Master of Fine Arts Thesis Off the Wagon? Then Go to God

Master of Fine Arts Thesis

Off The Wagon? Then Go To god.

Francesco Gattuso

Submitted in partial satisfaction of the requirement for the degree of Master of Fine Arts, School of Art and Design Alfred-Düsseldorf Painting New York State College of Ceramics at Alfred University Alfred, New York

2020

Francesco Gattuso, MFA

Stefan Kürten, Thesis Advisor

Abstract

Off the Wagon? Then Go To god, uses painted visuals to give a glimpse of what life looks like as a non-white person in a predominately white community. Francesco Gattuso draws upon Mediterranean folklore, customs, and mythology along with Abrahamic stories and high fantasy imagery to address issues of identity and being “other” within the United States. He utilizes mediums such as watercolor pencil and gold leaf to illustrate difficult content. Francesco Gattuso uses personal experiences, storytelling, illustration, and symbolism to address the complexities of identity, isolation, and misrepresentation.

Acknowledgments

First off I would like to pay a special thank you to my faculty here at Alfred University:

Kevin Wixted, Thank you for taking me under your wing all those years ago and for being such a great professor, mentor, and at times even a paternal figure in my life. The lessons you’ve shared during many conversations over the course of many years will not be forgotten. Stephanie McMahon, You have been a constant source of tranquility throughout this whole tumultuous storm also known as Graduate School. Heidi Hahn, There has not been a single time where you have been anything other than yourself. Never afraid to speak your mind and say it how it is, you are full of a tenacity that is unmatched and unwavering. Jutta Haeckel, Thank you for distilling in me that famous German work ethic, also always having something positive to say, for picking me up off my feet and for taking me to the hospital when needed. Stefan Kürten, I truly appreciate how much you were willing to listen and learn about the complexities of American identity. For never getting defensive and always staying calm even at times I could not.

To my first cohort, the Alfred/ Dusseldorf MFA in Painting inaugural class of 2020. There were many times we joked about how if we were to ever meet outside of school we would never be friends but in truth, there is not another group of people I would have chosen to travel around the world and form a family with. I will always cherish the fights, laughs, hugs, and love we have for one another. I would do anything to go back to Dusseldorf with y’all yelling at each other in the streets of Berlin, smoking in Amsterdam, finding a way out of London with only three hours of sleep, and finding ourselves in strange Parisian apartments at 4 in the mourning. I wish I could have finished with you all and we could have had the proper goodbyes we deserved:

Haley, You brought vigor to the studio like no one else that seeped into all of us, forcing us to work even when thought we couldn’t. You will forever be an older sibling, stay different. Taylor, Always there to make us remember the love we had for each other. To make us laugh when we were down, and hug after we fought. I’ve known you for over 7 years at this point and I hope we know each other for 7 more. Edward, MY DUDE! Thank you so much for everything. The fights, the laughs, the food dates, the tears, the yelling, the hugging, and the difficult conversations that needed to be had. You reminded me of who I was, where I came from, and why it is imperative that we speak up, not stay

iii quiet and always critique those above us, around us, and most importantly ourselves. Lauren, Thank you for helping me make my way through foreign lands. You were always there helping me find my path and myself along the way. I wouldn’t change a second of it.

To my second cohort, the class of 2021 and 2022, I’m so glad I met you all and gained your input on this body of work and where it’s heading. You are all amazing and doing phenomenal. The first semester and the last will be the strangest. Have fun in Dusseldorf it’s an amazing city with so much to offer young artists.

Josh, You are smarter and more creative than any computer program could ever be. I hope one day you get that life long cyborg partner you long for. Thank you for being the best consigliere you could be. Mike, Keep learning and asking questions man! Don’t stop growing. Ms. Emma, You’ve been nothing but a ray of sunshine this semester. Always there with a kind word and a big smile. Don’t stop pushing yourself and taking the work in all different directions. Nina, Your voice is powerful and holds the weight of a giant. When you speak the room becomes so silent you can hear a pin drop. Comrade Maddy, You are always ready to talk about the things others would rather leave unsaid and it is needed. Isse, Thanks for being my studio neighbor and for the long car ride talks about life, school, and the stages of life.

To the Sculpture and Dimensional Studies department:

Rïse Peacock, I wish we formally met sooner but extremely thankful for meeting you when I did. Your voice has been extremely influential this semester and you drove the work to places it otherwise would not have gone. Monir Madkour, Thankful to call you friend. Extremely happy about the studio visits we had through the years we’ve spent here in Alfred. Good luck with all future endeavors my friend. Felicity Machado, I don’t even know where to begin. First off without you, this paper wouldn’t exist. While being from completely different cultures our shared lived experiences are uncanny. The conversations we have had are not like any other during my time here at Alfred. Thank you for making me realize I’m not alone and there is a whole community out there outside of this one streetlight village.

