Leonard Greco's somewhat consistent, often bumbling studio journal
My passion for the anchorite St. Anthony never seems to abate. Another composition for perhaps another painting. I have many to choose from…
Temptation of St. Anthony of the Desert
2016
pencil on paper
18 by 24″
Details follow:
Anthony and his guardian Wodewose-Greenman
Herakles and Ophelia
Rape, the very word causes you to pause. I ruminated upon even using the word “rape” for this drawing, but no other word fully expressed the Conquest of New Spain by the Old. The use of the word rape is relatively common in Western art, one refers to the Rape of the Sabine Women and of course all of those frothy depictions of The Rape of Europa , a pink cheeked maiden astride gorgeous twinkly eyed white bulls. I wanted to play upon that theme and the word rape is an integral element of the concept. In this case Europa is doing the raping.
The Rape of Tenochtitlan
2016
colored pencil on toned paper
18 by 24″
I’m gathering my thoughts, both visual and verbal, concerning a project focusing upon Mesoamerica in general, Tenochtitlan specifically. But the historical elements are superficial in many ways as I am primarily interested in identity and perception , how one empire can so thoroughly misunderstand one another , New Spain vs. Old Spain. How we continue to misunderstand one another, be it racial tension, gender conflict, cops vs. Black Lives Matter, queers/straights, Muslims, you name it, if it ain’t “us” we become all paranoid and defensive (check out the GOP convention in Cleveland at the moment to confirm my assertion).
I’ve been fascinated for some time by the intersection of cultures and what is gained and lost in the process. Although I am not the first and I certainly will not be the last, I hope to add something personal to that conversation. Drawing back in time, when even the most basic images of what is now Mexico City were ominously romanticized and barbarized, they were oozing with biased fodder for our imagination, fueling our fascination with the pornography of violence: the perverse fascination with human sacrifice and the seemingly never-ending ghastly spectacle of the Aztecs. To the conquerers this New Spain was in fact a New Jerusalem, ripe for conversion, once they came to heel that is. To drive home the message of this new and terrifying place, the images were depicted through the prism of Classical antiquity , as the temple image below suggests.
Jan Karel Donatus Van Beecq (1638-1722) – Illustrations de Histoire de la conquête du Mexique ou de la Nouvelle Espagne
I am now eager to explore this cross cultural disconnect in an upcoming series of work in which I play upon the theme of courtly entertainment, toys and baubles meant to amuse an aristocratic audience, all presented to the Holy Roman Emperor from the New World by none other than the reviled/beloved Malinche. And as my brain is driven fundamentally visually, sketching out vague concepts is the most pragmatic approach.
As is usual with my approach, whatever floats across my field of vision will often find itself incorporated into my work. The other day while visiting LACMA I encountered a beauty, a small ceramic depiction of the Maize Goddess. She was Mayan in origin, and although diminutive she possessed all of the grace of a Tanagra figurine. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tanagra_figurine
I was happy to place this lovely lady into my composition.
Another inspirational happenstance, though less elegant, was when my publicist Kristine posted an image of this drawing in its unfinished state and accidentally added a filter of rainbows and stars. In what would have been in any other circumstance appalling to me , was in this instance, just what I needed. Of course fair Europa would feign affection, declaring undying affection to get at that gold lurking behind Tenochtitlan’s fiery skirt.
As I drew my mind wandered back to my visit to Mexico City, how as soon as we entered the city, I felt I belonged there. I was wistful reminiscing about the ancient art that seems to reach out from the very soil,defying the Church, defying the State, defying Time. This detail is drawn from loose memory of a visit to the National Anthropological Museum.
I’m going to continue to draw upon these fascinating resources, albeit in my own ways. I feel no more compulsion to depict the divinities of Mexico as they were by indigenous peoples than I would feel obligated to depict Christ in a Byzantine manner. The following are a few beauties found at the Museo Templo Major, literally pulled from sacrificial ground. That just fascinates me.
