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04/02/2005: "The Morning Light"

...now I am alone in the silent studio with these great canvases leaning against the walls. At first I feel lost when I look at them, then I almost start to caress them. I would like them to guide my hand, to suggest what I must paint on them.
I don't know why I wanted to go back to a habit I had abandoned some time ago - that of preparing the canvases myself. Who knows, perhaps I wanted to go back to the craftsman's origins of the art of painting. Now I look at the canvas, that I have placed on the easel, as though I already wanted to see the image that would soon appear...

I already have an idea of the title that I wish to give this painting: "The morning light". My thoughts return to when I used to watch the sun rising, bathing the hill in front of my house in Carpineta (between Rimini and Bologna) in morning light. I would be entranced, watching the slow and magical process of shapes being transformed and defined clearly and precisely by the light.

So many times I thought that this spectacle in front of me had been repeated since time began - that an infinite number of people before me had watched the same scene, that I found so enchanting, and in a cultural and emotional frame of mind that was so different from my own. Anyway, they had also taken part in the same event: the light shining down on the hill was the same for them and for me. And perhaps they had been enchanted, too.

I would really like "The morning light" to be the first painting to be started today.

I wanted to highlight constant experiences. I wanted to go back to examine things that do not change, that, by there own nature, cannot change. It might seem strange that a painter who has always believed that he had to show the changes in people's behaviour, who has always tried, even by searching through news headlines, to represent the signs of the time, should produce a reflection on something so diametrically opposite - that he should want to turn his attention to a more dilated sense of time, in which differences fade away and similarities come to the fore.

And I'm not only thinking of "The morning light", but also of people's expressions, of joy, smiles, fear - of the wish to run away, not to be alone and of so many other things.

So I don't believe, although I might seem to at first, that this removal of the contemporary in order to return to a denser and more profound sense of time is a sign of disengagement or disillusion. It is, above all, a wish not to die every day with things that only last for a day.
Sughi, Rome, 2005
Alberto Sughi was born in Cesena in 1928 but has been living in Rome for many years.
(For: www.albertosughi.com

Replies: 5 Comments

on Tuesday, April 5th, jose freitas cruz said

modern times. everything comes so quickly nowadays. you go to the supermarket and you can walk out with a bunch of 2 x 4's. it's like traveling by plane: one minute you step in, and the next you're 5000 miles away - great in a sense, but you don't actually get to travel much do you? stretching your own canvas, priming the surface you plan to work on is for me the traveling bit, the bit we're slowly running the risk of missing out on by falling prey to the wonders of the supermarket mentality. painting [Art] takes time and time starts to show its effect on our work when we decide to allow it back.

on Tuesday, April 5th, ! said

I always thought it was a money thing. It's cheaper to stretch yer own. As I follow suit to Paul's last sentance, I remember the days of buying a 10'x12' canvass drop cloth, cutting to size, and stretching them on old 2"x4"'s I found in the alley. Anywhere from 4 to 20 or so stretched canvass' for 15 bucks! And heh...if you buy right, you can find some pretty thick canvass.

on Tuesday, April 5th, Paul said

Alberto,its not unusual for one to want different things in ones life or in ones art,and to often feel a yearning for what was,or what might have been,whilst at the same time going in a different direction,after all life itself is a rich mixture of many things, thoughts,hopes, desires,problems,reality and imagination,you talk about making or preparing your own canvases,I do this a lot and have always done,it does bring a workmanlike quality to ones art,and in an odd way gives one a link to the past way of artmaking,often there are people who say they know nothing about this side of art,that its the craft side,but unless they whom take this veiw are geniuses,in which case they are forgiven,then I strongly advise any artist who is worth their salt to get down and dirty with the old hammer saw and wood,and start making a few stretchers,and sizing and priming up their own canvases,such tasks should be de rigour for anyone who calls themself an artist,which is a loose term these days.What I really like is someone whos suffered for their art,gone without,with not a happy ending but rather still at it.

on Monday, April 4th, Bill Mitchell Less said

Geeze BMM... sounds like you're still flustered with/by chaos theory.

Sughi's writing is thought provoking however.

on Sunday, April 3rd, Brad Michael Moore said

I wonder - who can really know when they are experiencing the pinnacle of life’s essence within their own surroundings? I suspect, there is a point when the people you parlayed with, your work, and life, meld into your time’s most valuable lessons. Such lessons earmark the essence of one’s generation, and that peak of zeal only thoughts of reflection can one day define. Through recollections, we revisit that realm of our zenith over and again as we slowly sow into our waning years. Hopefully, one’s work becomes truest after being touched by the understanding of one’s experiences mostly past. All in all, such wisdoms come at the price of bodily failures, and a weakening interest in the pursuits of youthful aspirations - once so easily imagined, procured, and expended. Still, with every sunset, there is always hope towards the sunrise that may follow… From time’s beginning to time’s end, the sun, moon, and stars will be followed. Dreams do go on forever.