Retrospective Approach To Neo-Classicism in USA - Renacimiento De Valores e Ideas Clásicas en Los Estados Unidos de America
My artworks, however a syncretism, ought to be assessed as a systematic comprehensive framework to my kaleidoscopic writings, "naturalism and a blissful existence," which is the quintessential life of a humble artist and mystic living in New York City.
The underlying theme, Shanti (Peace in Sanskrit) is consistent to my artworks and philosophic writings, as a bold manifesto against the subversive influences of nihilism, machinery, materialism, decadence and insanity in the twentieth-first century.
Of course, a mere child when compared with the ancient masters, I have sought the clear skies of beauty and clarity in the sublime writings of Australian philosopher, David Stove, whose Magnus Opus, Against the Idols of the Age, and Everything Goes infused my drooping spirit with the courage of Odysseus (Iliad and Odyssey of Homer). The truth is that a homeward return to my past with the Ancient Greeks has been my greater inspiration.
We ought to rescue the "golden child" from the "alluvium of nihilism," and perhaps we may be able to salvage the priceless treasures of that great soul, true Giants of My Inspiration, whose core-values and conviction stood firm and strong against the destructive forces of our times.
Next to my idols, David Stove, Maxfield Parrish, and Salvador Dali, I have found great inspiration in the life of that Great Archeologist, Heinrich Schliemann, whose amazing conviction found the pragmatic mentality of picks and spades to unearthing rarest pearls and gems of beauty, for all to see, Sophia, like a daystar, the fantastic past of the Hellenic Culture.
The underlying theme, Shanti (Peace in Sanskrit) is consistent to my artworks and philosophic writings, as a bold manifesto against the subversive influences of nihilism, machinery, materialism, decadence and insanity in the twentieth-first century.
Of course, a mere child when compared with the ancient masters, I have sought the clear skies of beauty and clarity in the sublime writings of Australian philosopher, David Stove, whose Magnus Opus, Against the Idols of the Age, and Everything Goes infused my drooping spirit with the courage of Odysseus (Iliad and Odyssey of Homer). The truth is that a homeward return to my past with the Ancient Greeks has been my greater inspiration.
We ought to rescue the "golden child" from the "alluvium of nihilism," and perhaps we may be able to salvage the priceless treasures of that great soul, true Giants of My Inspiration, whose core-values and conviction stood firm and strong against the destructive forces of our times.
Next to my idols, David Stove, Maxfield Parrish, and Salvador Dali, I have found great inspiration in the life of that Great Archeologist, Heinrich Schliemann, whose amazing conviction found the pragmatic mentality of picks and spades to unearthing rarest pearls and gems of beauty, for all to see, Sophia, like a daystar, the fantastic past of the Hellenic Culture.
Chiaroscuro means dark versus light in Italian, and it is one of my favorite genres.
We are at the crossroads of art, music and religious institutions, mainly Catholic, Jews and Protestant, whose conservative views on arts and aesthetics have my unswerving respect and devotion, and I hope they would forgive any representational arts as not always conforming to their creed (credo)
Tadzio (after Death in Venice by Thomas Mann) Oil On Canvas, 11” X 13” (Pre-Raphaelite Technique)
Autumnal Cabin, Oil On Canvas 11" x 13"
The Philosopher, oil on canvas, 28 x 33”
Some paintings were baptized with Sanskrit characters (e.g., Shanti, Peace), and some artworks may smack of paganism (e.g., Frederick Nietzsche, Neptune). Moreover, occasionally, I was also asked by the art community, Art Students League in NYC, to display drawings and "Dadaism" as sheer distortion of my deep-seated reverence for the old masters.
Most artists, like me and you, dear friend of Thoreau, may suffer from an altered-ego personality, and some post-modern Freudian psychologists, may rather demote us as passive victims of mental illnesses, "outcasts," in a society running amok with benighted pragmatism and deconstructionism.
Sunset of Completeness Oil on Canvas 20 x 30
Most artists, like me and you, dear friend of Thoreau, may suffer from an altered-ego personality, and some post-modern Freudian psychologists, may rather demote us as passive victims of mental illnesses, "outcasts," in a society running amok with benighted pragmatism and deconstructionism.
Sunset of Completeness Oil on Canvas 20 x 30
The morbid effects of our civilization are acridly felt in the nihilistic artworks of our times, they are often bent on mocking anything meaningful under the sun, and life, according to these nihilists, is said to be bereft of any beauty, reverence, and significance. Life is absurd. For some friends, and perhaps you wish to side with this group, it is simply what it is, but viewed from the perspective of nihilism, existence is simply meaningless.
Los locos, si es que somos felices con nuestra divina locura, tenemos nuestro consuelo, nuestro dulce hogar, en lo que es sensato para el alma. But here lies the main difficulty in all the conundrums of existence, for, by God's sake, how can we inquire on the sanity of our times?
Where is the benchmark upon which we may found our sanity? You answer me.
La sociedad Moderna es una carnicería de talentos, pastores, ovejas, artistas, filósofos, y ancho es el hoyo del Señor Nihilo.
Los locos, si es que somos felices con nuestra divina locura, tenemos nuestro consuelo, nuestro dulce hogar, en lo que es sensato para el alma. But here lies the main difficulty in all the conundrums of existence, for, by God's sake, how can we inquire on the sanity of our times?
Where is the benchmark upon which we may found our sanity? You answer me.
La sociedad Moderna es una carnicería de talentos, pastores, ovejas, artistas, filósofos, y ancho es el hoyo del Señor Nihilo.
Study for the Fall of Satan, Mixed Media On Paper
The throated pit of hell is huge...and there is a chasmic difference in artistic sensibilities among the "New Class."
Pablo Picasso wins my admiration but not my heart, and Salvador Dali's classical latter works have made me a Spanish at heart --amo a España.