I’m going to close with my handsome husband taken at the Casa Azul for no other reason than it was a really marvelous day and a really marvelous memory.
After the Orlando massacre a few weeks back I have been giving thought to my past, particularly my youth and what a miracle it is that I am here today. Lets say the theme of Memento Mori is my day to day soundtrack of late.
My youth was a turbulent period, my parents were furious at my being gay and they regularly changed the locks after tossing my meager belongings out onto the lawn. Their flashes of temper left me homeless for periods of time, sometimes a few days, sometimes weeks. Often I would just float around , I had a large car, a Chevy Impala, it was an ugly beast but it was commodious; frequently it sufficed as the roof over my head.
This was the early years of the 80’s and with the little cash I scratched together I would head north; NYC beckoned me away from that shit-hole in NJ. And like many suburban gay boys I fantasized about that city, I picked up copies of the now defunct Soho News, the Village Voice, Interview magazine, fantasizing about this paradise only a train ride away. I imagined living in this fantasy loft, with beautiful pine floors and expansive windows, “artistic” furniture and of course Boston ferns. Boston ferns were not negotiable .
But of course that was not my reality, I was poor and not that cute in a city of incredibly beautiful people and my only real companion was an on again- off again drunk drag queen named Leo, her drag name Leonora- perfect Lenny and Leonora. What a pair we must have made.
Leo was only six years older I have just discovered but gosh, I thought he was so mature, so experienced. He had BEEN to Broadway, had been to the Met(both the opera house and the museum), the ballet, he knew everything . He was an introduction to a level of sophistication I hadn’t imagined. On our first encounter he bought me the cast recordings to “Dreamgirls” and “Evita”,both spectacular hits. I hadn’t a stereo or even a home at that point but they were totems of a life I so desired.
But Leo as sophisticated as he was, as genteel as he was, was also very familiar with the sordid (yet exhilarating) aspects of the city. We went to the nightclubs if they were free, the lights flash now in my memories , one blur after another. But what Leo enjoyed most was going to the baths. And really they were perfect, they were cheap, all you had to do was buy a towel and you were in…for hours, until dawn. Leo would buy his towel, often if he was flush, buy mine as well, kiss me goodbye, tell me where and when to meet up, and off he went. I can remember still how he draped his towel, he tucked it up well over his chest, inching it as if he had breasts, pushing them together to imitate a cleavage he didn’t possess . I often wondered what the hell he was doing, here in this hyper masculine world , here he was sashaying like some peculiar version of Marilyn Monroe. Yet he was popular.
I was not, I was an invisible boy, goofy, plain and confused . Also I was exhausted. What I often found myself doing was falling asleep. I wasn’t deliberately chaste, I just wasn’t chased. So as I was too broke to buy drinks and afraid of the drugs around me, I found myself falling asleep in the oddest of places, the orgy rooms of the bath houses. I think my unpopularity saved my life. Leo would be dead in less than a decade, and so would pretty much anyone else I knew in this strange wonderful new world. But I survived, and that , I have been thinking about of late. How when I was a young kid,as young as many of those kids in Florida, how I desired to attract the attention of the many beautiful gods that surrounded me, only a few feet away yet I remained invisible. I was lucky.
That is what I wanted to capture in this drawing, that confusion, that dizzying excitement, the pagan energy, that now is only a shadowy memory. Elusive as a lost soul.
The Temptation of St.Anthony (of the Desert)in the St.Marks Baths
2016
sanguine pencil on paper
18 by 24″
It is of course a dense image one full of meaning but what is most significant at least to me is the image of the saint, who resembles a younger me, the clown like figure in the lower right; the skeletal figure in the mask is my dear friend Leo soon to be almost as ruined as this figure I depict.
I haven’t much from that period, the LP’s Leo gave me our long gone, the cliched pink flamingo statuettes he bought ( even though I essentially lived in a car) long broken, but I still have the post card from The New Saint Marks Baths, it captured the glamour and excitement of that place then and now years later, it still does .
