.
“A government that understands the value of the Arts seeks to invest around 1 per cent of its budget in cultural institutions... I believe that 1 per cent would’ve made all the difference to the Art Gallery of Western Australia.”
As the gallery’s former director, Carboni is a manager... and it shows in his analysis of the situation.
But we mustn’t forget that Carboni is above all an art historian – something which hasn’t yet been explored in our conversation.
So, I ask him: “If you could show me one place in Venice that has historical significance to you, where would you take me?”
At first, Carboni seems perplexed.
Then he smiles, almost amused.
“I’d take you to see the Basilica of San Pietro di Castello [pictured below],” he says, seeming finally at ease.
“What you see today is from the Renaissance, but the original structure is much older.
“A fairly modest church today, it was the official Basilica of Venice until 1807, when St Mark’s – which, until then, had been the chapel of the Doge – became the new Basilica that everyone knows today.
“San Pietro di Castello is located on the eastern edge of Venice, near the Giardini della Biennale.
“During the years of the Venetian Republic, the ships entering the lagoon saw the church of St Nicholas – which houses the saint’s relics – to the left, and the church of San Pietro di Castello to the right.
“These two churches marked the entrance to the city, like the Pillars of Hercules.
“Similar to the church of St Nicholas, the church of Castello gained its status thanks to a relic found within its walls: the Throne of St Peter, one of Jesus’ Apostles who, according to tradition, was also the first pope in history.
“The relic was donated to Venice by the Byzantines in the ninth century to seal the alliance against the Arabs who’d invaded southern Italy.
“Obviously, it’s not the real throne: there’s also a Throne of St Peter in Antakya [Turkey], where Peter was a bishop, and another in St Peter’s Basilica in Rome.
“But the throne housed in Castello is unique: on the backrest, there’s an inscription in Arabic.
“The throne is made from an ancient Arabic tombstone, which was reused for this purpose.
“The acquisition of this relic – which came from the Holy Land – saw Venice claim its supremacy, rivalling Rome.
“It was a way of saying: ‘We’re a republic, our interests lie in the Middle East and we don’t plan on giving up’.”
Then, as casual as could be, Carboni concludes: “That’s where I’d take you.”
