Fabio Napoleoni – Featured Artist
I’d like to thank Fabio Napoleoni for his brazenly playful art renditions and permission for inclusion in this month’s featured artist series. I’ve never come across an artist that has painted in a series of unchronological tales—almost familial vignettes—throughout their entire body of work. It’s very incredible. Your unique story is much appreciated. To learn more about Fabio check out his biography below and visit his links.
Before I dive into any writing or music, I’d like to pay homage to a good friend of mine that has recently passed. He was one of the first friends I met in New York while in school for Audio Engineering. Aside from being a true friend, he was a great DJ and just a phenomenal person all around. The best of people really do go first. Thank you, Sani, for all the good times we had roaming around NYC together. You will be missed, my friend, and you’ll always be in my heart… I love you.
SANI WANG 1979-2018
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WRITING – Novel Excerpt
Fabio Napoleoni – Featured Artist
She appointed me head of national security, but what the fuck was I supposed to do?—it was too late. It was the turn of the century and the world was beyond repair. And there were plenty of attempts, even though most, if not all, were futile and inescapable. Sometimes it prolonged this inevitability, sometimes it expedited the process. The problem was, there were just too many people out there with too many wonderful ideas… too many wonderfully “right” ideas. Though most of these ideas were scratching a benign surface and no one was ever on the same page with any real solution to human longevity. There were too many colossal issues that needed that “right” attention—all of that gambling on the idea that there ever was such a thing or some way to avoid this assumingly dismal destiny.The other problem that propagated the world to this point, prohibiting the functionality of parallel cooperation, was—truth was objective, and then, very much believed concretely through opinion or myth. Sometimes, and more on occasion, it was an unhealthy mix of both of those dogmatic principles. Very few people obtained the ability to create their own subjective experience. Their own truth. It was always taught and set by abstract passages from one source or another—opinion as fact, myth as reality. Though where does that leave a person, or a culture or society? All of that conjecture holds little meaning to a molecule of energy, or the passing of a life, or a butterfly being carried by the wind. In other words, ideas are ellusive and convenient. Used when they are needed to convey what is within their intention. Used against the appetite of the spiritual drought. We were all scared and confused, there was nothing to change that. Our God was a written God, a said God. A God amongst men… an insane one.
Whatever the reason the human race slipped further into discontent and closer towards a giant shift was insignificant at this point. It was the way it was and it went the way it went. Even with all the monetized enlightenment crap out there attempting to acknowledge the real crisis—the spiritual one, or lack thereof, responsible for collectively exacerbating a material delusion—was just that of its own remedy… monetization of the eternal. Civilization of the indigenous. Both its irony and hypocrisy through one fulfilling explanation.
The ruinous components of the swaying pendulum ruling the balance of the world had overpowered their supplemental counterpoints, slowly sinking the ship over time. Both the collective and individual mind were polluted vestibules, obsessed with the flailing addiction of life painted across the sky, falling into rabid labyrinths, further developing into an individual psychosis of self-fabricating portrait. The viral ignition of madness had crept under each and every family stone, trapped just outside the window in a relentless storm.
The world was constantly on the brink of nuclear warfare. And it was swift and impersonal. Massive populations of people vanished in an instance. Terrorist groups expanded and were more organized. Governments more corrupt. Crime surges were constantly on the rise, both in my country—which for now shall remain confidential—and around the globe. Each of our major cities had appointed CIUs (Cybernetic Intelligence Unit) at every major intersection, patrolling civilian activity. All along the coastal cities housed retaliation bases that detected unidentified energy surges for hundreds of miles. This helped prevent global catastrophes from occuring, or at least country-specific ones. And amongst all of these myriad facets, the most frequent breach of security was targeted at Univision, which was our most advanced global communications database. It was the brain that connected all of the digital worlds together. It was our postwar III unification… everything about everything was stored on Univision. It was the only database to survive, and it monopolized the entire market. It was also influenced and controlled by the New Order.
