Growing Things Change
WORKS BY
CHARLES DEANTONIO
Exhibit Guide
I’ve always loved drawing, the simple skill of setting down with my hand what I see with my eye, and that was a focus of some of my earliest work as an artist.
Disinterest, pencil on paper
I spent a lot of time in these years in sketch clubs, and they influenced my thinking as much as my skill. This sketch from my old folio captures a lot of my view of and relationship with humanity at the time: the large empty space filling most of the page, the model posed with little grace, particularly from the angle of the viewer, the closed eyes, the face neither oriented toward or truly away from the viewer, the word, DISINTEREST, dashed at the bottom.
With both etching and drypoint the artist scratches a faint image onto a plate, covers it with ink, and pulls a print, which is a mirror image of the original. I still like these images, appreciating their very still, very quiet representations of the world, but looking back from here, the technique strikes me as distancing the artist from the work: he makes a faint image, obscures it entirely with ink, then looks at the print to see what he’s got, a reverse of the marks he made.
Old Rice Field, etching
Old Rice Field, drypoint
A Harvest of Yesteryear, etching
Memento mori: Skull studies are traditional subjects for artists reminding themselves again and again how the human face is constructed, but for me, memento mori (remember your death), was hardly a necessary reminder. I remembered all the time and without much salutary effect.
In Book I of his Confessions St. Augustine articulates in prayer the idea with which I languished:
For what do I wish to say, O Lord my God, but that I know not whence I came hither into this—shall I call it dying life or living death?
Small Profile, drypoint
Large Front View, monotype
Early Work
In time, I moved away from figurative work altogether. Interestingly, these purely conceptual images were much more expressive of the ideas I was trying to work out. During my abstract years I began regularly attending church again, accompanying my grandmother, Katharine DuPre, to her beloved St. Andrew’s and listening to Terrell Glenn’s sermons. The very beginning of Genesis loomed large through that time and my turbulent interior life was something like the description of the earth in chapter 1, verse 2 – without form and void, darkness was over the face of the deep, but the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters. Until at last, I moved into verse 3 – God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light.
In some ways, my color field paintings were like abstracted landscapes, overlaying hazy hues in compositions of the merest suggestion, focused on balancing the elements of horizon, sky, and focal points in tonal relationship without regard for form.
Large color field painting, oil on canvas
2 small geometric paintings, gouache on paper
Moving in a very different direction, I became interested in the expressive capacity of pure gesture without content. A very kind friend said he saw echoes of Rembrandt in these panels – high praise indeed – and a surprising recognition of my modest, searching movement toward meaning. I was, as yet, unsure what meaning there might be, but was increasingly convinced it was there to be found.
2 gestural abstracts, oil on panel
To some extent, the title of this print tells its own story. From earliest childhood I was haunted by twin terrors of dark space expanding away, on and on in every direction, forever and ever, and of an imminent monolith looming inscrutably whether far or near. During this time in my life, though they did not entirely lose their power, those fears began to lose their sway as my mind and heart were opened to the truth and love of God, Who revealed not only Himself, but also all things in His Light.
Genesis 1:2, etching
2. Abstracts
While God worked the miracle of faith in my mind and heart, His work in my life seemed similarly miraculous, as I met and married my wife, started a family, and became an active member of our church. As my relationships flourished, my love for and understanding of the people around me grew, and I started working on portraits again.
Perhaps my early work can be understood as the art of isolation, an inward retreat, to get away from people and contact with the real. As I became more accessible to those around me, my work did, too.
Portrait of the artist’s father, Charlie D. – Painting this portrait of my father helped me grieve and give thanks for all that he was and all that he was to me.
Lucy Miller
Lamby – Our daughter’s much-loved companion from babyhood was such a part of the family it seemed natural to honor him with a portrait.
Portrait of the artist’s daughter, conte and charcoal on paper – Our Katharine loved dressing up and could occasionally be persuaded to model for me in a costume of her own devising. Though I chose not to include the bright orange popsicle in her left hand, I still think of this picture as The Popsicle Princess.
