This Is Not Nostalgia/ Who Doesn’t Curse the River of Time?
The town I live in was once a fishing village, and even today residents can be seen repairing their boats and nets. These fishermen and their families lived in tiny houses of which there are few remaining. Most have been bulldozed as a result of a law which allows a developer to build an apartment building on a lot in exchange for an apartment or two to the owner. These paintings pay homage to the passing of this vernacular architecture and the lifestyle that accompanied it. Likewise, scenes from Athens’ former, now abandoned airport also recall another era, one more promising of an upward trajectory, as do the old, not-quite-abandoned cars left on streets. Finally, I record the cumulative inability to maintain public infrastructure, contrasting this phenomenon with the proliferation of new apartment buildings.
While painting these pictures I had the strange feeling of reviving something, making the subjects new again. The subjects receive a face-lift through the inevitable smoothing over of bumps, cracks and rust. At the same time, the sensation of engaging in an age-old technique, that of classical oil painting on small canvases, is one of going backwards in time. The passing of time, from new to old, and cycles of prosperity and poverty, are themes that have taken on increasing importance to me as I acknowledge my own physical aging.
The town I live in was once a fishing village, and even today residents can be seen repairing their boats and nets. These fishermen and their families lived in tiny houses of which there are few remaining. Most have been bulldozed as a result of a law which allows a developer to build an apartment building on a lot in exchange for an apartment or two to the owner. These paintings pay homage to the passing of this vernacular architecture and the lifestyle that accompanied it. Likewise, scenes from Athens’ former, now abandoned airport also recall another era, one more promising of an upward trajectory, as do the old, not-quite-abandoned cars left on streets. Finally, I record the cumulative inability to maintain public infrastructure, contrasting this phenomenon with the proliferation of new apartment buildings.
While painting these pictures I had the strange feeling of reviving something, making the subjects new again. The subjects receive a face-lift through the inevitable smoothing over of bumps, cracks and rust. At the same time, the sensation of engaging in an age-old technique, that of classical oil painting on small canvases, is one of going backwards in time. The passing of time, from new to old, and cycles of prosperity and poverty, are themes that have taken on increasing importance to me as I acknowledge my own physical aging.