"1984 New York City Every Sunday my father would make this huge Italian seafood dinner for us.He cooked, my Mother cleaned,my brother and I ate. At the time I was six years old and spent most if time drawing on any kind of paper I could find. One random Sunday my father asked me go to the supermarket with him to shop for our ritual dinner. It was definitely a sight to see. A burly green-eyed Italian man with sandy brown hair, pork chop sideburns and a cigarette attached to his hand like a 6th finger; holding the tiny brown hand of his chubby little son walking down the main street. He always wore Italian cut suits. Blue, grey or black. He would have a cigarette in his right hand and an Imported edition of the IL Tirreno Newspaper under his left arm. Every article of clothing perfectly pressed as my Mom was vigilant in her laundry duties. He stopped in front of the Supermarket took a long drag of his cigarette and said” Maurizio, I see you like to make drawings all the time. Let me tell you something ... Artists are a bunch of faggots! That’s not a real man’s job, Now let’s get some food for Mommy.” 2 years later my father died of Cancer. I had not drawn anything since our talk. As I was rummaging through boxes of his stuff I came across a stash of his loose paintings and sketches. He had chosen Michelangelo’s David as the subject. That day defined the path my life would eventually follow. It was a good memory for me that I don’t often talk about. Out of darkness comes light."
Saturday, 5 April 2008
Posted by ruchi goyal kaura at 16:31