To the Electronic Integrated Arts department:

Eric Souther, It was a pleasure working with you. The conversations we had will continue to open up new questions for some time to come. Leslie Rollins, My dear, dear friend Leslie. I will always cherish the lunches we shared over crappy Jet food, discussing the very framework of our perceived reality and about how everyone besides us (well sometimes even us) sucks. I will always remember the laughs we shared and will never forget that that’s what this is all about.

To my Reynolds family, I love you all to a degree I cannot even put to words:

Tom, You will forever be and always are my brother. You’ll be pleased to know that I have owned up to the instigating tendencies I have been known to produce. I wouldn’t have been able to get through the early years without you. Zach, Your go with the flow attitude and fuck it mentality is what is needed in this hard world. I’m excited about your wedding and to be your best man. I will always remember how you never asked why or passed judgment with the bullshit I got myself into, you just helped. Grant, Your calm demeanor and philosophical outlook on life was always there to temper my reactive decisions. I often think back to the long conversations we had late at night on 45’s patio. Mariah, You’re the gruncle I never knew I needed. The love and support you have shown me through the years we have known each other will never be forgotten.

To the faculty that told me to drop out. Thank you because I needed that critique. Regardless there is a better way to relay difficult information to a nineteen-year-old.

Last but not least my Mom. You’ve always been in my corner and there isn’t a doubt in my mind you will be. You’ve shown me how to go high when they go low. How to stay standing when they took my legs and how to yell out when they sniped my tongue. You are and will always be my inspiration. I love you.

….It really did take a village

Table of Contents

Abstract…………………………………………………………………… i

Acknowledgements……………………………………………………. ii

Table of Contents……………………………………………………….. v

Preface…………………………………………………………………… vi

Prologue: Exiting, Traversing, Surviving………………………………..1

Off the Wagon: Death by Assimilation…………………………….... 9

Go to god I. Imposter…………………………………………………………. 18 II. The Den…………………………………………………………. 20 II. Four of Arrows………………………………………………….. 22 III. The Horns……………………………………………………….. 24 V. Voyeur………………………………………………………….. 32

Epilogue: Existing, Transforming, Thriving……………………………. 34

Bibliography………………………………………………………………. 35

“I should like to consider the importance of the difference in the color of our skin. From ancient times we have considered white skin more elegant, more beautiful than dark skin, and yet somehow this whiteness of ours differs from that of the white races. Taken individually there are Japanese who are whiter than Easterners and Westerners who are darker than Japanese, but their whiteness and darkness is not the same….Thus it is that when one of us goes among a group of Westerners it is like a grimy stain on a sheet of white paper. The sight offends even our own eyes and leaves none too pleasant a feeling.”

--Jun'ichiro Tanizaki, In Praise of Shadows, 1933

Prologue: Existing, Traversing, Surviving

To be “other” within our society forces one to become hyper-aware of where they exist physically, emotionally, and socially in space. There is a consciousness within every action. Am I taking up too much space? Do I sound too angry? Aggressive? Do the people I surround myself with accept me or are they only pretending to? Do they trust me? Do I trust them? How do I navigate this? There is a weight of worry in every action, a consciousness of being an “other” within a white society.

I’ve been the introvert, followed by the partygoer and finally the clown: goofy, comical, and full of jest. I was easy to keep around and only spoke about the problematic framework of our society if it was in the context of satire. I had to take on this role, hide my individuality, in order to survive. All the while knowing how deeply wrong this was in the first place and how much of a privilege it was to even have the ability to hide.

For most of my life, I have existed in predominantly white communities. I am an Italian American, thus my cultural background is categorized as white within this country, but throughout my life, I have always been viewed as a non-white person. This contradiction created its own unique challenges and setbacks for me in most social settings. For the most part, I could blend in, a major privilege in itself. I would keep my head low and not say much, dealing with the comments about the color of my skin, Mafioso stereotypes, infuriating questions such as “what are

2 you?” or “where are you from?” Because I existed in white spaces and I have a darker complexion while staying non-controversial, people would be comfortable being openly racist around me. I would hear negative and racist comments about people from Central and South America quickly followed by, “but not you,” or people would ask me pointed questions about 9 11; all the while they have no concept of how ignorant they are. But I kept my head low and didn’t say much.

