Leonard Greco's somewhat consistent, often bumbling studio journal
Author: babylonbaroque
I am a painter and printmaker working towards creating a body of work that reflects my own developing aesthetic.
New work ,first link.
The second link is an on-line portfolio.
The Vivisection of the Seraphim 2023 color pencil and gouache on toned illustration board 15 by 19 inches
Today’s drawing : “Vivisection of the Seraphim “, pencil and gouache on toned illustration board, 15 by 19 inches .
A friend recently mentioned that she didn’t believe in the existence of the Soul . This set me back a bit , I’ve heard this argument before , heretical from my position , that the soul, not actually something sacred but instead an entanglement of the nervous system. This materialistic perspective nonetheless upset me a great deal, leading me to uncomfortable rumination. Given its Holy Week and reflecting upon the soul appropriate, this image ultimately made its appearance.
The cold , hard science worship of our age with its mechanical “logical” detachment, cannot adequately discern the essence of a soul . For the Trust-the-Science crowd , such close scrutiny of the sacred would be as fruitless and as brutal as dissecting an Angel – you’d be left with little aside from disenchantment and some bloody feathers .
The soul is ineffable , wilting under the demands of the empiricist , but I have faith in it and the fact that you cannot be an artist without one.
Speaking of the intangible , the conventional depiction of the Seraphim , here illustrated from the Petite Heures of Jean de France, Duc de Berry, conveys the fragility of their nature. I attempted to capture that shredded-butterfly-wing tragedy in my drawing.
Details of my drawing follows :
Detail, Vivisection of the SeraphimDetail, Vivisection of the Seraphim
Sending forth warm Passover and Easter greetings.
The Vivisection of the Seraphim 2023 color pencil and gouache on toned illustration board 15 by 19 inches
I find myself wandering creatively , not always a positive place to be in, especially if one feels lost. I feel a bit lost.
In poring over files I stumbled upon a bit of text I hadn’t recognized, yet I felt it perfectly evoked how I create, the random layering of pattern, image, reference . But who wrote it? After a bit of sleuthing through further files I discovered I’d written it. First questioning the state of my memory I was pleased I had saved this snippet. I will have to review it more closely but I feel upon initial reading it will easily integrate into a project I’d set aside, Saint Anthony & the Desert of Tears.
The mystery text follows:
Saint Anthony and the Desert of Tears
Once in a land of overripe fruit a fair young man realized he had his fill.
This realm of weariness overcame him, his joys soured, the jams curdled, the birds no longer sang; his morning daemons stayed for tea.
He tossed aside his pretty things. His brocaded grass of green cope caterpillar velvet plush a cocoon of downy miniver; his linen smock that butterfluttered embroidery ever so clever with fleas centipedes and mites, his coif that glittered metallic verdure as pompously as the proud Junebug, these , his treasures, his jewels, his bedazzlements he tossed aside; hair pantaloons would have to do.
Of delicacies he had no stomach, crepes as light as seraphim breath sat heavy as unctuous fog, gentle honeysuckle dew gathered with fairy care he could not bear; rook tossed spelten loaf would have to do.
His chambers swaddled in diapered tapestry and brocaded opal plush, carpets as tender as mole moss ached his swollen sole and tormented flesh, bone and marrow; he must breath to gulp the word , the desert cave would have to do.
With staff and skull young Anthony set forth sandward.
Farewell fair Egyptland.
Artist as Daemon Tuscon AZ Christmas Day, 2017
So I’ve decided to return to my St.Anthony project , illustrating/illuminating St.Athanasius’ account of the third century desert father, Anthony/Antony. I randomly turned to verse 41:
Plate 41 “Life of St.Anthony”, 2023 graphite, colored pencil, gouache on toned paper 12 by 9 inches
This passage, 41, features a woeful , self pitying Satan confronting a monk (not clear if it is Anthony ) , bemoaning being misunderstood. It felt a natural place to return .
The passage follows :
41. “And since I have become a fool in detailing these things, receive this also as an aid to your safety and fearlessness; and believe me for I do not lie. Once some one knocked at the door of my cell, and going forth I saw one who seemed of great size and tall. Then when I enquired, “Who are you?” he said, “I am Satan ” Then when I said, “Why are you here?” he answered, “Why do the monks and all other Christians blame me undeservedly? Why do they curse me hourly?” Then I answered, “Wherefore do you trouble them?” He said, “I am not he who troubles them, but they trouble themselves, for I have become weak. Have they not read ,” “The swords of the enemy have come to an end, and you have destroyed the cities?” “I have no longer a place, a weapon, a city. The Christians are spread everywhere, and at length even the desert is filled with monks . Let them take heed to themselves, and let them not curse me undeservedly.” Then I marvelled at the grace of the Lord, and said to him:
“You who art ever a liar and never speakest the truth , this at length, even against your will, you have truly
spoken. For the coming of Christ has made you weak, and He has cast you down and stripped you.”
