Italo Scanga

The failure of Great Britain to aid the Irish during the crucial years of 1846 through the 1850s, the almost inhuman absence of aid for a country that was almost totally dependent on the British, was the injustice that moved Scanga to create his sculptures.

Thus Scanga attempts to reinvigorate this century-old conflict and restore some of the feelings lost on us today.

These events have, as have many, long ago been embroidered by myth, homogenized by history.

In a very real sense, Scanga's work is anti-historical, as he tries to undo what the selectivity of history made palatable—he searches for the primal impact, the distilled significance of what really happened—not just facts and figures but sensibility.

As part icon and part offering, Scanga's newest works encompass both contemplation and action.

Italo Scanga (June 6, 1932 - July 27, 2001), an Italian-born American artist, was known for his sculptures, prints and, paintings, mostly created from found objects.

Italo Scanga was an innovative neo-Dadaist, neo-Expressionist, and neo-Cubist multimedia artist who made sculptures of ordinary objects and created prints, glass, and ceramic works.

Scanga's materials included natural objects like branches and seashells, as well as kitsch figurines, castoff musical instruments and decorative trinkets salvaged from flea markets and thrift shops.

He combined these ingredients into free-standing assemblages, which he then painted.

Although visually ebullient, the results sometimes referred to gruesome episodes from Greek mythology or the lives and deaths of martyred saints.

He considered his artistic influences to be sweepingly pan-cultural, from African sculpture to Giorgio De Chirico.

He often collaborated with the sculptor Dale Chihuly, who was a close friend.

Myths had always fascinated Italo Scanga.

Many of his sculptures translate written or oral narratives into the realm of visual objects.

Constructed of wood and glass, found objects or fabric, his ensembles reflect a trio of activities—working, eating, and praying.

These activities dominate the lives of those who live close to the land, but they are also activities that are idealized by many who contemplate, romantically, a simpler, bucolic life.

Scanga—through a vocabulary of basic tools, icons, and foodstuffs, reworked in a very personal way—attempts to restore the original sense of the peasant world: the realities of hard work or religious devotion, often ameliorated by civilized sentimentality.

He invokes myths to give us the essentials of such a cultural experience.

While there is no single source for Scanga's work, many of the stories, traditions, and superstitions retold in through adumbrated saints and basketed scythes are native to the folk-life of southern Italy.

This culture, inhabiting the time-worn Calabrian countryside of Scanga's native land, provides the artist with his most consistent and powerful source material.

Whether religious or secular in content, Scanga's works of the past decade are the artist's reflections on the immutable, universal aspects of peasant life.

Some, like the series of Italian photographs, are intensely personal, while others use a more generally recognized set of images—old farm tools, wooden bowls or large plaster statues of Saint Joseph and the Madonna.

They are all, however, Scanga's own reinterpretation of those universals, his personal memories and thoughts commingled and then frozen for his audience to contemplate.

Scanga's series of works, the "Potato Famine" sculptures, are logical extensions of his earlier efforts.

He begins with the familiars of saints and tools, but here they are supporting armatures not focal points.

If his earlier offerings of herbs, peppers, and the like were presented in blown glass peasant ware or hung as dried provisions domesticating an exhibition space, these potato supplications are affixed directly to the accompanying icons—not unlike the devotions pinned directly to the images of saints and Madonnas as they are paraded before the faithful in street processions.

Other spuds rest in huge ladles and bowls just as they are—a simple, raw food—uncooked but potentially nourishing.

Far from being an attempt at humour or funk, Scanga's choice of the white (sometimes called Irish) potato is in fact a perfect conflation of symbols for the peasant life he intends to evoke.

The dusty tubers, extracted from the ground, retain much of their earthy character.

Beneath their dry brown exterior is a moist, crisp flesh—a humble organic metaphor for the meager existence of the rural working class.

Employing real potatoes enables Scanga to extend such parallels even further.

His spuds eventually sprout greenery and if left in place long enough return in a desiccated state to an earth-like dust.

Natural cycles of birth, life, death, and rebirth, at the core of so many myths, are encapsulated here in a single, ever changing symbol.

The politics that concern Scanga here are not specific to Italy, in fact this particular source of inspiration is derived from a different peasant culture, the rural class of Ireland.

Soon after his move to the West Coast in 1978, Scanga read detailed information on the infamous Irish Potato Famines of the late 1840s.

As he almost always does, he began to research this sociopolitical tragedy and quickly realized the enormity of the facts and figures.

Close to one million Irish dead, over a million emigrated caused by successive failures of the staple food crop the white potato.

Waves of economic and social upheaval raced through the poor rural class as did epidemics of cholera, typhus, dysentery and scurvy.

The population of a nation was decimated in a few decades from 7 million to well under 3 million.

Scanga's research revealed that it was not simply the blight and natural forces that caused so enormous a loss, but the presence in Ireland of a domineering political force—Great Britain.