My father and his parents are immigrants from Italy. My mother is

Italian American and her family comes from a few generations of waitresses, bus drivers, landscapers, and construction workers. Both sides of my family live their lives in the way many immigrants and working-class families do, with surviving being their main goal. They distilled in me a mentality that is common in families with similar backgrounds. You do not question and you do not complain, you work hard and you survive. I could hear my family saying, “You’re Italian do you know what that means? You take pride in what you do. You work hard and long. That’s your boss and they own you. If your job is to shovel shit, then you’ll be the best shit shoveler you can be.” The message was clear, you don’t draw attention to yourself, you don’t complain, you stay apolitical and you don’t call out the racism you experience. You shovel the shit so you can excel, you get the grades, you get that letter of rec, you get that job, you get that promotion. You keep your head down (see fig. 1-4.)

fig. 1. Between Two Mornings, 2019, acrylic and watercolor on canvas, 5’ x 4’

fig. 2. Love War and the Forge, 2019, acrylic on canvas, 4’ x 5’

fig. 3. You Find Yourself, 2020, acrylic and polyurethane on board, 3.5’ x 3’

fig. 4. Have You Heard of any Rumors?, 2020, acrylic polyurethane on board, 3.5’ x 3’

My jester suit was worn so well it became a part of me. It allowed me to blend in without fuss but not without a conflicted conscience. I shoveled the shit so well and for so long, that I was conditionally accepted in my predominantly white community. I was no longer questioned about how I looked or spoke. I was able to assimilate just enough. But that wasn’t enough. My lived experience was still so different from my community of white colleagues, neighbors, and friends, that a disconnect between us existed regardless. Deep isolation grew. I was surviving in this place, but at what cost? I was not truly being myself, but a hollow transparent shell of who I could be. I was also conflicted by being more readily accepted as white-passing than my peers who couldn’t.

Who was I to reap the benefits of passing in this place, while so many others could not? What about those who are not white-passing, those whose cultures have not yet been whitewashed? Or the folx who refuse to assimilate, who refuse to stay quiet when people misstep? Or those who openly and proudly speak about their lived experience within our country? Those who shine a light on the things we tend to look away from, the things we need to look at? Those who opened doors. I had sat back and watched as close friends fought alone, tooth and nail, for change in this world. Then after COVID-19 surfaced and so many died, and are still dying, the pivotal protests emerged surrounding the murder of George

Floyd. Further pushing doors open. How could I continue to walk through

8 all the doors, without holding the door for others to walk through as well? I began to reassess my life. I reevaluated what was important to me and how I want to spend my limited time on this Earth. I realized, it was time for me to get off the wagon, and go to god.

Off the Wagon: Death by Assimilation

First, it would be important to state that I am defining assimilation as

“the experience of adopting the language and culture of a dominant social group, or nation, and the state of being socially integrated into the dominant culture.”

You are told that the only way to succeed within the society is to assimilate. These demands usually begin with the phrase “In America” and end with an assertion of one culture over the other. It is a tactic used by the dominant social group, in this case, white Americans, to shame immigrant families from keeping any pride concerning their culture of origin. By the erasure of this pride, there is a loss of individuality.

Metaphorically, and sometimes literally, these cultural differences are beaten out of generations in efforts to make them become closer to white Americans, which remains an impossible task.

Every time you assimilate, you kill a part of yourself. You may need to do this multiple times in your life. Through this death, you lose parts of your culture and subsequently part of your identity. These deaths shape who you are and will shape the generations after you. You are taught to kill yourself through example. The family members who first immigrate over to the United States are the ones who pass down how to kill themselves.

If they cannot speak English they strive to learn it. As a means of survival they tend to stay quiet at work, only using their native tongue in their home to their children or not at all. They encourage their children to learn English, in hopes that they can get a good job and have a good life.

Their children either then suppress their parents’ native language or never learn it, using phrases and words only with people they are comfortable with. The chances of the 2nd generation learning the language are slim to none and with the 3rd generation even less so. As a result, the language is dead. A part of themselves has been killed. If their descendants want to learn it, then they face an uphill battle: first do they have the mental energy and free time to learn it? Second, the whole time you are learning it, you feel as though you should have known it your whole life. Then they hear people not native to the culture use the language and they’re called “cultured” or “educated” while your immigrant relatives are shamed for not assimilating. Language is one of the many things that is killed, others include food, clothes, family traditions, and cultural customs.

However, some immigrant families are different than others and these cultural deaths are not experienced in the same way. It is important to state there are privileges within certain immigrant groups who migrate to the United States. Did they have the resources to learn English before immigrating? Are they wealthy? Did they come from Europe? Was it

11 northern Europe? Are they white? Each yes means there is less of yourself that you must kill.

