works
The Olive Garden
In the Winter of 1985, the olive tree almost died in Tuscany. Unusually long and extremely cold spells destroyed
hundreds of ancient trees. Most of them would have ended up in the wood burning stoves – I decided to rescue many of them from the inevitabile.
I gave them a new life in the series entitled The Olive Garden.
My Last Supper
My version of the event differs form those represented over the centuries by so many artists, both good and bad – of bearded Apostles sitting at the table during this important moment in time.
Deathly silent in its celebratory set-up, the space is dominated by a table – its top made of cedar, the wood of the cross, its three legs sculptured out of olive wood. Arranged on an opaque background, there are twelve chalices held by 12 pairs of hands of the disciples. The empty stool at the table awaits the observer-participant.
And then, there is the figure of Christ carved out of cypress wood, the tree of the graveyards, as if signaling His own approaching death, His hand holding his chalice. His face, neither angelic nor divine, expresses resignation and exhaustion at the road travelled to the point where He will leave his disciples and friends to continue what He has devised to do.