An odd bit of ephemera to a period long past. I can’t think about it anymore…
Have a good Independence Day
I’ve been challenging myself with a commitment to my sketchbook, random images, most from source material that has delighted me. In no particular order, a few follow…
a silly musing, I think this is what I do best, in the natural sense
My life drawing course with the excellent Jim Morphesis (link to his work: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/john-seed/jim-morphesis-the-wounds_b_7014096.html )
sadly ended Tuesday. I will miss the experience of having an actual body, in the flesh, in front of me. I benefit keenly, even if the results aren’t immediately apparent, from a live model and consistent and structured practice.
That said, in the stacks of drawings made in this class , very few were worth much more than parakeet liner. And from the rest, only bits and pieces satisfy me.
But one of the issues I am working on is abandoning this mad quest for perfection, I fail miserably each and every time. So relinquishing the claims of my ego, I post some of the drawings from Art 12A ; some from extended poses, some gesture drawings (gestural drawings drive me bonkers).
So now with class ended I will join other forums and study groups…plus I always have myself!
Given tomorrow is St.Patrick’s Day and that its celebration is a well loved childhood memory (my mother’s surname being Murphy after all) I wanted to post something to honor the saint who drove the serpents out of Ireland. I found glancing through past work , that although I am very fond of the saint, I’ve never drawn him before. I decided to remedy that error and set about putting together this rendering .
I hope he would be pleased.
Blessed Saint Patrick
2016
graphite, colored pencil, pastel and mixed media on paper
18 by 24″
Last minute I snipped away one of my relief prints and added the harpy to the composition ; I’m pleased with the result.
I must have sensed on some level that the holiday was approaching as I have been listening to quite a bit of Irish folk music. A favorite is The Raggle Taggle Gypsy O , particularly as interpreted by the great countertenor Andreas Scholl. I thought I would include it into this post. Link below.
Just moments ago I finished up a drawing of the abbot of the desert St. Anthony. This well intentioned saint who sought to avoid worldliness and the corruption that follows only found himself in the thick of it. Anthony is my muse (as he was to Bosch, to symbolists such as Flaubert and to many Surrealists), I turn to him time and again and have lost count as to how many works I have devoted to this early father of the Church . But one attribute of the anchorite that I particularly love is the company he keeps, pigs. The pig is found in many depictions of the hermit but this is the first time I have worked one of my favorite beasties into the composition. I’m sure there will be many more.
In this depiction I tried to incorporate,in a whimsical way, classical elements to depict worldliness ; not that I feel humanism is corrupt but classical sculpture can certainly raise one’s pulse.
The Temptation of St. Anthony of the Desert (and his pig)
2016 graphite and pastel on paper
18 by 24″
My love of pigs is personal, being a vegan I have a particular attachment to this highly intelligent and sensitive creature . David sponsored a pig for me this year as a Christmas present, her name is Sweet Tea and she is well tended to by the loving folks at Ironwood Pig Sanctuary. Although I wish she lived with us we can easily visit her in Tuscon AZ, we plan on visiting her at least every boxing day. This image is from the day we first met, as you can see she is quite adorable and friendly. It is delightful how pigs rush to you when you enter their compound, ever greedy for treats and attention.
Sweet Tea
Like I mentioned Anthony is often depicted with a pig, this little gem of painting by Lelio Orsi (1511-87) is one of my favorites at the Getty, I search it out whenever I visit.
On my last visit I noticed this wee little pig pawing at the anchorite’s robe as fervently as my pug Viola.
As I mentioned I will be sure to return to Anthony time and again, my very sweet and very talented friend, the artist and musician Henry Kitchen offered to pose, sending along this funny photo. He is actually a perfect Anthony, right down to the hoodie.
I’m sure to take him up on the offer very soon.
Until then, back to painting, good night.