Portrait of the artist’s daughter, pencil on paper
3. Portraits
Several years ago I began a number of projects almost as a dare to myself. In the early days of my training, all the professors agreed that no one believed in God anymore, nor in the grand stories and ideals that furnished subjects for most of the great paintings of the Western tradition. Having learned that they were wrong about God – many people believed, including me – I wanted to see if people were, indeed, still interested in the "old and stale" historical subjects, as I was.
My first attempt at narrative painting was "David and Goliath," with a young boy whose portrait I had just painted as David and my father as Goliath. Both of them were delighted with their roles and thoroughly enjoyed the whole process.
David and Goliath, oil on canvas
Goliath study, charcoal on paper
Goliath study, charcoal on paper
David study, charcoal on paper
David hand study, charcoal on paper
Props for David painting: 1) Sword 2) Sling with stone
4. Narrative Work
This work was inspired by the model, Bishop Gadsden resident, Charlie Luce. He was 93 and still teaching Sunday School when I met him. His kind face, bright eyes, and love for the Lord made him just right for Simeon, but all dressed up in aba and skullcap he grew self-conscious and stiff . . . until my wife asked him to pray. As he lifted his hand and his gaze heavenward, this dear, old saint relaxed naturally into the pose you see here.
This painting is set, and now hangs, in the narthex of St Philip’s Church in Charleston, and every aspect of the project was a joy to me.
The Rest on the Flight to Egypt was another painting of opportunity, since I already had the models and costumes for painting the Presentation at the Temple. Prints of the image were used to raise funds for a special project at Patrick Henry College in Virginia, where the painting was on loan for several years.
The stability of the Holy Family’s triangular composition and a strong, protective Joseph shelter the baby, while the dark clouds gather overhead. The scarlet poppies, Palestinian “lilies of the field,” allude to God’s grace to the humble and meek. Their pause for rest in a ruin brings in details that signal Christ’s coming triumph over sin and death, notably the fallen Corinthian capital, incomplete arch, and the broken thistle in the foreground.
Rest on the Flight to Egypt, oil on canvas
Large Simeon study, charcoal
Simeon study, oil on canvas
Presentation composition study, charcoal
Simeon study, charcoal
Simeon study, charcoal
Mary study, charcoal
Mary hands, mouth study, red conte and charcoal
Rest composition study, charcoal
Presentation sight lines study, charcoal
St Philip’s doors, charcoal
Props for history paintings:
1) Sandals, Cap, and Folded aba
2) Offering Cage for doves
5. Presentation at the Temple
and Rest on the Flight to Egypt
As much as I love portraits and narrative paintings, the simple, direct loveliness of painting landscapes represents for me a growth in love and freedom. Truly, as an artist and a churchman, the work nearest my heart is painting sacred subjects to be placed in sacred spaces, and I’ll do it every chance I get! But for pure love of beauty, it’s hard to beat a landscape.
The artist walks through the world with open eyes, ready to be delighted by a cloud or the light of a particular afternoon; with his scene selected, he spends time with it, looking with care to really see what’s there; then he mixes his colors and begins to paint, seeking to present the beauty before him as an offering to God and his neighbor. Teaching others how to approach landscapes in this same way has been a wonderful extension of this offering and a lot of fun!
6. Landscapes
Apple, oil on canvas – My wife brought this home from an apple picking excursion in the mountains of North Carolina, and the beautiful, flawed fruit looked to me like a natural allegory.
Apple, charcoal
Lilies, conte – These volunteers popped up as a quiet and lovely Easter surprise in our backyard a few years ago. Now we watch for them annually with the return of the season.
Big Redhead, red conte – A study after Michelangelo
Man with black hat, charcoal – A study after Rembrandt
Mary, oil on canvas – This study ponders Mary’s radiant humility at the overwhelming mystery of the annunciation.
St Philip’s from Above, charcoal, white and red conte – While parking garages have little to recommend them architecturally, they often open up interesting new perspectives for the artist.
7. Other Work