As a New Yorker, I have been under the pervasive influence of Dadaism, Cubism and Abstract Arts, and hence could not completely cure myself of the decadent symptoms of nihilism, "ghettoism," the new selective class, which could be said to be a fateful fulfillment of Jose Ortega y Gasset's bleak views on modern society: barbarism has the seating throne in the core of our civilization --somos bárbaros amigos!
Ave Maria, Oil On Canvas, 36 x 48''
Pablo Picasso wins my admiration but not my heart, and Salvador Dali's classical latter works have made me a Spanish at heart --amo a España.
As a New Yorker, I have been under the pervasive influence of Dadaism, Cubism and Abstract Arts, and hence could not completely cure myself of the decadent symptoms of nihilism, "ghettoism," the new selective class, which could be said to be a fateful fulfillment of Jose Ortega y Gasset's bleak views on modern society: barbarism has the seating throne in the core of our civilization --somos bárbaros amigos!
Ave Maria, Oil On Canvas, 36 x 48''
Paradise Lost after John Milton , Oil On Canvas, Size: 29.5 x 23.75'
Concerning the American people, I used to like the America of Frederick Church and Henry D. Thoreau, and even imitated the artworks of Maxfield Parrish, but times have changed, and you tell me whether Mother Nature is not wanting of environmentalists and naturalists?
My Defense Against the Accusation of Madness (dedicated to a great soul)
Any deviation from the "status quo," is often frowned-upon as sheer madness, but if you wish to go beyond the matrix of society, you must master yourself in 7 solitudes (F. Nietzsche): the rutted path of Golgotha is a dreary reality for any living artist.
Countless geniuses, saints, teachers, philosophers, musicians, artists, souls of the finest caliber, are often sacrificed in the altar of Moloch.
Had you visited my studio back in the year 2003, you would have thought me a mad musician, un loco con ideas fantásticas. Me propongo probarte que estoy alegre y sano.
No era un loco, pero mi desafío era probar mi sensatez en una sociedad cruel para el alma. Si apreciáis esta corta vida como una selva, pues tendréis que ceñirte de gran valor para no sucumbir a las críticas de tus detractores. Dante es imprescindible, su infierno es una cruel realidad de la existencia.
I must thank A. Schopenhauer's own reflections on the lives of great geniuses (Parerga and Paralipomena, Vol.2, On Judgement and Criticism) as often relegated to oblivion. True, I am not a genius, but his insights on society, however pessimistic, would work like antidotes (aphorisms) against this world so overrun with barbarism, machination, and the destruction of the soul.
True, I had found solace in religious ideas, but Schopenhauer's caustic writings, the World As Will and Idea, would make me believe that, perhaps, and after all, I was not so mad: a relic of my inmost self was sound but in the holy shrines of Mother Nature: the best church in NYC.
-Have you ever felt like this?
Friends and detractors alike have often lampooned on my sanity, and I have no other choice but hold a terrible duel with the world. Venced el Mundo (Palabras de Cristo).
May the Lord grant me wit, for if you dare pass the Jordan River, do not fix your eyes on the swelling waters around you, but rather, have your focus-point on the promised land, may circumstances overwhelm you, and there shall be your ignominy. The alluvion would swallow you whole!
Faith is to believe the unbelievable, and you must be bold to hold the world like a beast tamed under the power of conviction.
Believe yourself to be vouchsafed with the blessings of gods, these pithy poetic lines I read in the Iliad of Homer, and ever since, I have to admit a total dissatisfaction with a society that belittles my worth as a human being.. To feel special is to be special and awesome.
Above all, rise early in the morning to greet the Ancient Greeks in the creative fireworks of the spirit. These thoughts led me to paint Neptune after F. Nietzsche's terrific madness.
Frederick Nietzsche, Neptune, Oil On Canvas 36 X 48'' by Eddie Beato (2005)
My Defense Against the Accusation of Madness (dedicated to a great soul)
Any deviation from the "status quo," is often frowned-upon as sheer madness, but if you wish to go beyond the matrix of society, you must master yourself in 7 solitudes (F. Nietzsche): the rutted path of Golgotha is a dreary reality for any living artist.
Countless geniuses, saints, teachers, philosophers, musicians, artists, souls of the finest caliber, are often sacrificed in the altar of Moloch.
Had you visited my studio back in the year 2003, you would have thought me a mad musician, un loco con ideas fantásticas. Me propongo probarte que estoy alegre y sano.
No era un loco, pero mi desafío era probar mi sensatez en una sociedad cruel para el alma. Si apreciáis esta corta vida como una selva, pues tendréis que ceñirte de gran valor para no sucumbir a las críticas de tus detractores. Dante es imprescindible, su infierno es una cruel realidad de la existencia.
I must thank A. Schopenhauer's own reflections on the lives of great geniuses (Parerga and Paralipomena, Vol.2, On Judgement and Criticism) as often relegated to oblivion. True, I am not a genius, but his insights on society, however pessimistic, would work like antidotes (aphorisms) against this world so overrun with barbarism, machination, and the destruction of the soul.
True, I had found solace in religious ideas, but Schopenhauer's caustic writings, the World As Will and Idea, would make me believe that, perhaps, and after all, I was not so mad: a relic of my inmost self was sound but in the holy shrines of Mother Nature: the best church in NYC.
-Have you ever felt like this?
Friends and detractors alike have often lampooned on my sanity, and I have no other choice but hold a terrible duel with the world. Venced el Mundo (Palabras de Cristo).
May the Lord grant me wit, for if you dare pass the Jordan River, do not fix your eyes on the swelling waters around you, but rather, have your focus-point on the promised land, may circumstances overwhelm you, and there shall be your ignominy. The alluvion would swallow you whole!
Faith is to believe the unbelievable, and you must be bold to hold the world like a beast tamed under the power of conviction.
Believe yourself to be vouchsafed with the blessings of gods, these pithy poetic lines I read in the Iliad of Homer, and ever since, I have to admit a total dissatisfaction with a society that belittles my worth as a human being.. To feel special is to be special and awesome.
Above all, rise early in the morning to greet the Ancient Greeks in the creative fireworks of the spirit. These thoughts led me to paint Neptune after F. Nietzsche's terrific madness.