The brainchild of Univision was called iV and transpired via smartphone technology. It was a biometric microchip interface that was implanted directly into the brain through soft laser technology. And paired with the brain chip were noninvasivelenses and earphone implants for audio/visual reception. It was the first of its kind. A fully autonomous integration between organic matter and digital hardware. It sent and received electrical frequency impulses through brain activity and was activated by an impulse passcode. It was designed to ignore the smaller frequency waves and functioned only by the larger, more conscious ones. You controlled its momentum by simply just… thinking. If you wanted to call your mother, all you had to do was willfully think it.
I’m sure you can imagine why something of this magnitude might have led us here, to this point in time. And why a database as highly advanced and globally connected as Univision, might have played a larger role in the future of humanity and its evolutionary integration. Or even, this particular moment, as I’m staring out into the wild, completely free and alone.
by LORIN DREXLER
Poetry to Art
of pure silver… and wherever it is we
end up will be hidden in messages between dying stars…
Her heart, swimming through my stitching.
Hair like wildfire, or an erupted volcano… igneous.
My love, my one, my only—
I am a frayed and broken doll in need of constant
repair and ventriloquism.
I tell the same story over and over, hoping
by mere will, it will change our reality.
It never does—and that never stops us.
Nothing ever could. I wouldn’t allow for it
to get the best of us… the best of her.
We will go on living and fumble until the peeled-out end.
This cruel clock.
Such a beautiful ship.
The master, in control of nothing—
not even itself.
We will end up somewhere. Somewhere in a dream perhaps,
hidden between messages meant only to be read
at the moment they are lived.
And in this very moment, beyond the sea
and through the wind,
dipping through the bright cloudless day
that shall empty once again
into the night—
we will forget about the outstretched horizons
and inconsiderate immemorial artifacts, and know,
the beauty of life exists only here, with you,
on this drive.
by LORIN DREXLER
About the Artist
Fabio Napoleoni (via www.fabionapoleoni.com)
What the heart wants and the heart needs can be found in a Fabio Napoleoni painting. Nostalgia, sorrow and moments that lift the soul are all there for the world to see and experience along with him. The vivid colors and captivating character invite you into an emotional ride that is welcomed by the mind and the heart. Simple landscapes set the stage for the value of emotional attachment that can be compared to no other. Influences from some of this century’s greatest artists are hard to find in his pieces but are drenched deep in the fabric of what puts a Napoleoni painting together.
It all started in Ponce, Puerto Rico in 1972…Every child loves to spend time playing outside, but this was not an option for Fabio. From birth, the artist suffered from asthma so horrific that several times a week he needed allergy shots to prevent severe asthma from consuming him. Many days and weeks were spent on the family sofa surrounded by art supplies given to him by his mother. An artist herself, she noticed that creating art came much easier to her son than it did for her. So, during the times that asthma overwhelmed him, she felt compelled to supply his creative side with the tools needed to flourish.
Many events influenced Fabio’s artwork but none more than the traumatic events that followed the birth of his second child. His daughter, born with major heart abnormalities, had to face several surgeries to correct issues that could prevent her from having a future. Overwhelmed with his daughter’s issues and surrounded by an emotional sea of sorrow from other parents in the same situation, Fabio grew. While his wife and daughter slept, Fabio wandered the halls of the children’s care unit looking for a spot where he could sketch out his personal thoughts. From these thoughts, a new form of creativity was born. The doors to Fabio Napoleoni’sheart were opened for the world to experience.
It took a traumatic experience for Fabio to realize what he was missing in his work, and it was emotion. He had all the ingredients to create but none that captivated the soul. With his new ideas and old sketches in hand, Fabio added the last ingredient needed…Emotional Experience.
With his vibrant and bold use of colors along with many of his characters, Fabio has managed to create an emotional value to his art that had been missing. His paintings could have a thousand titles, and everyone would be fitting for the image he has created, but one thing is for sure, you will always find a beautiful heart in every piece of his work. A symbol of his love for his daughter…she lives today and will forever in his art…
What is Gen Society?
Gen Society is an art space blog for visual art and creative writing collaborations, and other randomizations. Hosted by writer and musician, Lorin Drexler, this online venue is an expressive experience for those interested in the world of the arts. It is a literary journey through the hearts and minds of contemporary artists in practice and a reflection of those that have long passed.
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