The one thing that is hardest to kill is the way you look. It takes generations of cultural mixing for this to occur. During that process, you’re confronted with what it means to be an other. I was once sitting at a local bar in my hometown with a few of my conservative Republican friends. A drunken, elderly, white man, who we didn’t know, sat down with us. We were polite and didn’t tell him to leave. He’s funny and openly hits on my friends. This makes them uncomfortable, but I enjoy the role reversal and a challenge to their heteronormativity. He then begins to bash Trump and

I’m loving it. As I encourage his behavior, he looks at me and says to my face “You’re not Anglo-Saxon.” He begins to belittle my features and skin, then calls me an I-Tie. My conservative Republican friends remove him from the table and he’s kicked out of the bar. The night went on, we kept drinking and we didn’t talk about it. I’m fine, everything’s fine the moment passes. A year later I’m in Düsseldorf, Germany. I love it there, people are friendly. I’m thinking I might move here, maybe I can belong here. My liberal Democrat girlfriend and I go to a beer hall down the street. We ask the white blond-haired hostess for a seat. She responds, “Are you Syrian?”

I say no and that I’m from New York. She doesn’t believe me and repeats the question. I give her the same answer. We do this multiple times until I am more firm with my tone and she finally seats us. My girlfriend asks what

12 that was about. I tell her it was a micro-aggression and she says I’m overthinking the situation. The hardest part of yourself to kill is the way you look and that is the trap of assimilation: you can't fully assimilate unless you are white. They tell you to kill your culture and so that you can become one of them, to give up everything (your accent, your food preferences, your language) so that you’ll be accepted into their society. But then it’s time to give up your outward appearance and that’s not easy. They demonize you for your skin color, the shape of your eyes, your hair. They call you ugly and say that your traits are undesirable. But they still expect you to act like one of them, even though they will never accept you as one of them.

You must kill a part of yourself to exist outside of your community and within any white-dominated spaces. This includes career paths as well as physical environments. Censorship begins with specific colloquialisms, mannerisms, and fashion sensibilities. Any space that is white in which you are other is a space where you must kill a part of yourself to exist. I can’t help but think of a passage by bell hooks1, regarding how omissions of the self are made in attempts to be accepted within white society and spaces.

1 hooks, bell. 1995. Art on my mind: visual politics.

“…the black body as Basquiat shows it is incomplete, not fulfilled, never a full image. And even when he is “calling out” the work of black stars – sports figures, entertainers – there is still the portrayal of incompleteness, and the message the complicity negates. These works suggest that assimilation and participation in a bourgeois white paradigm can lead to a process of self-objectification that is just as dehumanizing as any racist assault by white culture. Content to be only what the oppressors want, this black image can never be fully self-actualized. It must always be represented as fragmented. Expressing a firsthand knowledge of the way assimilation and objectification lead to isolation, Basquiat’s black male figures stand alone and part. They are not whole people…” (p. 39)

bell hooks describe the process of self-objectification as a form of assimilation, as a method to kill part of yourself, making you less whole.

When I first moved to Alfred, a small rural western New York village, it was rough. It still is rough; it took many deaths. I was afraid to speak because of my accent. During my studies, in the classrooms, I wouldn’t talk. When I did, people would point out my accent, and tell me I was illiterate. This happened in my work setting as well. I would leave out words that I knew I pronounced differently to avoid the comments. All this censorship was because I did not want them to hear that Italian

Americans from Brooklyn raised me. I was afraid they would stereotype me as stupid. Speaking became a mine-field. When I had to speak I would throw out half-baked ideas trying to hide my accent, unable to convey what I really wanted to say. Ironic. Then, over time my accent faded. My politically correct art classmates would call me a “swag-fag”

14 for how I dressed. I was told to go back to the Jersey Shore. I’m not from

Jersey. Over time my clothes changed. A professor once called me out during a class discussion about the way I walked. The conversation had nothing to do with how I walked. It was in that moment I became aware that I even walked differently than my peers. That part of me also died.

Now I sound college-educated, I dress appropriately for Western New

York and the “swag” has been taken out of my step. But one thing could not change. My skin. I will never look like the people who call this area home. I still get stared at in restaurants in Hornell, or at the Roller Skate rink in Wellsville. I can never be white and nor do I want to be. To assimilate is to divide oneself up into unnaturally altered parts in order to survive. It is to self mutilate by cutting away healthy limbs and to watch them wither and die away, to then be replaced with parts your body rejects.

In most cases, it is difficult for the victims of assimilation to find a place within the United States where they truly belong unless they are white immigrants or their descendants successfully and completely killed their culture to become white-American. But those who have not fully assimilated, those in between the first immigrants and the moment of true cultural death, lack a true home.