Frederick Nietzsche, Neptune, Oil On Canvas 36 X 48'' by Eddie Beato (2005)
His writings would make me rise early in the morning, and hence, I sought mountaintops right here in New York City. At times, thoughts of greatness overfilled my mind, day and night, I sought a sequestered spot somewhere in the woods of Thoreau or Nietzsche, to ponder on the flawed fundamentals of our society, and sometimes, I seemed to have stirred within me a new man, a new conception of myself, a new latitude in the dawning horizon of my existence: a new self-re-evaluation as befitting an Achilles in the serious battlefield of life. Life is for the strong.
Year 2004 - My Struggle:
Discouraged by the failure of my painting experiments, I thought on finally abandoning my enthusiasm for the Technique of the Pre-Raphaelites. Six years of total failure was a hard blow to my self-esteem as an artist. Belatedly we resign the lofty task once taken with so much passion and zeal, but time is a taskmaster, and the perfection of arts may take many wintery years...
My Epiphany (Illumination) Year 2005:
It was an unforgettable, beautiful, shining Spring morning of the year 2005, I had just prepared me a warmhearted coffee of gratitude, when, all of a sudden, my eyes caught sight of the sun's rays filtering through an abandoned canvas.
The sad painting was placed by the window's shutters, sleeping quietly in my living room, like a holy handmaid, but now, reflecting the sun's effulgent beams, the sweet lady smiled at me with incomprehensible diurnal joy and happiness!
Year 2004 - My Struggle:
Discouraged by the failure of my painting experiments, I thought on finally abandoning my enthusiasm for the Technique of the Pre-Raphaelites. Six years of total failure was a hard blow to my self-esteem as an artist. Belatedly we resign the lofty task once taken with so much passion and zeal, but time is a taskmaster, and the perfection of arts may take many wintery years...
My Epiphany (Illumination) Year 2005:
It was an unforgettable, beautiful, shining Spring morning of the year 2005, I had just prepared me a warmhearted coffee of gratitude, when, all of a sudden, my eyes caught sight of the sun's rays filtering through an abandoned canvas.
The sad painting was placed by the window's shutters, sleeping quietly in my living room, like a holy handmaid, but now, reflecting the sun's effulgent beams, the sweet lady smiled at me with incomprehensible diurnal joy and happiness!
Such divine words I fancied to hear her uttered, ghostly but beautiful, in holy lips of fidelity and devotion..
Dear lady, you are my inspiration.
The canvas of my painstaking efforts shone forth glorious light and beauty, and I, forthwith, understood part of the sealed secrets of the Pre-Raphaelites, and perhaps part of the mysteries behind Salvador Dali's St. John of the Cross' incomparable beautiful luminosity.
If I live to the age of 50, I shall then be able to cast other drawings into paintings, but I have to take care of my health, which could quickly deteriorate in a poorly ventilated room in NYC: ghettoism, the morbid symptoms of decadence.
Archangel Michael, (Revelation 12: 07) Oil On Canvas, 36 X 48''
Dear lady, you are my inspiration.
The canvas of my painstaking efforts shone forth glorious light and beauty, and I, forthwith, understood part of the sealed secrets of the Pre-Raphaelites, and perhaps part of the mysteries behind Salvador Dali's St. John of the Cross' incomparable beautiful luminosity.
If I live to the age of 50, I shall then be able to cast other drawings into paintings, but I have to take care of my health, which could quickly deteriorate in a poorly ventilated room in NYC: ghettoism, the morbid symptoms of decadence.
Archangel Michael, (Revelation 12: 07) Oil On Canvas, 36 X 48''
Back in the 90s, I remember taking much pain to resolving the contrast between light and shadow, but through careful observations, experiments, errors and trials, I have gained greater confidence in the application of paint. Nay, unlike the incomprehensibility of some methods, whose theories are often steeped and shrouded in the obfuscation of the artist's unwillingness to reveal part of the mysteries behind a luminous surface, I have, herein, gathered my gleanings as corroboration to the practicality of Johann Wolfgang Goethe's Theory of Colors: a dear book I have cherished among my precious belongings since I was a young man.
The price that any artist must pay --and perhaps you too would like to strike kindred with this quiet brotherhood-- is this piercing silence in the gallery of our solitude. At times, we may feel as though sacrificed in the profitable altar of Mammon or Moloch.
Precious Memories, Oil On Canvas, 28 x 36'' after Goethe's Theory of Colors (2005)
The price that any artist must pay --and perhaps you too would like to strike kindred with this quiet brotherhood-- is this piercing silence in the gallery of our solitude. At times, we may feel as though sacrificed in the profitable altar of Mammon or Moloch.
Precious Memories, Oil On Canvas, 28 x 36'' after Goethe's Theory of Colors (2005)
Socrates Donned In Modern Attire Oil On Stretched Canvas, Life-Size: 40.75 x 69.5'' by Eddie Beato (2006)
Study On Nudes, Mixed Media On Buff Paper, Highlighted with Acrylic
Study Painting for Ave Maria, (2024)
Therefore, you and I, dear friend, more than ever, would be required to bolster our confidence, our inspiration, in the lives of the great artists of the past. Your value, your esteem as an artist, in the last resort, would depend on your own personal conviction, because many artists, writers and composers, some, of the highest caliber who ever lived, Dante, Mozart, Thoreau, among others, did not live long enough to reap the pecuniary benefits of their artworks.
Bridge of Love, Oil On Canvas 36 x 48''
Bridge of Love, Oil On Canvas 36 x 48''
From the outset, I paint with very little pigments, would use a goodly quantity of rags of white clothing, scotch tape, a sharp knife for cutting edges, and many other curious motley things for texture and modeling. Before the painting is completed, in all likelihood, I could have consumed four gallons of mineral spirit (Turpenoid to thinning the paint).
