Mark Barlow - 30 Florentine Streetscapes
Painter, musician, educator, craftsman, ordained minister, polymath, Mark Barlow has been part of the Fallout Arts Initiative community since February, 2018, and part of the visual and performing arts for very much longer. In his current burst of prolificacy, markobarloco has hung work at Everett & Charlie, Squirrel Haus Arts, Fallout Urban Arts Center, 801 Gallery, Minneapolis College of Art & Design, and now SolSta Records. These thirty pieces represent a decades-long relationship with the city of Florence, Italy.
“Insegui ciò che ami o finirai per amare ciò che trovi.”
“Follow what you love or you’ll end up loving what you find.”
- Carlo Collodi
A given space. City dot magical. Homage to myth and fire, terracotta bella donna, connective bits, contact, gravity. “What are paintings if not windows?.”
Florentia, Firenze, Fiorenze, Sciorenza, flower that by any name scents of Florentine, frittelle, fagioli, stracciacella. Tip of tongue touch, tip of memory, lips brush bitter edge of caffè cup and the window is open and the door swings wide.
Sun streaks grey line, stone falls shadow, stone shadow mass. Uno duo trente break it down and sum it up in the science of old Florence. 1647ish, that delver of the geometrical ol’ Calvieri wrote his method of indivisibles for sizing the undividable, for knowing numbers for insides like how many barrels per barrel vault, gave men guidance to scratch planes for faces and pull charcoal to define the shapes of the ancient and modern world. Duomo, wall, cardo, ponte, via to via, light to light to luce “to find a really clean edge to make a Mark.”
Said Gallileo: The sun, with all those planets revolving & dependent can still ripen grapes as if it had nothing better to do, can still warm the shoulders and brainpan of a man, can still stream in oilrays -elo -leo -eri Alighieri. All energy is solar energy so ciao on this, that in the winter of ought-seven, was it, no eighty-seven, here he came (not Galileo nor Alighieri but Barlow), glasses upside-down-bassackwards, from the cold of Minnesota to the December sun of Tuscany to take street and stone apart and peek inside. All boots and hustle, brainpan steaming, bit of spit brushes tripping and canvases dripping taking serious Dante’s counsel to remember, remember, for now was the first day of the rest of forever, now was the beginning of always. He veni-vidi-vici’d (Barlow, not Dante), did his thing, went home, grew some grey hairs, and in the summer of ought-nineteen stepped back into the now, focused on the task at hand and in prolific simultaneity, “…out came information.”
Thirty-piece sweet in oil to remember an always.
Principle photography by Roberto Fogto.
By markobarloco choreography and original score.