From everything and nothing. From everywhere and nowhere. From zero to infinity. From here and beyond. These are just some of the places where Italy-based artist Lina Llaguno-Ciani draws inspiration from—which is really to say that her art takes root from the mappings of her mind, from her silent ruminations, and from her other worldly imagination. Hers are works that celebrate the surreal, the poetic, the philosophical, the tranquil, and the nostalgic.
A proof of thus are Ciani’s simple yet dream-like motifs recurring in her paintings, in varying degrees of unexpected and non sequitur juxtapositions, and rendered in a hyper-realist manner: Luminous eggs scattered on a blank surface, strings that run amok a canvas, pieces of paper in varied colors in a pleasant disarray, marbles, ethereal and fleshy flowers in full bloom, mementos, birds in full flight, horizons streaked in wistful hues, a floating cloud, and a lone man set in a vast landscape of nothingness to mention a few.
One might think, though, that Ciani’s works are merely still-lifes and landscapes—nothing more than pretty pictures depicting what is merely there, what only the eyes can see. One might think that they are nothing more than everyday objects and subjects that have no place in art that is supposed to be grand and imagery that is supposed to be massive so that they could be considered compelling.
But perhaps, one is forgetting that pompous and excessive visual feasts don’t always account to having more potent value. Sometimes, it is the introspective and the evocative that astonish audiences the most, perhaps for the simple reason that the intricacies of the mind are harder to decipher, a tad difficult to understand than, say, a canvas whose purpose is only to please the sense of sight.
Hence, viewing a Ciani is like entering another dimension, another plane where the mind is free to contemplate and could be detached from unnecessary fetters that bound it to our materialistic and chaotic world. Her canvases, which boast of a certain kind of solitude, invite the audience to stay in and enjoy the little, hypnotizing spheres the artist has created out of her mind’s eye. Certainly, the seduction of Ciani’s pieces is apparent in the fact that the visual elements present in them give onlookers a feeling of respite…a sense of thoughtful lull from the continuum of things.
An alumna of the University of the Philippines, Ciani says that she developed her style on her own. It was something that came naturally to her as she was progressing as a painter living in an old town in Italy and continuously exposed to different types of European art, she explains. “Half of my work is cerebral. I realized that I really need time to think how my painting will go about. I realized that I just don’t want to paint things as I see them. I find my work lacking if I don’t inject in it something that is of my own imprint. The surrealist elements came after,” the 67-year-old artist shares.
“I start a painting in my mind. There are times that an idea just hits me. What I do to is to capture an idea in tiny sketches, and then I think about the colors I would like to make it alive with. I make sure that half of the painting is already done in my head. Rendering comes second. It’s the fun part,” she says.
Since Ciani’s creative process requires utmost concentration, she says that she doesn’t mind being by herself most of the time. In fact, she welcomes this degree of alienation needed to execute her oils and acrylics. “I cannot work when there are people around. I want everything to be peaceful. It’s a good thing my life is almost monastic,” she discloses.
One can say, therefore, that Ciani’s opuses reflect her close-to-ascetic and very quiet lifestyle, as well as her serene surroundings. The artist lives in a century-old stone house, overlooking a lake, which used to be quarters of the caretaker of this prince whose castle is just on the other side of the lake.
She says of her typical day in Trevignano Romano, one of the historical parts in Italy, “I wake up. I make my own coffee. I take a walk. I think what I would like to eat for lunch. I stop by the store to buy it or cook if I want something particular. If I’m in the mood, I paint in the morning for an hour at least. But I usually paint in the early afternoon because I’m fond of the light at that time of day. I paint with natural light. During summer when days are longer, I paint until eight in the evening,” she tells.
Ciani, however, is quick to say that she indulges every now and then in the sweet life. She muses, “La dolce vita exists. It does in Italy. Sometimes, I just sit at this coffee shop near the lake, enjoy my cup of cappuccino, and watch the fishes swim in the crystal clear water.”
Asked what art is to her, Ciani, as if in an induced reverie, fully articulates, “Art is like breathing. I can’t live without it. Well, come to think of it, I can live without it if I get suddenly stricken with Alzheimer’s. I’ll be fine once my memory goes away. Finally, I won’t be anguished. Because you see, there has always been an element of anguish in my life. There has always been something lacking in my happiness even up to now. I don’t think, though, that I could reach that pinnacle of happiness. In art, you will never reach that because we are limited. But if I ever reach that, I don’t think I’ll paint again. There’s no such thing, nonetheless. Painting is forever. Your works might get worse when you get old but that wouldn’t be such a problem.
“Art is a need. When you have something to express, you have to let it out. It’s like you’re always pregnant. You have to deliver a baby constantly or else you’ll just explode. So my paintings are all my creatures. They are my babies…extensions of poor me,” so ends the artist who wanted to be one as soon as she can hold a pencil. Which brings one to this thought: Ciani, indeed, has gone a long way…so are her ponderings and more importantly, her art poetic and fantastic.
Catch Lina Llaguno-Ciani’s latest works in her exhibit at the Galleria Duemila located at 210 Loring St., Pasay City. Titled ‘TwentyTen,’ the exhibit opened February 5 and is on view until March 1. For more information, contact the gallery at 831-9990 or visit www.galleriaduemila.com.
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