Shanti (Peace in Sanskrit) Oil On Canvas, 30 x 40''
Shanti (Peace in Sanskrit) Oil On Canvas, 30 x 40''
Studies on Draft Horses at the Central Park in New York City
Study On Draft Horses, Mixed Media On Buff Paper, Highlighted with Acrylic
Study On Draft Horses, Charcoal Drawing On Paper with Washes of Warm Yellows and Oranges (2002)
Study On Draft Horses, Charcoal Drawing On Buff Paper:
Study On Draft Horses, Ink Drawing On White Paper:
Study On Horses, Pencil Drawing On Buff Paper:
Study For a Mermaid, Nausicaa, Ink On Paper:
Study On Flowerpots, Pencil- Charcol Drawing On Buff Paper:
Study On Nudes, Pencil Drawing On White Paper Slightly Tinted:
Study On Nudes, Pencil Drawing On White Paper
Study On Nudes, Pencil Drawing On Buff Paper:
Study On Nudes, Pencil Drawing On Buff Paper:
Study On Nudes, Pencil Drawing On Buff Paper
Study On Angels, Pencil Drawing On Buff Paper:
Study On Anatomy at the Art Students League, Pencil On Paper (2003)
Study On Anatomy at the Art Students League, Pencil On Paper (2003)
My Art Teacher at the Art Students League in NYC, Mixed Media On Tinted Paper
Sophia, Oil On Canvas, 28 x 30'' by Ed. Beato
Eddie Beato, Ink On Paper
Nihilismo quiere decir nada, que la vida no tiene sentido:
When I view my life from the long lapses of decades, I am bound to say that nihilism has not yet touched my soul. I may dare compare Nihilism to the hideous god Moloch, because unlike the god Mammon, the former has a penchant for sacrifice, "nihilism," which is a bold negation to the fundamentals of life.
Los días se transcurren con prestos pasos, pero dentro de mi hay estancias plácidas, tiempos largos, adagios tranquilos de aquel divino compositor, aquel gran artista, un poeta, que supo vivir así sus momentos sin la perturbación del tiempo.
Vivir sin la perturbación del tiempo y sus afanes, es buscar sabiduría en lo que es sensato.
La dulzura de vivir la siento más en la música de Handel y Haydn, y sí estas armonías tienen tales efectos, como medicina para el alma, entonces diría que el dolor rara vez me tornó pesimista en lo que concierne al significado de la vida.
I do believe life is very beautiful, and though I have often experienced the reality of pain, loss, aging, illness, et al., I can say that I have a natural disposition towards the heaven of the arts and music.
And If I were to reach the of God of Abraham, I would prefer the dreadful solemnity of those places, mountainous, dismal, waste, but here and there adorned with delicate pastures, lovely meadows, bluest skies and splendid views, ideal for a soul still endowed with lofty sentiments as those of the Children of Aurora (Homer's Iliad & Odyssey).
Such religious person would win my heart, because the God of the Ancient People, be He the Jewish God of Abraham, or the Greek god, Zeus, were very interesting divinities, former personifications of our deepest high-flown aspirations, highly paved Celestial Cities, as conceived by a people not yet sagged down by the Pervasive Ghettoism of our times. Vivimos en tiempos de cólera, pero también en tiempos de locura y Nihilismo!
El Dios de Abraham ha perdido feligreses, porque la grey de nuestra época no tiene oído para la música de Bach or Handel. En esto tendría que admitir a F. Nietzsche en su divina locura. El tenía razón en denunciar este "dios chiquito" de nuestras ideas religiosas, decadentes, pero nadie mató al Dios de Abraham, las masas se han suicidado.
Quien no entiende y captas estas líneas, como diría Jose Ortega y Gasset, es porque ya es parte de este barbarismo. El error de Nietzsche, y esto lo saben los nihilistas, la grandeza de un Dios es que el puede existir aún en el silencio y cenizas de los siglos.
Los antiguos Hebreos, los Griegos de Pericles, Sus Personificaciones de lo Divino:
Theirs was this religious warmheartedness as rarely felt in the ghettoes of New York City, whose ideas of a little god, as reduced by the gadgets of our times, could be said to lack the stunning magnificence of a terrific God thus throned in the minds of men the likes of Abraham or Phidias the Greek artist.
True, just like Miguel Unamuno, Sobre El Sentimiento Trágico de la Vida, we all need to nurse our inner selves in the Mountaintops of Faith and Conviction.
Let us today rise above our circumstances with the wings of Pegasus, and may our inspiration carry us aloft to the heaven of Abraham and Phidias!
When I view my life from the long lapses of decades, I am bound to say that nihilism has not yet touched my soul. I may dare compare Nihilism to the hideous god Moloch, because unlike the god Mammon, the former has a penchant for sacrifice, "nihilism," which is a bold negation to the fundamentals of life.
Los días se transcurren con prestos pasos, pero dentro de mi hay estancias plácidas, tiempos largos, adagios tranquilos de aquel divino compositor, aquel gran artista, un poeta, que supo vivir así sus momentos sin la perturbación del tiempo.
Vivir sin la perturbación del tiempo y sus afanes, es buscar sabiduría en lo que es sensato.
La dulzura de vivir la siento más en la música de Handel y Haydn, y sí estas armonías tienen tales efectos, como medicina para el alma, entonces diría que el dolor rara vez me tornó pesimista en lo que concierne al significado de la vida.
I do believe life is very beautiful, and though I have often experienced the reality of pain, loss, aging, illness, et al., I can say that I have a natural disposition towards the heaven of the arts and music.
And If I were to reach the of God of Abraham, I would prefer the dreadful solemnity of those places, mountainous, dismal, waste, but here and there adorned with delicate pastures, lovely meadows, bluest skies and splendid views, ideal for a soul still endowed with lofty sentiments as those of the Children of Aurora (Homer's Iliad & Odyssey).
Such religious person would win my heart, because the God of the Ancient People, be He the Jewish God of Abraham, or the Greek god, Zeus, were very interesting divinities, former personifications of our deepest high-flown aspirations, highly paved Celestial Cities, as conceived by a people not yet sagged down by the Pervasive Ghettoism of our times. Vivimos en tiempos de cólera, pero también en tiempos de locura y Nihilismo!