When certain groups of immigrants come to the United States, they stay in the United States. It has taken them so long to get here. To fight and claw for the American Dream, which is just that, a dream, so they don’t leave. They take pride in now being American and because of this they never return to their country of origin.

Without the reconnection to their homeland, they create a time capsule of their culture. They remember what it was like to live in their country, the social norms, and customs of that time. They hold onto this frozen narrative and teach it to their children. During all the reminiscing and storytelling, there isn’t talk of returning. Maybe they don’t return because they know what they experienced is gone. They’ve spent years of their lives working and hustling in a country that only values them in terms of the labor they have provided, while their actual home has passed them by and faded away. If their children go to visit the country of origin, they are unlikely to be accepted. I went to Italy, and despite all the stories I was told by my grandparents, it was not what I thought it to be.

What my Nonna (Grandma) and Nonno (Grandpa) described was 60 years outdated. No one used the words they knew or did the things that used to be done. The place where I thought I would finally belong was just as unaccepting of me as the estranged place I lived my whole life.

When I return home to Long Island for holidays or other functions, my uncles, unaccustomed to my new voice, ask “Why are you talking like that?” Because of my white voice I have become a stranger to them. I then realize I belong nowhere. Not in rural Western New York and no longer where I am from on Long Island. I used to have dreams of moving to the fabled Brooklyn, so that I could connect more with my mother and her parents. When my Mom talks about growing up in Italian communities within Brooklyn her voice is always full of nostalgia. Then, when she visits she’s angry. “This isn’t Brooklyn.” But sadly it is. Despite her relocation and assimilation to the white suburbs of Long Island, her attempt to give her kids a better life, she would still teach me about what Brooklyn used to be.

She’d tell me about certain slang that was used, about bars and clubs that no longer exist and a form of Italian American culture that has all but faded away. This and the tales of Italy no longer hold true. Assimilation has killed me and taken away any chance I had of belonging anywhere.

I have a feeling most immigrants and their families come to this conclusion maybe towards the end of their lives, during their twilight years, when they have time to reflect. I’m speaking with my Nonna; she has the

Italian channel on in the kitchen as she makes us Espresso and a song comes on. She and my Nonno start dancing the Tango. They are in their late 70’s and I have never seen them move this fast. They stop and she

17 goes to get a tambourine. They then dance some more. I ask why she has never shown me any of this. “Because we are American now little Frank.” I go home that night and do some research into my culture, as most people who are a product of assimilation have to do. I learn about another dance from Calabria (this is where my Nonna and Nonno are from). It is called the Tarantella. I ask my Nonna about it when I see her.

She tells me she can’t show me because she is too old now. She tells me that you are supposed to dance at weddings. She and my Nonno got married in America. The first ones in our family to do so she says proudly.

But she didn’t get to dance the Tarantella. Her eyes become glassy as she realizes how much of herself she had to kill for us to become American.

“Even if I’m not here anymore will you dance the Tarantella for me at your wedding gioia mia?

“Sì Nonna I’ll dance the Tarantella.”

Going to god

Imposter

Two figures occupy the frame. The central figure sits shoulders squared, looking directly at the viewer while wearing a white pointed hat. White diamonds are painted around his shocked wide eyes. A crooked smile is plastered onto his face revealing sharp teeth. Behind him, windows shatter as snake-like vines breakthrough. Simultaneously a human figure with long yellow hair and a white reflective body is situated in front of this figure, their back is turned to the viewer obscuring their identity as they point a knife at the central figure (see fig.5).

fig. 5. Imposter, 2020, watercolor, color pencil, gloss medium, pearlescent powder, acrylic on panel, 3’x2’

The central figure, a caricatured version of myself, becomes an archetype throughout all the works. He wears a white pointed party hat, has white face paint around red tired eyes, sharp black nails, and a wide twisted sharp toothed grin. This painting, Imposter, is situated within the body of work from, Off the Wagon? Then Go To god. The painting utilizes both the softness of watercolor and the intensity of the content to discuss otherness, demonization and personal mythology. In, Imposter, the reoccurring figure is held at knifepoint but remains unnervingly calm. It is within this moment of exasperated tension that the work from Off the

Wagon? Then Go To god, gives a glimpse of what life looks like as a non- white person in a predominately white community. I draw upon

Mediterranean folklore, customs, and mythology along with Abrahamic stories and high fantasy imagery to address issues of identity and being

“other” within the United States. I use personal experiences, storytelling, illustration, and symbolism to address the complexities of identity, isolation, and misrepresentation.

