My family was very, very Catholic. No meat on Fridays, confession on Saturday, church on Sunday…. and that was the least of it. The church dictated what books we read, what movies we saw. Sin could be in thought, word or deed. In high school, when I realized that the church also thought they could rule how I had sex when I was married, I realized that any potential hell wasn’t worth giving up life here and now. I was on to their con game, and I was pissed. I still am.
In this kitchen towel tribute to my mom, I show her life as a cluster of minutia held tightly by a rosary.
My grandmother (left) and my mother as a child (lower right), with the family philosophy.
When my mother died, I constructed a Reliquary with all the scapulars and holy medals in her underwear drawer.
My father had a cherry tree, and each year he did battle with the birds. I took a photo of the two of us, placed it in front of a green lace ‘tree’……
… and created a frame of multi-cultural birds, all set to attack the cherries. Watch out for those new ideas!
Children’s Games 41” h x 30”w (2006) detail below:
The women of my family are seen in angry red here. They’re reaching out to grab my brother, looking back at them in his cowboy hat. On my tricycle, I’m getting away, going up in the air, higher, escaping to smile in the top right corner.
My earlier art was full of this anger. Now, I’d like to claim that I’m past all that. My art has moved on. But still…
I’m writing a post on an upcoming tablet. It’s called Anathomia Corporis Humani - an early medical text. It was the first after medical research was held back for centuries by the pope’s ban on dissections. And I start to fume.
The Magdalene convents in Ireland, the sex abuse scandals all over the world, the hypocrisy, the greed. The dirty bastards.
OK. Enough. You now know the background that informs my art.
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