El Dios de Abraham ha perdido feligreses, porque la grey de nuestra época no tiene oído para la música de Bach or Handel. En esto tendría que admitir a F. Nietzsche en su divina locura. El tenía razón en denunciar este "dios chiquito" de nuestras ideas religiosas, decadentes, pero nadie mató al Dios de Abraham, las masas se han suicidado.
Quien no entiende y captas estas líneas, como diría Jose Ortega y Gasset, es porque ya es parte de este barbarismo. El error de Nietzsche, y esto lo saben los nihilistas, la grandeza de un Dios es que el puede existir aún en el silencio y cenizas de los siglos.
Los antiguos Hebreos, los Griegos de Pericles, Sus Personificaciones de lo Divino:
Theirs was this religious warmheartedness as rarely felt in the ghettoes of New York City, whose ideas of a little god, as reduced by the gadgets of our times, could be said to lack the stunning magnificence of a terrific God thus throned in the minds of men the likes of Abraham or Phidias the Greek artist.
True, just like Miguel Unamuno, Sobre El Sentimiento Trágico de la Vida, we all need to nurse our inner selves in the Mountaintops of Faith and Conviction.
Let us today rise above our circumstances with the wings of Pegasus, and may our inspiration carry us aloft to the heaven of Abraham and Phidias!
The Clash of the Titans: Nietzsche, Sartre, Cadmus, Goethe and Thoreau
This is my final essay on contemporary art, and I hope to have stirred within you a new artist, a new thinker, a new terrific creature blissfully reveling in the inexhaustible forces of Mother Nature, sometimes webbing through the encircling networks of creativity, sometimes ebbing in this inly-felt sense of indestructibleness, "immortality," when confronting the dark realms of Nihilism: Hell.
This is my final essay on contemporary art, and I hope to have stirred within you a new artist, a new thinker, a new terrific creature blissfully reveling in the inexhaustible forces of Mother Nature, sometimes webbing through the encircling networks of creativity, sometimes ebbing in this inly-felt sense of indestructibleness, "immortality," when confronting the dark realms of Nihilism: Hell.
Study On Human Anatomy, Charcoal Drawing On Paper with Washes of Warm Yellows and Oranges (Water-Colors, 2002)
The morbid effects of our civilization is acridly felt in the nihilistic artworks of our times, they are often bent on mocking anything meaningful under the sun, and life, according to these nihilists, is said to be bereft of any beauty, reverence, and significance. Life is absurd. For some friends, and perhaps you wish to side with this group, it is simply what it is, but viewed from the perspective of nihilism, existence is simply meaningless.
I fought myself out of the gates of Hades.
Centaur fighting a snake, ink on paper (2002)
My personal beliefs are to be assessed as a divine syncretism that is suited for souls like me, because after long years of spiritual quest under the heaven of St. John, the Apostle, it dawned to me that everyone is born with certain degrees of revelations, illuminations and epiphanies.
The stars' sundry glories would require souls of different kinds, different beings, different essences, different spirits, different worlds as befitting the kindred nature and evolution of our spiritual development.
The landscape of my canvas is vast, like the splendid sunset of an old sage, a blessed seer, because I am totally convinced that within the soul of a man-woman, there are to be found fresh magical streams of holy waters, sacred places, whose divine powers may have the uplifting effects to re-awaking me to a new aspect of my life --right here in New York City.
To say that today I am finally stepping in the threshold of a new existence, is indeed my victory. Far-off, lo! I behold this world of Nihilism, waste, dismal, and inhabited by hideous creatures whose ugly faces and grimaces could give me chills. They likewise would look at me, eyes flashing with dread and horror, could curse my existence for having escaped their clutches --hasta la vista amigo!
The stars' sundry glories would require souls of different kinds, different beings, different essences, different spirits, different worlds as befitting the kindred nature and evolution of our spiritual development.
The landscape of my canvas is vast, like the splendid sunset of an old sage, a blessed seer, because I am totally convinced that within the soul of a man-woman, there are to be found fresh magical streams of holy waters, sacred places, whose divine powers may have the uplifting effects to re-awaking me to a new aspect of my life --right here in New York City.
To say that today I am finally stepping in the threshold of a new existence, is indeed my victory. Far-off, lo! I behold this world of Nihilism, waste, dismal, and inhabited by hideous creatures whose ugly faces and grimaces could give me chills. They likewise would look at me, eyes flashing with dread and horror, could curse my existence for having escaped their clutches --hasta la vista amigo!
Living with conviction is to believe in immortality.
When I sought to ride my Horse Pegasus up to the high-paved ways of heaven with Homer and the Ancient Greeks, I must admit that I was required to set myself free from such plethora quantities of worthless books, gibberish and rubbish ad infinitum, contemporary authors, whose pernicious thoughts almost poisoned me with morbid feelings of decadence and sickness.
By reading my mind, dear friend, you may embrace me as a man whose struggle is perhaps the struggle of many artists out there.
Philosophy and art are not always in harmony, and when an artist asserts that his or her art is neither concerned with the question on the meaning in life, nor with Nihilism, we must then assume that the artist is either an iconoclast or an extraterrestrial from Jupiter, a terrifying world ablaze with fire, running amok with swirling turbid clouds of gas, exhalation and debris.
The Realist vs the Abstract Artist:
The abstract artist is not a new species, but an eternal recurrent principle in the flux of time and creation. The Abstract artist is as much necessary as is the Realist, for without one or the other, we would say that the universe would be but one-sided whole, dimensionless, a one-eyed monster like the Cyclopes of Homer (Odyssey).
Bereft of dimensionality and multiplicities, we would feel as though trapped in Plato's cave, whose impervious walls are said to be mottled with colorful things but without depth, width and latitude. True, the cosmogony of the abstract artist could be said to be formless, vaporous, nebulous, like the beginning of worlds, chaotic, dios Kronos, but here lies the cosmogenesis of a great artist.