The Den

My work utilizes watercolor and colored pencils to create dramatized and illustrative scenarios based on personal experience. The audience is lured into the work through a vocabulary of soft colors and application of the watercolor mark making. This depiction, reminiscent of storybook scenes, creates an opportunity for the viewer to be caught within the narrative and translate the meaning for themselves. The translucency of layers plays an important role within the paintings. This element allows the environments, objects, and figures to move in and out of one another, emphasizing the relationships between figure and environment. The quality of painting references the use of illuminated manuscripts within western society. Illuminated manuscripts were a popular illustration techniques genre of art within Medieval Europe. Monks and other church officials would illustrate biblical stories onto vellum lined with gold and silver, a technique appropriated from the Muslim societies to the east2. This application of translucency and embellishment interested me and can be seen within the painting, The Den. Three figures sit within the center of the painting interlocked within a domestic space. A white wolf sits at the bottom of the frame, intertwined with the legs of the

2 Joshua J. Mark, “Illuminated Manuscripts,” Ancient History Encyclopedia (Ancient History Encyclopedia, November 5, 2020), https://www.ancient.eu/Illuminated_Manuscripts/.

21 man sitting behind it. The body under the wolf’s fur appears fragile and transparent, blending into the blue jeans of the man. The man’s leg is draped over the wolf and takes on the same white glow as the fur behind it. Through this application of paint the wolf and man seem to be weaving in and out of one another, appearing as if they are one entity. To contrast, the woman in the scene sits behind the man and remains solid and whole.

She has similar complexion and hair color to him; though she lacks the devilish grin, red eyes and clown costume. There is a moment of intimacy between them as she carefully tattoos the man’s shoulder but with concern draped deeply across her face (see fig.6). This moment explores the complexities of vulnerability, shame, and the collapse of self with demons.

fig. 6 The Den, 2020, watercolor, color pencil, gloss medium, pearlescent powder, acrylic on panel, 3’x2’

Four of Arrows

The definition of borders becomes a device that allows me to manipulate and to emphasis the composition. Taking visual elements from Art

Nouveau, Tarot cards and Medieval heraldry, the borders act not only as decorative embellishment but also an opportunity to signify contextual motifs seen within the work. For example, Four of Arrows, has a diamond border around its edges consisting of embellished gold arrows and raised

23 dots. The reflective pearlescent quality contrasts the matt finish of the watercolor illustration. This creates a moment of tension between the sign, the textured gold arrows, and the matte translucent content. In this way, the borders of the paintings foretell the drama within the frame. The image depicts the main character with his back up against a tree, shoulders square to the viewer and full of arrows. His face is dazed, eyes almost crossed as he smiles through lingering pain. On either side of the tree is a dense jungle, on the left is a white figure draped in shadow and intertwined with the foliage. There is a sense of recent action. The viewer is witness to the aftermath, the arrows have been shot and the character is navigating the residual pain. The violence is quiet and without resolution.

While the white and pink diamonds around the border echo the colors within the image, there is a cycle being repeated. The white shapes painted on the figure's face and the blood on his body are predicted within the border and unfold to the viewer. (see fig.7). Within each painting the scene is always in progress, never resolved and the viewer is left to wonder and search for what led up to it, the borders offering breadcrumbs.

fig. 7. Four of Arrows, 2020, watercolor, color pencil, gloss medium, pearlescent powder, acrylic on panel, 3’x2’

The Horns

Symbolic imagery exists within my work to help convey the complexity of lived experience. The symbols take the form of

Mediterranean hand gestures along with objects to signify love,

25 protection, lust, warning, and torment. The use of symbols direct the undertones of the paintings. For example, the caricatured version of myself takes on a demonized persona, surrounded by specific symbols and gestures. These signifiers depict the reflection that people oftentimes project onto non-white individuals. These demonized attributes are consequently internalized by the non-white individual, fulfilling society’s expectations. Sharp pointed teeth, red heavy eyes, black razor nails all convey characteristics of a non-human monstrosity that is not a relatable reflection of the white self. The created confrontation becomes one of the underlying themes within this body of work.

fig. 8.The Horns, 2020, watercolor, color pencil, gloss medium, pearlescent powder, acrylic

on panel, 3’x2’

Within my painting, The Horns, (see fig.8) the main character is in the jungle jumping through the air arms spread wide. He has a devilish grin, and wears white makeup with the party hat motif. A white hand, coming out of the left side of the frame, reaches out to grab onto the character's right wrist, while his legs are stabbed by a bident. The bident is being held by a small long haired white creature within the underbrush within the bottom left side of the painting. As blood pours from his thighs he raises his left hand, both pointer and pinky fingers spread wide as the middle and ring fingers are bent with his thumb crossing over them, the sign of the

Malocchio. This hand gesture is a motif in the paintings throughout Off the

Wagon? Then Go To god. It is a symbol whose origins comes from southern Italian folk culture as a curse or a sign of protection, often said to be used by Stregone, a witch/medicine man. When pointed upwards it is to give the evil eye and bad luck, when pointing down it does the opposite. The figure displays this gesture upwards, as an affront to the viewer, proclaiming, “If I’m going down, you're going down with me.” This further reinstates the sentiment of accountability to society’s aggressions.

