The Face, the first sight we see after birth and forever after it becomes our default image. In clouds, the bark of trees and in the flames in the fireplace we see faces before anything else.
I am very far indeed from being a portrait painter but faces have a way of insinuating themselves into my work, haunting faces from dreams and strange faces of people and beings I have never met but who obviously make their home somewhere inside of me. I’ve been looking at and thinking about faces a lot recently – sculpted and painted faces in art, the faces of citizens I rub shoulders with daily on the street, in stores and on public transit and the faces of my blogging community over there in the side-bar (no doubt quaffing a few while they wait) :). How can the faces of we millions all be so different – no two the same – unnumbered variations on a single theme? I am flummoxed and delighted by this mystery.
The posted images are some of many I photographed in Italy where sculpted faces emerge in low and high relief from doors, walls, fountains and statuary in every ancient street and piazza. Most often these faces express anger, agony or dark emotion – always, it seems, with mouths agape.
What directive do you imagine the commissioned artist received that resulted in such fearful symmetry?
all photos by clinock