When I sought to ride my Horse Pegasus up to the high-paved ways of heaven with Homer and the Ancient Greeks, I must admit that I was required to set myself free from such plethora quantities of worthless books, gibberish and rubbish ad infinitum, contemporary authors, whose pernicious thoughts almost poisoned me with morbid feelings of decadence and sickness.
By reading my mind, dear friend, you may embrace me as a man whose struggle is perhaps the struggle of many artists out there.
Philosophy and art are not always in harmony, and when an artist asserts that his or her art is neither concerned with the question on the meaning in life, nor with Nihilism, we must then assume that the artist is either an iconoclast or an extraterrestrial from Jupiter, a terrifying world ablaze with fire, running amok with swirling turbid clouds of gas, exhalation and debris.
The Realist vs the Abstract Artist:
The abstract artist is not a new species, but an eternal recurrent principle in the flux of time and creation. The Abstract artist is as much necessary as is the Realist, for without one or the other, we would say that the universe would be but one-sided whole, dimensionless, a one-eyed monster like the Cyclopes of Homer (Odyssey).
Bereft of dimensionality and multiplicities, we would feel as though trapped in Plato's cave, whose impervious walls are said to be mottled with colorful things but without depth, width and latitude. True, the cosmogony of the abstract artist could be said to be formless, vaporous, nebulous, like the beginning of worlds, chaotic, dios Kronos, but here lies the cosmogenesis of a great artist.
Natural Disaster, by Leonardo Da Vinci:
On the other hand, I am little persuaded to believe that representational art, as the "photoshops of our modern realists," could deserve the hifalutin praise as accorded to former artists who used their prolific imagination subservient to some other interesting goals, namely, the revival of the Hellenistic Culture.
William Bouguereau, like Frederick Lord Leighnton or Alma Tadema, nineteenth century artists, simply used their imaginative powers to reviving the great Ancient Greeks, and their technical prowess ought to be admired but as a moral force behind the ethos of former artists and philosophers.
Obsession with the Hellenistic Culture was sparked by the writings of Goethe and Nietzsche, but the Germans, in the words of George Santayana, had succumbed to incomprehensible bouts of barbarism, and while emulating the Ancient Greeks, they simply brought the whole of Europe to destruction.
Somos Bárbaros:
In the aftermaths of Second World War, nihilistic philosophers the likes of Sartre and Cadmus would further plunge the art world establishment into benighted barbarism, and thus the toilsome labors of five centuries of enlightenment came to naught.
Today, countless artists are not aware that their true gods are Sartre and Cadmus, and we all know that Picasso, like Dali, wise men of our times, would reap fortunes upon the ruins of Nihilism. Of course, following the old motto of profitability, the crazier the better:
Cuanto más loco mejor:
William Bouguereau, like Frederick Lord Leighnton or Alma Tadema, nineteenth century artists, simply used their imaginative powers to reviving the great Ancient Greeks, and their technical prowess ought to be admired but as a moral force behind the ethos of former artists and philosophers.
Obsession with the Hellenistic Culture was sparked by the writings of Goethe and Nietzsche, but the Germans, in the words of George Santayana, had succumbed to incomprehensible bouts of barbarism, and while emulating the Ancient Greeks, they simply brought the whole of Europe to destruction.
Somos Bárbaros:
In the aftermaths of Second World War, nihilistic philosophers the likes of Sartre and Cadmus would further plunge the art world establishment into benighted barbarism, and thus the toilsome labors of five centuries of enlightenment came to naught.
Today, countless artists are not aware that their true gods are Sartre and Cadmus, and we all know that Picasso, like Dali, wise men of our times, would reap fortunes upon the ruins of Nihilism. Of course, following the old motto of profitability, the crazier the better:
Cuanto más loco mejor:
Hades, Ink On Buff Paper Highlighted with Acrylic (2002)
The masses are too intelligent, so these dudes would argue, to knowing their true masters, and thus these "Avant-Garde Artists," would express themselves as though possessed of the highest values in the philosophy of Nietzsche.
Today's representational artists:
Their technical prowess may win my admiration, but their subject-matters are often based on stiff portraitures, and the grand canvas of the gods is missing.
The prolific imagination of our great artists have found outlet in the masterpieces of the motion pictures, and I cannot stop praising the master minds behind the Wrath of the Titans, or the Clash of the Titans. These are, by any bent of the imagination mind-boggling masterpieces of our times! Everything there is simply stunning, from abstract to realism, the scenes and actors are veritable classical master pieces of our times.
The proliferation of abstract artists and philosophers is a phenomenon of our times.
Of course, my abstract art is often expressed in landscape paintings, especially the background, because formless things and fleeting figments would appear the most illusive but when deprived of any objective reality.
Therefore the first perquisite for any self-abstraction is lack objectivity, a golden principle that is the hallmark of geniuses the likes of Pollock or Nihilo, whereat our mind is left to ramble into any direction in the boundless realms of the imaginative, the suggestive and immeasurable.
This artistic genre, while seemingly aimless, may have the power to abetting our mind into every fancy in the phenomena of the subjective, the profoundest fleeting visions in the threshold of our consciousness, i.e., striking sighting explosions as when we knuckle our eyes' radar-lenses in the unfathomable expanses of utter darkness.
From this perspective, abstract art could be useful, nay meaningful, but in "vis-a-vis juxtaposition" to another dimension in the cognitive kaleidoscopic dissonance of the artist's inner worlds.
The fragmentation of ourselves, "inner pluralization," could be compared to polytheism, because we seem to be actuated by the fickle whims of one thousand mysterious forces, all competing for the throne of our mind.
Finding cohesiveness in the chaotic world of our mind is a lifelong journey, an Odyssey, because we must "plumb deep into the far reaches of psyche," and this discipline, Gnosis, would require the benevolent assistance of higher teachers and masters.
