Apparizione della Madre (fourth station), oil on canvas
60" x 48", Rico '16
There is an inner light, largely unseen but not truly
invisible. I believe we are born with
it. It starts brightly because it is
strong, perhaps not too far from wherever it originates.
Resilience and transcendence are largely defined after the
fact. They need a baseline against which
to be quantified, and the baseline often takes the form of crushing failure,
loss, or defeat. So there can be no true
transcendence without profound loss, and loss/failure/defeat are not things to
be feared. Looked at this way, failure
(and the like) offers us an opportunity
for transcendence. Resilience in the
face of loss and disappointment is what enables us to define ourselves separate
and apart from whatever event life throws our way. Simply put, this is because resilience empowers us to write our own narratives.
I got interested in the Stations
of the Cross when I saw Barnett Newman’s collection of paintings by the
same name in the National Gallery. I
love the story because it begins from a place of defeat and moves through
agony, humiliation, loss and brutality and eventually to transcendence. I’ve tried on a few occasions to tackle the
theme in a series of paintings, but the time wasn’t right or the work wasn't there. When I saw the Narthex
gallery at St. Peter’s, I knew that if I ever had the opportunity to exhibit
there I wanted to do the stations.
My style (if one can call it that) of painting is not about
depicting events or trying to visually represent people or places or even
actions. This, combined with the fact
that I consider myself secular, set up an interesting set of problems before
the first paint ever hit the first surface.
I was born into the era of pop art. Though I’ve learned to appreciate some of it,
overall I find it either nihilistic or cheeky, and these are not the places
from which I approach art personally.
I’m unabashed in believing that one of the reasons art
exists and continues to endure is because it speaks to the spiritual, the
universal, and the primordial. It has
the power to give image to that which exists unseen, voice to that which is
unheard, and substance to that which we perceive as intangible. These things are the measure of a culture long
after civilization dissolves and fades away.
Empires rise and fall, but their greatness is only truly assessed after
they crumble into dust and we sift out the artifacts of their culture.
What is vital to me is twofold: one, that I have to keep my
channel open to the singular expression that is uniquely my own when making the
work. When doing this, the process is
less about creating and more about discovering.
This is a much more rewarding and, dare I say, enduring perspective to
adopt in the studio when making work. Two, that the audience
make the work their own, truly their own.
The former is achieved through artistic practice; the latter can only be
approached through mindfulness and openness without attachment. I’ve found that attachment is often an impediment to
creativity. Non-attachment frees the
soul in a way that transmits energy to the hands in making.
So this body of work is increasingly (as I am writing this
in the making of it) about that inner light.
The light which is, at times, enveloped in darkness and the Void, but
somehow manages to reach us and reach others through us. As I continue to make these paintings I am
experiencing unexpected emotional depths and changing perceptions.
