Bosco Sodi on SundayS
Monochromes and Monotheisms
More than a painter, it might be better to call Bosco Sodi a sculptor of paint. He begins by stirring together a loamy mix of pigment, sawdust, glue and water. Once the concoction acquires the desired consistency, he scoops it up by the handful and lobs it onto the canvas, creating strata upon strata of sediment. After hours of exertion, he steps back, leaving these creations to cure – sometimes for months on end – as their surfaces shift and settle along unpredictable fault lines.
Poring over the topography of such works, critics have unearthed a host of geographical and meteorological metaphors. To some, Sodi’s surfaces suggest the parched beds of southwestern arroyos.
To others, the fissures spidering across his canvases are evidence of seismic activity, whether tremors heralding ‘the big one’ or craggy traces of some primitive eruption. When Sodi’s palette shifts to blue, critics have spotted undercurrents, trenches, and floods, especially in the wake of Hurricane Sandy, when the artist’s Brooklyn studio was inundated. In an era of exponential climate change, and disasters ranging from vanishing reefs to scorching wildfires and devastating hurricanes, Sodi’s heaving colour fields feel equally ancient and contemporary.