But he having heard the Saviour’s name, and not being able to bear the burning from it, vanished.”
Now onto other plates.
Plate 41 “Life of St.Anthony”, 2023 graphite, colored pencil, gouache on toned paper 12 by 9 inches
Six Weeks in Nowhereville 2023 Graphite, gouache, ink on toned illustration board 15 by 19 inches
New work on paper , just off the drawing board. Inspired in part by our bumpy ride from LA to Chicago, the final move of all our worldly goods in a bladder destroying rented truck. From our high perch (which is cool, the big rig-ness of it all) David, Viola and yours truly drove through some majestic landscapes. However the bleak desert landscape between LA and Las Vegas has proven the most inspiring .
Forget the imperial mountainscapes frosted in white, the red stone canyons, the luminous sunsets (and rises) , what seeped into my brain (and pencil) were ice cream cone shaped stands, forlorn and abandoned in the sands, galleons left adrift amongst the chaparral , and the countless “Jackrabbit” shacks/homesteads, built with such enthusiasm and abandoned with such a heavy heart. Neon glitz and sham popped up like unwholesome mushrooms we approached Los Vegas. From my bumpy perch I made short handed doodle-notes which trigger memory and move my pencil along.
Doodle note from our cross country move from LA to Chicago, Summer 2022
Detail: Six Weeks in Nowhereville
Detail :Six Weeks in Nowhereville
The following, an album from that four day trip, late July, early August 2023, I think the quick snapshots convey the nihilistic neon of this fascinating wasteland:
I wasn’t able to capture these peculiar and abandoned ice cream shops, but a google search revealed their history.
From bumpy rental truck to comfy home studio.
Jiminy Muerte
Six Weeks in Nowhereville 2023 Graphite, gouache, ink on toned illustration board 15 by 19 inches
Epiphany 2023 colored pencil, graphite, gouache on toned paper 9 by 12 inches
Today’s drawing , just in time for the Solemnity of the Epiphany of the Lord. Hectic few days and I feared I wouldn’t finish in time . ”To offer gold is to proclaim Christ’s Kingship, to offer incense is to adore his Godhead, and to offer myrrh is to acknowledge his mortality “ Saint Odilo of Cluny. I offer this drawing .
🌟Wishing a joyous Epiphany🌟
Epiphany 2023 colored pencil, graphite, gouache on toned paper 9 by 12 inches
Happy new year, I send out wishes for a year of renewal,optimism and rebirth.
I start the new year with a new drawing that I spontaneously called Evergreen. I had hoped for it to be the last drawing of 2022 but there are so many hours in a day. I finished up moments ago, so happy 2023.
Evergreen 2023 colored pencil, graphite and gouache on toned paper 24 by 18 inches
It is a continued exploration of otherworld, underworlds, pointy forms, death and rebirth, renewal and fir trees ( a friend pointed the fir tree forms out , aware of my fondness for Hans Christian Andersen’s Little Fir Tree ).
Detail “Evergreen”
Detail “Evergreen”
This affinity for renewal isn’t new of course but does add a hint of optimism to my usual obsession over memento mori- the serpent devouring its own tale, a well known allegorical symbol , sprouts new growth .
Another recurrent theme is that of pointed forms, be they vaguely Gothic or conifer.
Detail : “Vein Creator Spiritus”
Even millinery is nearly always pointed:
Detail self portrait
The other day one of my drawings started incorporating this pointed fir tree / hermitage theme which I plan on exploring further.
Mr.Punch’s Leviathan 2022 colored pencil and gouache on toned paper 11 by 8 inches
No great revelations , nothing terribly profound, but a pause before the busying of a new beginning and the ever present reminder of the passage of sand. At the moment my sweet old lady pug Viola is suffering from some sort of cough, an appointment scheduled but poor creature needs my attention .
Resurrection of the Father 2015 watercolor on paper
The last of my drawings for my Popol vuh commission have been satisfied.
I should feel a sense of relief but in truth I feel a sense of disappointment, of hopes once bright , now dimmed a bit. I am not sure where this project, one in which I have invested so much energy into , will go. Perhaps its just the creativity bubble bursting a bit.
What I had understood to be a project slated for publication after I had completed my commission now seems in limbo. The publisher suggested by the poet I found to be lacking in creativity and vision with no apparent back up option-given the publisher was a pay-to-play publisher was disappointing as well.