As an earthy creature, I would endeavor to find a comprehensive systematic approach to my inner self in the awe-inspiring Contemplations of Aristotle, and thus be able to idealize, in the Canvas of the Eternal, every dawn, every glorious sunset as rarely seen in the grand spectacles of the gods of yore.
Frederick Church, American landscape artist, could be said to be an abstract artist with striking objectivity. His representational depiction of the Niagara Falls, Canada, could be appraised as abstract art in the liberation of our terrifying creative forces.
Finally, Leonardo Da Vinci had already expressed his views on the Jupiterian artists of his time, because landscapes paintings were once deemed as abstract art for the diletante.
Zooming into the Grand Canvas of existence would lead us into periodic instances of delightful self-abstraction, seances, raptures and riveting escapades into a chaotic world highly more meaningful. But you must fight your way out of the Gates of Hades, lest you lose your battle in the underworld of chaos, and perhaps never be able to reach the Mount Olympus of your genius.
Like Dante Alighieri, or Salvador Dali, you must be an artist of the highest caliber!
Once again, art is very subjective, but at this point, you probably understand what I mean by Nihilism.
The idea of God is the very measure of a people's archetype: collective psyche. Jews, Muslims, Christians, Buddhists, Hindus, Mormons, Scientologist, Celts, among others religious groups, are all derivations of the kaleidoscopic manifestations of the God of Abraham (Ein-soph, Yahveh, Jehovah). But the Ancient Greeks, who, are generally acknowledged as the most interesting people who ever walked the earth, are denied of their own followers and divinities.
Some Christians are quick to quoting the Book of Acts (...), to denouncing the ignorant superstitions of the Ancient Greeks, for some Hellenistic degenerates --as those who betrayed their great past with Pericles and Alexander-- in their stupid idolatry worshiped St. Paul as the god Apolo, for it seemed that the newly-converted disciple had defied the bite of a snake.
Today, 2,000.00 years later, the Western Civilization is suffering a tremendous spiritual annihilation: is bleeding profusely on the altar of Nihilism: el Dios feo Moloch. We are morally bankrupt (period).
The Ancient Greeks, when compared to modern people, Los Bárbaros de La Epoca Moderna, the children of Homero could be said to be almost extraterrestrials in their sublime ideas of divinities. One only has to read a few lines of the Odyssey of Homer, and forthwith one is transformed into a new human being.
My admiration for the ancient Greeks is chiefly an artistic one, for it would be madness to return to a benighted time of so much idolatry, unsound indulgences and abomination. Now, I must admit that dios Zeus, if judged from the current Ghettoism of our time, would seem a greater a god than this "dios chiquito" whose children have neither ears, nor eyes for the sublime beauty of the Odyssey of Homer.
Such Jeremiah-Perspective, in search of a bigger GOD, would lead us back to a dreamtime when reality was indistinguishable from magic, beauty, divinity, and things ineffable.
As I write these last lines on Nihilism, a caring friend just informed me that my portfolio had been further corrected of any awkward "grammatical faux pas" or any unwise remarks on religion and abstract art, but I am little disturbed by the snarky criticism of my contemporaries. I shall read my lines one by one, and would conscientiously express myself but in conformity to my own experiences and personal conviction. Some drafts are interspersed with paintings, and I felt my life infused with the colorful landscapes of Spirituality with the Arts.
For the last three days, my body, as though healed by the magic of light and divinity, has been experiencing sedative moments of well-being and joy, and these are signs of a cheerful spirit in the celebration of life.
I have to say that I am a religious frog, a happy grass-hoper, but only by the power of arts and inspiration, and like Jacob Boeheme, I have had such moments of inner illumination, inner peace, with this God who lives and breaths through my own being.
Ah! I cannot conceive my Mountainous God without the assistance of such propitious elements, vaporous airy figments, these dread-feelings, so essential, so sacred as shrined in the old stony temples of the Ancient Greeks.
These are awful places still exuding the ashes and libations of gods long thought dead. Such ceremony, such rituals, such frankincenses, their scents intoxicate me with the vim of life. When I fix my eyes upon those old stones, however scattered, I shudder with thrills of gloomy delight at the Ancient Sites of our high-flown longings.
Didn't the Ancient Greeks feel the same dread when roving through places wild, dismal and wasted, as those of Ancient Egypt?
And there, in yonder spot, flanked by loveliest verdant groves in the wild land of Arcadia, I behold this beautiful creature, her black hair's ringlets falling most graciously upon her stately shoulders. She is a Greek woman. Her skin, smooth like a dove, her cheeks and smile, like a sunset shining amidst scudding clouds of innocence and beauty.
Her white gown, as donned by a holy handmaiden in the Temple of Athena, could incite my mind to a better conception of beauty and divinity in NYC. Her folds seem to set my mind free of any cumbersome thoughts, and her gentle aspect is alike docile but lively in eyes nourished with the bounteous generosity of Mother Nature.
Here is this drawing which I sketched, from life, back in 2013. The model was a beautiful lass from Serbia, and like a direct descendant of the Ancient Greeks, her calm aspect reminded of a mermaid.
Today's representational artists:
Their technical prowess may win my admiration, but their subject-matters are often based on stiff portraitures, and the grand canvas of the gods is missing.
The prolific imagination of our great artists have found outlet in the masterpieces of the motion pictures, and I cannot stop praising the master minds behind the Wrath of the Titans, or the Clash of the Titans. These are, by any bent of the imagination mind-boggling masterpieces of our times! Everything there is simply stunning, from abstract to realism, the scenes and actors are veritable classical master pieces of our times.
The proliferation of abstract artists and philosophers is a phenomenon of our times.
Of course, my abstract art is often expressed in landscape paintings, especially the background, because formless things and fleeting figments would appear the most illusive but when deprived of any objective reality.
Therefore the first perquisite for any self-abstraction is lack objectivity, a golden principle that is the hallmark of geniuses the likes of Pollock or Nihilo, whereat our mind is left to ramble into any direction in the boundless realms of the imaginative, the suggestive and immeasurable.