The Horns (see fig.8) is reminiscent of the crucifixion of Christ, the figure's arms are spread wide while the Spear of Destiny3 (see fig. 9) or in the vase of The Horns, a bident, is stabbing the main figure. This parallel imagery suggests a sense of martyrdom, an indication for those individuals who might be destined for transformation and rebirth.

3 https://artsandculture.google.com/asset/the-crucifixion-of-christ-kaufmann- crucifixion/lAHa5IH_5juGCw

Fig.9. The Crucifixion of Christ (Kaufmann Crucifixion), Bohemian, around 1340, 30.3 x 67cm, Painting Orig.wood now canvas,Gemäldegalerie, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, https://artsandculture.google.com/asset/the-crucifixion-of-christ-kaufmann- crucifixion/lAHa5IH_5juGCw

Other symbols such as the party hat, makeup and the demonic appearance of the character represents personal feelings of being

“othered” within the community. The party hat and makeup take on two meanings. First, it represents a pierrot, the sad clown in white face paint whose origins come from Italian comedy troupes; this character has found itself within the art cannon since the 1700s4. Some of the earliest representations of the pierrot within painting can be found by the work of

Antonie Watteau5 (see fig.10). This grounding in art history is an important aspect to the work. By referencing the perriot in Italian art imagery there is an opportunity to recontextualize the work away from traditionally white- centered depictions and into more contemporary discourse.

4 Emily Rodriguez , “Commedia Dell'arte,” Encyclopædia Britannica (Encyclopædia Britannica, inc., 1998), https://www.britannica.com/art/commedia-dellarte. 5 Jean-Antoine Watteau, Pierrot, formerly known as Gilles, about 1718-19, oil on canvas, H. 184 cm; W. 149 cm, musee du Louvre. https://www.louvre.fr/en/oeuvre-notices/pierrot- formerly-known-gilles

Fig. 10 Jean-Antoine Watteau, Pierrot, formerly known as Gilles, about 1718-19, oil on canvas, H. 184 cm; W. 149 cm, musée du Louvre. https://www.louvre.fr/en/oeuvre-notices/pierrot-formerly-known-gilles

Secondly the use of the white pointed hat, it is a method for me to call attention to my own privilege within this country. The white makeup represents my ability to be white passing, which allows me to exist in spaces others cannot. The white pointed party hat is also reminiscent of a

Klu Klux Klan hood. Privilege and historic racial discrimination is one of the many complicated issues I aim to address within my work.

The demonic features shown through the pointed teeth, red eyes and sharp nails is how I represent the demonization I have experienced concerning my physical appearance. I have often found that people with darker complexions are stereotyped to be more aggressive and assumed dangerous within social settings. A hypothesis for this dates back to classicism within western society when Eruopeans were discovering ancient statues of antiquity. The statues that were uncovered were of bare white marble and became the antithesis of beauty. However, it was later discovered that paint had covered the forms but had long since been eroded. Though the idea of spotless monochrome marble persisted as Europeans during this time derived meaning from this colorless stone.

Value systems based on false antiquity claims began to shape beauty standards and perceptions of ‘purity’. Thus building the framework of white supremacy6. If white is then situated as ‘pure’ within western society the opposite of white, being Black, is ‘impure’ than everything moving further from white and closer to Black gains in impurity. An area within our society where this highly exemplified is within high fantasy genres that have made their way into popular culture, such as but not limited to, Lord

6 Jillian Steinhauer, “Why We Need to Start Seeing the Classical World in Color,” Hyperallergic, June 7, 2017, https://hyperallergic.com/383776/why-we-need-to-start- seeing-the-classical-world-in-color/.

32 of the Rings by J.R.R Tolkein, A Song of Ice and Fire by George RR Martin and the very popular tabletop role playing game Dungeons and

Dragons. This colorism becomes very apparent within Dungeons and

Dragons when they begin to speak about the Elves, a race of fair skin humanoids that are the epitome of high culture in art, craft and society.

