I
n the New York art world of the 1980s, awash in snobbery
and incomprehensible works and texts, there was one
avatar of a way forward. I speak of the Italian painter
Francesco Clemente. Let's keep it real: Clemente makes
complex
work
that, quite simply,
gives pleasure.
Let me buttress
my enthusiasm
with
reason:
his
paintings,
then and now,
possess at least
three virtues. The
first is beauty:
unequivocal,
erotic,
raging.
The second is a
fearless nearness
to and inspiration
by often esoteric
texts, both poetic and philosophical, which Clemente,
through visual illumination, makes accessible to all of
us. The third virtue is that his images in themselves may
be understood and appreciated, intuitively, by anybody,
lettered or not.
HYLAND