But that seems to be the reality. I am now in the position of needing to find a publisher , to pay or to not, willing to publish this heavily illustrated tome. To be honest I feel sick to my stomach but I have put so much into these drawings to just allow them to be stashed away into a folio seems too great a defeat. I also feel ill-equipped and inadequate to the task
So I will begin researching , I dislike feeling a bit alone in this but from recent exchanges I fear the poet and I now have different intentions for the project. My initial understanding of the collaboration was a shared enthusiasm for Blake, inspiring a universalist, humanistic approach to this distinctly Maya creation myth, an uplifting celebration in the Jos. Campbell “Hero with a Thousand Faces” vein. It now seemingly more activist, too anti-Western Christendom in approach than I’d prefer.
There is profound relief in at last being free of the Xibalban Underworld, C.S.Lewis, in describing the creation of his Screwtape Letters dwelt upon the difficulty of being immersed in such darkness. The last year or so of trickster demons, their wanton cruelty, the viciousness of unwholesome, perverse gods and the relentless bloody sacrifices has had a similar darkening upon my soul. I’m eager to emerge into the light.
That said, the following are the images for the tacked on poems to our Popol vuh.
Poem Images:
Scepter 1967
Mi Finca
The Owls Return to Xibalba
The Jungle Path to Xibalba
All Their Lord’s Hearts (terrible photograph)
Stampede
Epilogue, the Daykeeper’s Sermon, Circa 1520 (perhaps my favorite drawing)
Chapter headers, the theme being puppetry and nursery amusements:
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII (my favorite of the chapter headers )
I am going to take some time away from thinking about this project, but not so much that I can wish it away. Just an opportunity to rekindle inspiration, to aflame motivation. David and I are tentatively planning a trip to Mexico City, with old gods underfoot and new above that just may do the trick.
Resurrection of the Father 2015 watercolor on paper
There are multiple translations of the Popol vuh, many of them excellent, scholarly works by experts in the field of Mesoamerican art and culture embellished with imagery predictably appropriate to the rich history of the Maya people. I’ve had the good fortune to meet several of the scholars at Mesoamerican conferences, Mesoamerican and post conquest colonial art being a personal passion; these have been enriching, informative and inspiring experiences.
The translation that I have been illustrating the last year or so however is a bird of another (quetzal) feather, my intention is a retelling of a well told story through images- my own kind of images, imagined through the cultural prism and personal perspective of the re-telling bard, in this case, myself. My first experience with the Popol vuh was much like my imagined 17th c. Court artisan , one of ignorance to the actual originating culture, but sheer, spontaneous delight in the symbolic drama of the tale and expressing this delight in the cultural, visual language at hand- in this case a baroque puppet drama.
In the end the Popol vuh is simply one heck of a good yarn, akin to the gods of Olympus and Valhalla. I try to express that delight and the accessibility in the stories told within my narrative images.
Of which, more have been added.
My collaborating poet has added more verses since I had last considered the project complete a few months back :
Initially I admit to being chagrined, for I wanted to move forward with other projects that I have placed on hold. But I love this project deeply and truly, this theme, this inspiration, the Popol vuh has been my companion since 2013 when I first encountered the epic tale in a short animated film in a Mesoamerican class I had been attending. Immediately I was enchanted by this strangely familiar story and I began scribbling furiously in the darkened auditorium, doodling up ideas for fanciful puppet operas and traveling marionette theaters, 17th c. commedia hucksters , not unlike those in Hamlet, entertaining court after ennui weary court.
So to return to this beloved story is an opportunity to at last figure out how best to share my passion for these two heroic ball playing boys, their sainted mother and of course the hellish brood of daemonic pranksters.
Lord One Death marionette
The poet and I need to figure out how best to get this monster of book published , I had naively understood there was a publisher in the wings, it seems that isn’t the case. Self publishing, unless a small press can be secured, appears to be our option. A certain degree of apathy seems to have set in with my collaborator, thus far he seems convinced that there will be little interest in our work and perhaps out-and-out hostility to two non-Maya fellows creating this homage and as artists we’d be best off in just getting the book made and to just move on to our next project.
That is a dispiriting perspective and one I do not share. This is , to me, a special project, one close to my heart, an amazing story, one easily appreciated by Maya and non-Maya alike , a human story, one familiar with its brave heroes, powerful maternal figures, sacrifice, trials and redemptions …and of course the buffoonery of the Xibalban underlords. I’ll have to do some researching how best to get this undertaking out there, I’m ill prepared for this quest, I am unfamiliar with the jargon , with contracts, with preserving rights, with fees and commissions . But the road to Xibalba is made one foot step at a time.
I will need to reach out to those more acquainted with publishing, should I self-publish, using a platform such as Blurb? I would at least have more control over the aesthetics of the project as the one publisher my poet did contact insisted upon visual control of the cover, examples of which I have seen haven’t met my expectations. I have friends more familiar with this game, I’ll be reaching out to them, gathering options, opinions, suggestions. I have time, I have taken this long, what matters a few more months . But for now I have more drawings to make, of which, these few are the latest.
