By DAN KEETON In this society, being both an artist and a } socialist is a bit irrational. } That’s what Randy Caravaggio thinks. } The Vancouver Island sculptor believes that ) art is being kept from the people who would | best benefit by it. “To make the work of art isn’t that much | ofa problem. But when it comes to selling it, | that’s where you see the real injustice.” | “You've got to get into some sort of | gallery or get an agent. Your stuff could be ‘the best in the world, but (selling your art) depends on your name, among other '} things,” he says. This isn’t bitterness from some unrecog- nized artist. Caravaggio’s name has become known in some circles. The Italian-born artist who makes his home in Cobble Hill has had successful displays in Vancouver — including B.C. Place — and Victoria. His works have sold in the United States and Europe, as well as Canada. Caravaggio has scored some commercial success in a mileau of privately owned and run galleries, private and corporate patron- age, and where achieving renown depends on what one has sold. Yet it is a system he dislikes. backed dictatorship in the Central Ameri- can country).” Caravaggio’s own work reflects, as he himself puts it, movement over details such as muscle relief. His Screaming Head shows a larger than life human head — or the idea of a human head — virtually in motion with its features twisted into a silent roar. Caravaggio says the source of the idea was himself. He was at a demonstration in Nanaimo against the then campaigning Prime Minister Brian Mulroney when he found himself literally screaming in outrage. (A large campaign rally there was limited to the Tory faithful, and three members of a local peace organization were manhandled by police and security when they attempted to attend.) Caravaggio’s own background made him an unlikely candidate for the arts world, at least by contemporary standards. The son of rural farm labourers, he moved with his family in 1967 from their village, Rocca San Giovanni near the Adriatic Sea, to Guelph, Ont., in 1967. His parents were basically illiterate, but they understood the class system well enqugh, Caravaggio notes. “In Italy in those days, it was a feudal society under the control of the landlords. It _ Art is really the only recording machine we. have.of the human. experience. It’s a signature of time. There are two things wrong with that system, Caravaggio says: it keeps deserving artists toiling in obscurity and it keeps art from the public. = Asif in ironic recognition of that fact, his own showplace is named the Unknown "Gallery. It resides in the basement of his home located behind the workshop on the Trans-Canada Highway about 18 kilome- tres south of Duncan. The Unknown Gallery contains several of Caravaggio’s works, including a two- metre-tall figure called The Dancer, carved from red cedar, and The Screaming Head, carved from a brilliant white stone. While the materials vary, most of the sculptures have a common feature: they are abstrac- tions of an idea rather than strictly realistic reproductions. They are definitely not of the socialist realism school of art. So how do people unschooled in art appreciation get the idea? “Abstract art has been with us from 70- 80 years now. Most people now understand what it’s all about,” Caravaggio explains. “Take (South Africa’s Prime Minister P.W.) Botha or (Chilean dictator Augusto) Pinochet. They look real, but they’re not saying what’s really on their minds. That’s abstract. “Things today are not the same as they'll be tomorrow. And you'll look at something differently.” Research plays its part, too. Caravaggio relates how he initially failed to appreciate the meaning behind a painting by a Gua- temalan artist that depicted a herd of cows covered with red dots. “Then I read about how Mcdonald’s takes up valuable land in Guatemala that could be used by peasants, to raise cattle for its hamburgers. So the red dots represent death, blood or bullets (symbolic of the military force that maintains the U‘S. was not like Canada, where things are more hidden. Here, you see the bank, but not the boss. Over there you see the boss every week. Things tend to be more black and white. “That’s why I think the Communist Party there grew so strong. The fightback there transformed Italy. “My father didn’t have time to sit and debate ideas, but he was always progressive. And I’ve always been a socialist.” As for the inclination to sculpt, Caravag- gio figures that goes back to his younger days. When his father needed a tool for some task, he would often fashion one out of wood, and in doing so, passed the skill to his son. The younger Caravaggio returned to Italy in 1975, where he resided in a com- mune in Tofillo, about 180 kilometres from his birthplace. Its residents were mainly working class youth, and it was there that he discovered his inclination for sculpting. Back in Canada in two years later, Cara- vaggio found work on a farm on Dewdney Island near Mission. There he met other artists, and soon left his job to take up sculpting full time. He worked with a variety of materials, including clay and wood. The latter was used in many of his creations, but these days Caravaggio works more in stone. His first efforts on the commune in Italy were primitive and rough, Caravaggio says. But they found an appreciative audience in the local people. “In Italy, art is more respected. The common folks there didn’t know much, perhaps, but they respected (art). That was worth more to me than money can buy.” Philosophically, Caravaggio sees art as growing out of the movements of the day. The Renaissance was a great period for creativity because the art reflected the grow- oF G Ww ¥ se ze of | 3 he z w 2 5 9 c = ing political, economic and social upheavals that accompanied the dying days of feudal- ism, he reasons. Likewise, Surrealists and Dadaists reflected the changes of the early 20th century. Today, he sees the art world producing “almost scams,” in which various art movements reflect style without philo- sophy. That, he says, is a product of the marketing aspect of art. “Artists are not left in peace so that they can experiment. They are forced to get into the marketing of it.” And whatever is fashionable sells. Caravaggio thinks governments can doa lot more for the art world by financing it. For example, extra funding would allow communities to set up public galleries to display works by local artists. “There are a lot of people around with a lot of good ideas, but no money to put them into practice. It’s a lost jewel.” Yet art is a entity with permanent value, observes Caravaggio. “It’s really the only recording machine we have of the human experience, It can hopefully make the world a better place to live in. Art, to me, is a signature of time. “Art has a social need — it elevates people, makes people grow.” Like social services, art can fall victim to the times. So it with today’s world, where the arms race eats up funds that could go to improving people’s lives, Caravaggio notes. In South Africa, black people living in pov- erty and engaged in the struggle against apartheid have little time for creativity. Even in earlier times, artists like Leonardo Da Vinci suffered. He was prevented from casting the world’s largest horse statue because the government wanted the bronze for cannons. Caravaggio thinks that, despite the “conditioning” artists have that they must succeed alone, there are ways of organizing the arts community. He notes that during Picasso’s time, artists in Europe maintained guilds which owned the galleries to display the members’ creations. And with the growth of coalitions around the world, “I think we’re coming close to that.” “A new era, I think, is coming. But it’s gcing to require a lot of work.” Dancer (r), artist Randy Caravaggio’s carving in red cedar. Below, artist with several works, including Screaming Head in foreground. Caravaggio: bringing art back to the people | Pacific Tribune, May 1, 1989 « 27