They are put into comparison to a ‘subrace’ of Elves, the Drow: -

“The Drow were banished from the surface world for following the goddess Lolth down the path to evil and corruption. Now they have built their own civilization in the depths of the Underdark, patterned after the Way of Lolth. Also called dark elves. The Drow have black skin that resembles polished obsidian.... they are a race of demon- worshiping marauders dwelling in the subterranean depths of the Underdark, emerging only on the blackest nights to pillage and slaughter the surface dwellers they despise.” -Dungeons and Dragons 5th Edition Player's Handbook.

A game based on logic somehow rationalizes the act of going underground and being deprived of sunlight as the catalyst to making you gain pigment in your skin and thereby turning you Black. This is a recurring theme throughout the game where animals, playable races and monsters have gone through a major shift consorting with evil and because of such, they permanently change their features darker while their personality shifts and suddenly leans towards evil alignments. This connotation of darkness equating to evil or ill intention is an example of white supremacy within popular media. Because of this I have chosen to flip the narrative within my work. Depicting the antagonists as white creatures inflicting violence towards the main figure. Specifically within,

The Horns, the demonic creature of untold origins who is stabbing the figure has long white hair and bright blue eyes.

Voyeur

Observing this painting you are confronted with the recurring character. He sits alone atop a chopped down tree, surrounded by dense foliage. The figure's red eyes stares at the viewer, his clawed hand pulling down the lid to his right eye, with his party hat barely visible. The red eye imagery reiterated within the border emphasizing the action of watching the viewer. The character's bottom half has transformed to that of a hoofed goat (see fig. 11). This change within the main figure and repeated symbols serve as transitional visuals for the viewer to acknowledge the passage of time throughout the works in Off the

Wagon? Then Go To god.

fig. 11. Voyeur, 2020, watercolor, color pencil, gloss medium, pearlescent powder, acrylic on

panel, 3’x2’

The paintings within, Off the Wagon? Then Go To god, either exists in one of two environments: a dense jungle or a domestic space. The jungle is chaotic and seemingly dangerous, wrapping itself around the figures or the foliage tries to break through into domesticated spaces. However within Voyeur, the main figure calmly sits amongst the vines and trees, no longer at conflict with the environment. His bottom half is now as monstrous as the dangers within the dense jungle as if he embraced his place within the chaotic and wild environment. This is the only painting where he is alone with the viewer, staring directly at them and performing the occhio, which is the sign of warning.

Epilogue: Exiting, Transforming, Thriving

Off the Wagon? Then Go To god addresses difficult experiences and asks complicated questions. But these questions must be asked, these experiences must be brought into the discourse. I hope that through this visual exploration I can give courage where I lacked. That other non-white students, spending their formative years in predominately white communities, are emboldened. I hope that a student who reads this gains the courage to explore and speak their truth. I hope a professor reads this and understands the importance of facilitating that truth. I hope the institution’s administration reads this and can understand the dire necessity for change. I hope they begin to grasp why representation matters and just how detrimental isolation and misrepresentation is to students of color. I hope to cause change.

Bibliography

“The Crucifixion of Christ (Kaufmann Crucifixion) - Bohemian - Google Arts & Culture.” Google. Google. Accessed November 8, 2020. https://artsandculture.google.com/asset/the-crucifixion-of-christ- kaufmann-crucifixion/lAHa5IH_5juGCw.

Crawford, Jeremy, James Wyatt, Robert J. Schwalb, and Bruce R. Cordell. 2014. Player's Handbook. hooks, bell. 1995. Art on my mind: visual politics.

Mark, Joshua J. “Illuminated Manuscripts.” Ancient History Encyclopedia. Ancient History Encyclopedia, November 5, 2020. https://www.ancient.eu/Illuminated_Manuscripts/.

Mearls , Mike, Jeremy Crawford , James Wyatt , Robert J Schwalb, and Bruce R Cordell . D&D Player's Handbook. 5th ed. Renton , Washington : Wizards of the Coast , 2014.

Musée du Louvre. Accessed November 6, 2020. https://www.louvre.fr/en

Rodriguez , Emily. “Commedia Dell'arte.” Encyclopædia Britannica. Encyclopædia Britannica, inc., 1998. https://www.britannica.com/art/commedia-dellarte

Steinhauer, Jillian. “Why We Need to Start Seeing the Classical World in Color.” Hyperallergic, June 7, 2017. https://hyperallergic.com/383776/why-we-need-to-start-seeing-the- classical-world-in-color/.

Tanizaki, Jun'ichiro! . 1977. In praise of shadows. New Haven: Leete's Island Books.