In July of 2016, I had a public fine art exhibition at the Al-Kebulan Cultural Art Center in Pasadena, CA.
I called the exhibition “Surfacing” and curated the art for the event by The Gospel of Wolves character, Lindsey Falco.
Below are what Lindsey considers her 11 most important paintings to be shown in “Pozeza!” , the gallery owned by Maksym and Oksana Zelenko.
Beneath each piece is a little more about it in the words of Lindsey.
Lindsey Falco on Sisters In Bloom:
This one was never supposed to be sold, but that’s what happens when you piss off the wrong gallery assistant.
Anyhow, the reason Sisters in Bloom wasn’t supposed to be sold was because I was going to give it to my sister after the exhibition came down.
Oksana gave us a prompt each month so that all of the Spookfish would create along a similar theme and this was my interpretation of a self portrait using a surrogate.
The bloom on the left is my sister Susan, who took on so much responsibility for taking care of me when our mom was in the hospital.
I’m on the right with the sharp edges to my leaves.
I was going to give this to Susan as a thanks for being my big sister and watching over me even when she needed someone to take care of her.
The painting disappeared into the ether though. Mika, the gallery assistant whose boyfriend I kissed in ignorance of their relationship sold it while tending the gallery with no supervision.
How I’m to blame while her boyfriend bears no responsibility, I’ll never know, but they’re married now and even that didn’t stop him from flirting with me when I saw him in the grocery store a couple years after the fact. This time I kept my lips to myself. Not my knuckles though.
So the buyer paid a good price for Sisters in Bloom technically speaking, but I’m sure you’ve heard how some things have a meaning that make them priceless. In the face of that, I didn’t make much of a return on it.
I’ve been unable to find the guy too. One day though. I’m getting that painting back. And Susan better appreciate my pain making that happen.
Lindsey Falco on “Lady in Wait”:
It was two completely unrelated, but simultaneous events.
I was walking along the Atlantic City boardwalk with Andros Koresh, my on again, off again, boyfriend at the time. Andros had just asked me what I wanted out of life because I had just broken up with him two minutes prior.
It was the fourteenth time I had broken up with him and as he asked me that question in exasperation, I saw this woman standing alone just on the verge of the dark, I knew my answer was that I wanted to be the one in the light, not the periphery of it. My problem was every time the light got too close to me, I turned it off.
I couldn’t tell him that because he might have thought that it was his light I was searching for and it wasn’t.
I saw myself that night. Not in the lady per se, but in the moment.
“Lady in Wait” was painted in the silence between Andros and I after we got back to Los Angeles. She was finished in three days. I’m still a work in progress.
Lindsey Falco on “Boogie Wonderland”:
I painted this piece for Andros Koresh when he was 20 years old. He was trying his hand in the film industry and had landed a role in an indy film playing a DJ in a hip-hop version of Alice in Wonderland called, “The Marvels of Anjanae”.
The DJ he played was an updated idea on the role of the Cheshire Cat known as “Wiley Cat”.
Instead of having a big grin, however, “Wiley Cat”, as he was called in the movie, would speak using the two records he was scratching to create sentences and when he faded out, it would be his turntables that faded out last.
It was his first role, but because of the turntables being his voice, it was essentially a non-speaking role. Naturally, I made fun of the fact that they put his loud ass on mute, but that wasn’t enough. I painted him as Wiley with his mouth missing like in the movie, but also without his turntables visible so he couldn’t even speak through them either.
He hung the painting in his apartment after it came off of the gallery walls of Pozeza, and gave me a sign language thank you that consisted of a single finger, but we love each other in our special way. This exchange is just the way we show it.
Lindsey Falco on “The Gateway Home”:
Of all the things that Andros and I fought over when we were dating, which was pretty much everything, the one thing we never disagreed on was the idea that when Disneyland had a parade, it was time to go on Space Mountain.
It’s an idea that I’ve quietly kept, but I’ve toyed with the idea of writing science fiction and I had that other world that lies somewhere in outer space in mind when I created this piece.
Originally, I took a photo of the building the coaster lives in with its futuristic spires, and it was from that photograph that I realized all of the trees and bushes that frame it on our approach.
I imagined what it might be like to crash land on a planet in a dense jungle, intact, but unable to communicate with anyone. Just me and my co-pilot. We would march through that jungle coming across a variety of threats and moments of intense beauty before eventually finding that break in the trees and come into view with this spaceport.
I imagined the relief I would feel that we were finally in sight of the place that was our gateway home.
Lindsey Falco on “Dream and Journey”:
One of the things I love most about being an artist is the way I can take life and add a layer of pixie dust to it.
Dream and Journey is one of those moments. My friends Sylvia, Cassie, Rakel and I were taking the ferry to spend a week on Balboa Island in Newport Beach and I had this sense of calm and sisterhood that moved me to tears.
Our friendship was such that no explanation was necessary, Sylvia gave me a sympathetic smile, Cassie wrapped an arm around me and Rakel gave me a pat on the back. Sylvia was two weeks into her engagement and four months away from her wedding to her soon-to-be-husband, Frank. The four of us would never be the same again in some ways and I knew it.
We each made promises that week, but I knew even then what that kind of promise was worth.
She was the first of us to marry, but she wouldn’t be the last to cross that line.
Rakel was already madly in love with her man.
But we would have that week and it would be one of the most meaningful ones we would ever have together. At least for me.
Four women bonded by blood alcohol levels, near run-ins with the police, boy-talks and so many other experiences shared both in person and by story that those three women couldn’t leave my heart if it were put in another person’s body.
