Natalie Giugni
STORY
Although even-keeled and generally content in my adult years, I was quite volatile as a child. My mother always blamed my temperament on the fact she had to cross an angry, fire-starting, protesting mob in Venezuela to get to the hospital to birth me—on the same day as the first moon landing. Perhaps I was just too sensitive and had been jolted by absorbing these explosive energies so suddenly upon exiting my long warm “bath” as I was thrust forward into this unpredictable world. The obstetrician who birthed me was my uncle, who was also a plastic surgeon. He quickly pointed out to my mother that my protruding ears could be tucked back a bit (The popularity of plastic surgery in this country may explain why Venezuela has produced the highest number of Miss Universes, seven to date and counting).
Getting back to “My Story”…Five years after my rude delivery into this world, my family moved from South America to southern Italy to Praia a Mare, Cosenza, my father’s hometown. This was where I swam in the cobalt sea, flanked by black volcanic mountains into which the salt had carved deep caves that could only be reached by holding one’s breath and dipping under water and through the entrance. In these caverns, which glowed neon green from the refraction of the outside sunlight bouncing through the water, my imagination ran wild: One rock was “the lion” a stalactite, the “veiled woman” another outcropping of rock a formed the wing of a bird. I played in this manner as one finds forms in the clouds.
Class picture, Colegio Internacional
de Carabobo, Venezuela, circa 1974
Once again, I was pulled from my utopia much too abruptly, when at the age of eight, my mother declared she wanted to move back to her hometown, Croton-on-Hudson, New York. She sought to ensure my two sisters and I received “an American education”, which was her way of making sure we’d know more of the world than the small town, which to her, had played out its charm. I realized after five more towns and six different homes (all southbound along the Hudson river—I was inching my way toward New York City) that my mother was the “rolling stone” and continuous travel was our lifestyle. Though constant relocation had its inconveniences, It taught me to adapt. I learned through meeting many people of different cultures that there was no need to fear differences, they were something from which I could learn from and benefit.
The schools in upstate New York were in-fact quite good. Back in the day, there was ample funding for the arts. In Lakeland, New York while attending elementary school, I qualified for a special program that offered additional art lessons. These two-hour classes met three times a week before the formal start of the school day. I loved this course, and through it, had the privilege of meeting Carol Stone. For many years Carol had been a fine arts professor of painting at Parsons in New York City. She had muscular dystrophy and was in a wheelchair when I met her. I did odd jobs around her house and light bookkeeping in exchange for additional painting lessons from her on the weekends. Carol had me buy my first Windsor Newton sable paintbrush (an artist needs the right tools) and covered all the basics in her teachings: line, color, negative space, form, and enlarging compositions. I eventually progressed to copying Rembrandts, learning how to paint in thin layers of glaze. She had me replicate the fauvists as well, to impart in me that I was following their thoughts and “choices” through emulating their work. I learned that their selections of color were interpretations of the light in which they and their subjects basked. Carol Stone’s lessons have shaped my artistic process to this day.
When I was fifteen (and living in Carmel, New York) my mother coaxed me to write an essay for a local Rotary Club which was advertising a year-long international scholarship. I won the award, then was asked where I’d like to study my junior year of high school: I chose (in order of preference) Italy, Spain and Austria. Two weeks before I was to leave, I found out I was going to Adamantina, Brazil (five hours south of the city of Sao Paulo!). At the time it was a tiny dusty-orange town where milk was brought in on carts pulled by mules along red clay paths. The first day I arrived to sweltering heat, sporting black on black layers of clothing and a mohawk, hiding behind my bangs—the favored uniform of a typical surly artistic teenager.
Combining my knowledge of Italian and Spanish, I soon picked up Portuguese and made many new friends. I was invited to stay in their homes and traveled the country with them. I’ll never forget my first Brazilian Carnival out on my own as a young teen in this new playground. I had a very good time.
My fresh eyes were fascinated by the natural beauty inherent in the Brazilian terrain. The light and waterways transfixed me in much the same way my Italian coastal town had captivated my heart. I sailed the Amazon carrying a box of French chalk pastels and documented the coastline. Back in the U.S., these works earned me a full scholarship to Manhattan’s School of Visual Arts where among my instructors were Marilyn Minter, Donald Kuspit, Jeanne Siegel and Farrell Brickhouse. I’ve since traveled much more, lived on different artist residencies, including that of Kate Millet in upstate New York. I’ve exhibited in many venues, the most notable being the Museo Comunale Cittá Di Praia a Mare, Cosenza, Italy, the Mube, Sao Paolo, Brazil and the MoMa, Wales, in the UK.
I am now the Co-President of the board for the New York Society of Women Artists, which I joined in 2012. eight years later, I’m in line to take on the duties as President and I greatly value the support, friendship and lessons (mostly in patience) that I’ve learned from the current President of the Organization, Diana Freedman-Shea. I am actively engaged in preserving the history of the New York Society of Women Artists, which was founded in 1925 and planning for the centennial celebration of this prolific group of powerful and talented female artists.
My home and studio are in Jersey City, NJ. It’s my first house, which I somehow scraped up the funds to purchase in my late twenties. Perhaps the strong drive came from a deep need to finally stop moving and take root. The space is comfortable with a small back yard and a pear tree that thrives on neglect. This outdoor space allows me to create large art works which amuse, and occasionally threaten the neighbors. On one instance, I discovered a process where I would mix part A with part B, submerge it in water and voila, it increased my form by 33%...keeping true to its initial ratio! What this meant to me was I could take a belly cast of a pregnant pit bull and repeat these steps, outgrowing the sink and bathtub, then requiring an outdoor kiddie pool in order to end up with a six foot concrete sculpture of a dog’s belly with two rows of ripe nipples! The initial submerged shape was neon green, quite large and bobbing up and down in an inflatable pool in my back yard. It elicited questions from my neighbors as they stretched their necks over the fence for a better view. Experimenting with new methods and materials in this manner is my “play time”. It’s a process I follow in blind faith without knowing the end-result. It is in creating art which I keep myself fulfilled and engaged in the world.
Yours truly,
Natalie Giugni
March 12, 2020