16 Chapel Rd, II, or Style is repetition, Art imitation, and David is just rock.

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16 Chapel Rd, Suite II, acrylic on wood, 106 x 96, Luigi Monteferrante

16 Chapel Rd, Suite II, acrylic on wood, 106 x 96, Luigi Monteferrante

When does repetition become personal style, a clearly defined, easily recognizable signature piece in art, music,  literature?

Michelangelo, and lesser artists, are easily found out even by the layman; so, too, Bach, or Shakespeare, or a David Hockney.

And so, we have another 16 Chapel Rd, but we are in Suite II, what might have been Helter Skelter at the Babylon, a collection, or album of people summoned to perform and act their fates before a live audience: you.

Much can be said,  but won’t.  The style is reminiscent of other paintings, indeed may be very similar to one in particular, but then again, you’ve seen one Cubist painting, Abstract Expressionist, Post-TransAvanguardia, Arte Povera, or whatever your choice, you’ve seen them all, right?

And Romeo & Juliet is just another boy meets girl story that ends badly, or well, if you like tearjerkers; it employs words, has a whole bunch of people in leotards and lace running around gasping, swordfighting, cursing, falling in love, sighing and dying, not necessarily in that order.

So, too, Michelangelo’s David, a well-built young stud standing naked – plenty of those around, I suppose,  not necessarily naked, but that’s what imagination is for, no?

And the reason for Art.

In a world without art or artists, and as important, humankind’s sensibility to beauty and aesthetic experience, Michelangelo’s David is just that: a stud in marble, a dude in stone, a block of marble.

There is more beyond the familiar substance, subject, theme and matter,  and because the world is a stage, and there’s nothing new under the sun, and you can’t step in the same river twice, if you look closely, if you live closely, feel intensely, think deeply, there is an infinity to witness, experience, discover as there is when you look at that same old person you love’s face really closely.

Hm, do I really know you?

(And Juliet, or the Lady of Shylock, oops, Shalot,  waving: it’s me,  it’s me.)

And time has passed, your eyes have begun to fail you, so you step closer, smell, sense,  touch that new, live, richly inexplorable sentient being, and marvel at infinitude.

So, too, my 16 Chapel Rd.

(To name the first that comes to mind, naturalmente, and not to be immodest.)

But to conclude, nota bene, my next will be different.

Wait and see.

And then I am off to London for a week.

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