Illustration for “Scepter,1967”
Illustration “Mi Finca, 2021”
Illustration “The Owls Return to Xibalba”
Illustration “The Jungle Path to Xibalba”
I will close with a proposal sketch for a solo exhibition from I think 2014. My proposal was a resounding dud, zero interest, so perhaps my poet is correct. However, all the more reason to put the Xibalba Variety Hour out there!
Tomorrow the movers arrive, our worldly possessions Chicago bound.
After sixteen years living in Los Angeles ( with a brief stint in San Diego ) I am left with mixed emotions, mostly just eager to get out of Dodge. LA has never been a good fit, we moved here for David’s career and I have tried, mostly unsuccessfully, to appreciate Southern California . It would be churlish (and predictable ) to gripe about LA’s unsurprising superficiality , increasing squalor and existential decadence … churlish but fun.
Instead I will focus on fond memories, of which the many studios I have been lucky to work (and often live in) I place near the top of that list.
My current studio (now crated) was/is in a mid rise office building I shared with my psychoanalyst husband. Perched 1o stories up it was a peculiar home for an art studio, yet it was close to our apartment, possessed attractive amenities and A/C- not a given in the art studio market, and in scorching LA most essential.
6404 Wilshire Blvd. suite 1030
Wilshire Blvd.
Wilshire Blvd.
Wilshire Blvd
Wilshire Blvd.
Adios Wilshire Blvd .
Mentioning A/C, my previous studio was the largest , most sprawling and allowed me to expand my scope of my work, my solo show Fairyland wouldn’t have been created if it hadn’t been in this rather dismal factory space in the heart of hot as Hadesville North East LA-without A/C. Grateful for the experience but boy oh boy it was hot.
LAIAC
LAIAC
With Robin Goodfellow and my sweet Chihuahua Speck
LAIAC
At one point I had tried working from our little hillside cottage, the Little Hermitage …little being the operative word and it became apparent rather quickly that I needed actual work space.
Rose, Robin Goodfellow @ the Little Hermitage
Previous to the industrial heat pit I had a smaller yet air-conditioned studio, the former work shop of the fellow responsible for fabrication of the clown costumes of Ronald McDonald …or so my landlady told me. It was a charmingly squalid place.
Colorado Blvd., Eagle Rock
Colorado Blvd.
Colorado Blvd.
The Unholy Trio & Hellmouth Colorado Blvd., Eagle Rock
Before we purchased our Little Hermitage on LA’s NE side we lived (where we once again live) in what is known as MidWilshire. We rented a sweet little duplex, with a pretty little garden, charming light and quite a crazy Marxist Feminist landlady-all perfectly fine aside from her tyrannical harping. But it had good light!
Carmona Ave.
Carmona Ave.
Carmona Ave & pups
Carmona Ave.
In spite of our crazy landlady that apartment had been most welcome for we had been living in San Diego, which sounds lovely , and is , but we were living in what is known as East County, El Cajon specifically. It truly was Hadesville , and our reason for living there was to tend to David’s Mater- quite the SheDevil.
anyway, I spent quite a bit of time sequestered in one of the bedrooms repurposed as a studio…it had A/C AND good light.
In ElCajon with Miss Viola
Naptime in El Cajon, ever faithful Miss Rose
El Cajon
El Cajon
Moving to El Cajon was made drearier for we left what had been our favorite home up to that point ( our current place in Chicago now vies for that distinction), a work/live loft, on the top floor of Factory Place in LA’s Arts District. It was so well suited to our needs , a joy to call home, well lit and with very good A/C.
It broke my heart to leave. Pardon the plethora of photos.
Factory Place, 2010
Factory Place
Factory Place
Factory Place
Factory Place
Factory Place
Factory Place
Rose @ Factory Place
Speck @ Factory Place
Factory Place
Factory Place
When we moved to LA sixteen years ago, we purchased, in the midst of a devastating bubble an outrageously overpriced condominium on a very pretty street , Havenhurst Ave., in very pretty West Hollywood. It was a period of great optimism and hope. The condo, though small, overpriced, far outside our budget, seemed a beacon of opportunity. And there was opportunity, David began establishing his career, my decorative arts career was blossoming, friends were made easily…we were married in our condo’s backyard. Yet the recession hit, and it hit hard, we were far too overextended, borrowed time, borrowed money , we lost our proverbial shirts and the condo . I truly thought we were lost, all of my prudent savings squandered. Yet sixteen years later we have rebuilt and now we approach this new chapter, our Chicago chapter.
Symbolically perhaps I can locate NO photographs of that sweet little West Hollywood apartment or that period aside from our wedding.
Wilshire Blvd.
So onward, boxes packed, awaiting what the good Lord places on our path. I do have a studio waiting for me in Chicago, I am very eager to see what develops.
Boondocks Babylon 