This artistic genre, while seemingly aimless, may have the power to abetting our mind into every fancy in the phenomena of the subjective, the profoundest fleeting visions in the threshold of our consciousness, i.e., striking sighting explosions as when we knuckle our eyes' radar-lenses in the unfathomable expanses of utter darkness.
From this perspective, abstract art could be useful, nay meaningful, but in "vis-a-vis juxtaposition" to another dimension in the cognitive kaleidoscopic dissonance of the artist's inner worlds.
The fragmentation of ourselves, "inner pluralization," could be compared to polytheism, because we seem to be actuated by the fickle whims of one thousand mysterious forces, all competing for the throne of our mind.
Finding cohesiveness in the chaotic world of our mind is a lifelong journey, an Odyssey, because we must "plumb deep into the far reaches of psyche," and this discipline, Gnosis, would require the benevolent assistance of higher teachers and masters.
As an earthy creature, I would endeavor to find a comprehensive systematic approach to my inner self in the awe-inspiring Contemplations of Aristotle, and thus be able to idealize, in the Canvas of the Eternal, every dawn, every glorious sunset as rarely seen in the grand spectacles of the gods of yore.
Frederick Church, American landscape artist, could be said to be an abstract artist with striking objectivity. His representational depiction of the Niagara Falls, Canada, could be appraised as abstract art in the liberation of our terrifying creative forces.
Finally, Leonardo Da Vinci had already expressed his views on the Jupiterian artists of his time, because landscapes paintings were once deemed as abstract art for the diletante.
Zooming into the Grand Canvas of existence would lead us into periodic instances of delightful self-abstraction, seances, raptures and riveting escapades into a chaotic world highly more meaningful. But you must fight your way out of the Gates of Hades, lest you lose your battle in the underworld of chaos, and perhaps never be able to reach the Mount Olympus of your genius.
Like Dante Alighieri, or Salvador Dali, you must be an artist of the highest caliber!
Once again, art is very subjective, but at this point, you probably understand what I mean by Nihilism.
The idea of God is the very measure of a people's archetype: collective psyche. Jews, Muslims, Christians, Buddhists, Hindus, Mormons, Scientologist, Celts, among others religious groups, are all derivations of the kaleidoscopic manifestations of the God of Abraham (Ein-soph, Yahveh, Jehovah). But the Ancient Greeks, who, are generally acknowledged as the most interesting people who ever walked the earth, are denied of their own followers and divinities.
Some Christians are quick to quoting the Book of Acts (...), to denouncing the ignorant superstitions of the Ancient Greeks, for some Hellenistic degenerates --as those who betrayed their great past with Pericles and Alexander-- in their stupid idolatry worshiped St. Paul as the god Apolo, for it seemed that the newly-converted disciple had defied the bite of a snake.
Today, 2,000.00 years later, the Western Civilization is suffering a tremendous spiritual annihilation: is bleeding profusely on the altar of Nihilism: el Dios feo Moloch. We are morally bankrupt (period).
The Ancient Greeks, when compared to modern people, Los Bárbaros de La Epoca Moderna, the children of Homero could be said to be almost extraterrestrials in their sublime ideas of divinities. One only has to read a few lines of the Odyssey of Homer, and forthwith one is transformed into a new human being.
My admiration for the ancient Greeks is chiefly an artistic one, for it would be madness to return to a benighted time of so much idolatry, unsound indulgences and abomination. Now, I must admit that dios Zeus, if judged from the current Ghettoism of our time, would seem a greater a god than this "dios chiquito" whose children have neither ears, nor eyes for the sublime beauty of the Odyssey of Homer.
Such Jeremiah-Perspective, in search of a bigger GOD, would lead us back to a dreamtime when reality was indistinguishable from magic, beauty, divinity, and things ineffable.
As I write these last lines on Nihilism, a caring friend just informed me that my portfolio had been further corrected of any awkward "grammatical faux pas" or any unwise remarks on religion and abstract art, but I am little disturbed by the snarky criticism of my contemporaries. I shall read my lines one by one, and would conscientiously express myself but in conformity to my own experiences and personal conviction. Some drafts are interspersed with paintings, and I felt my life infused with the colorful landscapes of Spirituality with the Arts.
For the last three days, my body, as though healed by the magic of light and divinity, has been experiencing sedative moments of well-being and joy, and these are signs of a cheerful spirit in the celebration of life.
I have to say that I am a religious frog, a happy grass-hoper, but only by the power of arts and inspiration, and like Jacob Boeheme, I have had such moments of inner illumination, inner peace, with this God who lives and breaths through my own being.
Ah! I cannot conceive my Mountainous God without the assistance of such propitious elements, vaporous airy figments, these dread-feelings, so essential, so sacred as shrined in the old stony temples of the Ancient Greeks.
These are awful places still exuding the ashes and libations of gods long thought dead. Such ceremony, such rituals, such frankincenses, their scents intoxicate me with the vim of life. When I fix my eyes upon those old stones, however scattered, I shudder with thrills of gloomy delight at the Ancient Sites of our high-flown longings.
Didn't the Ancient Greeks feel the same dread when roving through places wild, dismal and wasted, as those of Ancient Egypt?
And there, in yonder spot, flanked by loveliest verdant groves in the wild land of Arcadia, I behold this beautiful creature, her black hair's ringlets falling most graciously upon her stately shoulders. She is a Greek woman. Her skin, smooth like a dove, her cheeks and smile, like a sunset shining amidst scudding clouds of innocence and beauty.
Her white gown, as donned by a holy handmaiden in the Temple of Athena, could incite my mind to a better conception of beauty and divinity in NYC. Her folds seem to set my mind free of any cumbersome thoughts, and her gentle aspect is alike docile but lively in eyes nourished with the bounteous generosity of Mother Nature.
Here is this drawing which I sketched, from life, back in 2013. The model was a beautiful lass from Serbia, and like a direct descendant of the Ancient Greeks, her calm aspect reminded of a mermaid.
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