A Congregation of Wits, 2018, a collection of forty silkscreen prints, acrylic frames, brushed stainless steal ledges, installation, 100 x 144 x 4 inches
A Congregation of Wits (One Thousand), 2018, silkscreen print, archival linen box with gold foil embossed title, 18 x 18 inches. Edition 1/4 and 1/1 AP
Detail of A Congregation of Wits (One Thousand), 2018, silkscreen print, archival linen box with gold foil embossed title, 18 x 18 inches. Edition 1/4 and 1/1 AP
A Congregation of Wits (Forty One), 2018, silkscreen print, archival linen box with gold foil embossed title, 18 x 18 inches. Edition 1/10
Detail of A Congregation of Wits (Forty One), 2018, silkscreen print, archival linen box with gold foil embossed title, 18 x 18 inches. Edition 1/10
A Congregation of Wits
Inspired by a visit to the Talking Statues of Rome, which for the past five hundred years, Romans have written poems and political protestations then pasted them on a group of ancient sculptures in the eternal city. I created a collection of forty silkscreen prints comprised of 1,000 drawings with corresponding text messages printed on the back of each image, reminiscent of the placards I saw in Rome, as well as in the urban scrawl in the place where I spend most of my time New York City. Each print is comprised of a text and a series of images in black ink with an over printed ben-day dot abstraction of forty different gestural images I made of Jamón Ibérico, an object I began drawing obsessively while spending time between Rome and Madrid. Why obsessed with a leg of ham you might ask? On one particularly long train and bus trip from Madrid to Granada I was reading a book by Christopher Hitchens and came across a paragraph in an essay titled A Short Digression on the Pig; or, Why Heaven Hates Ham
“Porcophilia can also be used for oppressive and repressive purposes. In medieval Spain, where Jews and Muslims were compelled on pain of death and torture to convert to Christianity, the religious authorities quite rightly suspected that many of the conversions were not sincere. Indeed, the Inquisition arose partly from the holy dread that secret infidels were attending Mass—where of course, and even more disgustingly, they were pretending to eat human flesh and drink human blood, in the person of Christ himself. Among the customs that arose in consequence was the offering, at most events formal and informal, of a plate of charcuterie. Those who have been fortunate enough to visit Spain, or any good Spanish restaurant, will be familiar with the gesture of hospitality: literally dozens of pieces of differently cured, differently sliced pig. But the grim origin of this lies in a constant effort to sniff out heresy, and to be unsmilingly watchful for giveaway expressions of distaste. In the hands of eager Christian fanatics, even the toothsome Jamon Iberico could be pressed into service as a form of torture.”
