August 2024: A year has passed since I first visited Giotto’s Scrovegni Chapel, in Padua. After taking 40 years in the pilgrimage to arrive at this point, where I could actually stand in reverence, surrounded by the silent, pervading palpable intelligence of his art, all I could do was be present. There were really no surprises. I’ve studied every image for years, pored over every figure’s gesture–from the kiss of Joachim and Anna to the angels rending their clothes over the agony of Jesus. I’ve painted studies of Jonah and the Fish quatrefoil and the “Noli me tangere” among others. Nothing was new to me, except the feel and sense of it all within the solitary peace, under the ultramarine ceiling of the Arena Chapel.
But afterwards, I cried.
As this past year has unfolded, I still find that my goal of reaching that kind of solemn beauty in my own work, remains elusive. Honestly, am I reaching for stars? This past spring and summer I’ve made enormously messy experiments in my studio and have worked in clay as well, still using the light of Giotto’s genius like a star that I can only navigate by, yet never reach. I’m at peace with that, but I won’t quit trying.
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