Friday, August 7, 2015


As certain as the steel blue winter light annuls the golden umbers of autumn so do the sage rational reflections of old age cancel the callow impulses youth.

Unless, of course, your name is Currado Malaspina.

If your name is Currado Malaspina you ungracefully evolve into caricature and that which had been tolerated while young is now openly mocked without pity.

In a recent interview appearing in the periodical L'art pour l'art he talked about the genesis of I Modi,  those awkward graphic bulletins of impotence and its discontent .

"Despite my complete antipathy toward nature I spend inordinate amounts of time at the beach.

"Though I'm generally repelled, I troll the crowded shores hoping to feed my clichéd fantasies and restore my dwindling appetites. 

"When I happen upon the rare conjunction of concupiscence and farce, I seize the moment and discreetly snap a few photos.

 "Foregrounding the tragedy of my vanished vigor, I find the ensuing mortal crisis both humiliating and restorative. It is only by the mysterious magic of drawing do I retrieve, however fleetingly, the hardiness of my youth.

"That I am able to parlay this into serious art is merely the custard on the canelé ."


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