The world of art is awash with people painting with poo, blood, bile and jizz. It’s really nothing new at all. But en general these are gimmicky, splatter based, wastes of time. So when I came across New York artist, Vincent Castiglia, I was pleasantly surprised that he didn’t fit in to this swollen category. To be honest his work is pretty awesome. Lots of darkness and decay. Right up my street.
Castiglia was the first American artist to receive a solo exhibition invitation from, H.R. Giger to exhibit at the H.R. Giger Museum in Switzerland. That’s a pretty cool big up for the young Brooklyn born bleeder. (If you haven’t heard of Giger he designed the set and characters for the Alien films so he’s a bit of a boss).
Vincent’s newest show – Resurrection – opened in Soho, Manhattan on Thursday and will run for a couple of months. It’s themed around Castiglia’s ”interest in life’s transience and harmony he sees between life and death” apparently. I just see the darkness and decay tbh, but maybe that’s just a fancy way of saying the same thing? I’m not down with artsy lingo, all I know is he’s painting with blood = COOL.
He’s been painting in his own blood for more than 10 years now but has been a tattoo artist for even longer. Here at Sick Chirpse we love bad tattoos so I thought I’d put this doozy in – when asked in an interview with Fangoria about bad tattoos he’s personally done, he recounted this tale of woe:
“….many, many moons ago, I mean probably 10 years ago, a female wanted… She was on the phone with her boyfriend who was dictating to her what she was going to be getting tattooed, and she got, above her private area, “[Boyfriend name]’s Playhouse”… And I debated this with her for a good 20 minutes beforehand that it was not something that she was most likely going to live comfortably with and would probably want to have it covered or removed. But she absolutely insisted, and we did it.”
There’s lots of wordy art quotes splattered around from and about him, many of which I don’t understand at all, but I’ll leave you with this one:
“In a sense, they’re not paintings, they are hemorrhages”
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