Even the transplant recipient would feel that rush of fondness if he or she were to come into contact with them.
This painting sold during the opening reception it was displayed at. I like to think it’s because everyone has that sense of dream in their journeys.
That fullness of heart that makes the lights brighter and the way clearer.
Lindsey Falco on “Arch / Angle”:
“I want to be married here.”
The thought shot a hot pulse of fear right up my spine because I actually didn’t want to get married. Not really, but there was an energy in the room I had just looked that radiated out through the glass doors and into every neuron I had firing.
I quickly turned and looked out between the arches that fronted the hall.
I painted this to capture how fully realized the building and grounds were, but how blank a future in wedlock looked for me. I didn’t understand what I was feeling, but I knew there was a significance there that I had to capture.
Oksana bought if from me when I told her what it meant to me and she told me, “This needs to stay with family until the day you marry. When you do, I will return it to you as part of my wedding gift. It will pay tribute to the way life works itself out in spite of ourselves.”
I let her think she’ll gift it back to me one day. She can be real stubborn once her mind is set.
Lindsey Falco on “Sisterhood #1”:
It was one of those days when I was missing how a trip to the mall with my sister Susan could temporarily remove all pain from my life.
The perfect placebo, albeit an expensive one sometimes.
I wanted it to feel like the memory it was, wispy and and only partially in focus.
I painted this after my youngest niece, Jennifer was born in ’98. She and my other niece, Carol were two years apart just like my older sister, Susan and I.
I wished for them a bond like Susan and I have. But without the heartache Susan and I faced.
Lindsey Falco on “Sisterhood #2”:
My mom had just got home from the hospital after her first suicide attempt.
She had told Susan and I that she could still hear our dad talking to her.
I didn’t quite understand why my dad didn’t talk to me too and it made me sad enough that not even the new movie Pippi in the South Seas featuring my favorite character, Pippi Longstocking could cheer me up.
That night, as I sulked in my bed, Susan poked her head over the edge of her top bunk and told me that we were going to have adventures too and suggested that we might even find our dad on some island.
“We’ll see the world,” she told me, “just you and me. And if we do find dad, we’ll rescue him and bring him home to mom.”
Susan and I would plot the seas we’d sail in search of our dad and at one point, the two of us were just about to fly to Greece. We had bought our plane tickets and once again plotting our adventures.
Then my big sister found out she was pregnant and that the baby was due two weeks before we were supposed to land in Athens.
I painted Sisterhood #2 as a kind of consolation prize.
I could have still gone to Greece on my own, or maybe found someone else to go with me, but it was Susan I wanted by my side. She was the one who would cheer me up with visions of our travel together as our mother fell apart.
If I couldn’t have her with me, I didn’t want to go at all.
Lindsey Falco on “Gremlins”:
As time went on and Susan kept having kids, it eventually became clear to me that we weren’t going to travel the world the way we claimed as kids.
During the time that this dawned on me, I was taking a history class and we were covering the second World War.
I found out in the class that the idea of gremlins was in reality a form of blame shifting, but that it actually helped the morale of the RAF pilots who were suffering from inexplicable mid-flight accidents.
While part of me was happy for my sister, part of me was resentful that her husband kept impregnating her and making her escape with me to some foreign island more and more improbable.
I painted Gremlins with a view of the wing because in my case, the gremlins didn’t sabotage the plane, they sabotaged my co-pilot to adventure.
If Susan had been with me, I wouldn’t have been looking out the window, I would have been plotting and planning with her.
While I understand that gremlins helped the morale of the RAF pilots, all they did for me was help me sell a painting.
My mood concerning my sister and I not getting to travel together remained sour.
Lindsey Falco on “Bliss”:
This is a self-portrait of the little girl I was while I still had my innocence.
Red was my favorite color and my mom often tied my pony tail up with a red scarf. This was me at my happiest.
The world around me was full of bright color and I couldn’t imagine anything ever taking it away.
My dad was alive then, and he used to call me his little ragamuffin. I was a tomboy with a wicked way with a bat even when the boys pitched the ball hard.
Some days I miss her and what life was like in my ignorance.
I painted this on the 11th anniversary of my dad’s death. It was only eight years after I had outgrown the hope that he would one day speak to me the way he did my mother.
Lindsey Falco on “Double Dutch Queen”:
Some crowns are taken, not born into.
My block wide fame as the girl you did not want to challenge in double dutch began at the age of five when I took it in three rounds against a girl named Marcy. She cried when i was done with her.
For years, my reign survived challenge after challenge.
It wasn’t until I was eight years old and a girl named Sylvia moved to my block in Covina, CA from Brooklyn, NY that I met a girl who might have had my number.
I went first and called the Teddy Bear chant where you had to act out all of the lines as you skipped between the two ropes.
Sylvia held tough so I had to get down with the Little Bumper Car where the chant would finish with a count until the player messed up.
I got to 78 and pointed at her as I stepped out of the ropes wrapped around my ankles.
Sylvia waited until the ropes got to a good speed, timed it and dove in.
When she had to go around the corner, she almost caught a rope as she exited, but the ropes kept turning as she ran around one of the twirlers yelling ‘corner’.
She didn’t hesitate as she jumped back in and when it was time to count how many days she was in jail, she was cool and collected.
Her gaze was unfocused. She was jumping by feel, steady in the rhythm.
The day wasn’t hot enough to sweat, but you couldn’t of told my body that. No way I wanted to lose my crown to this girl.
First the one, then the other rope found her left ankle.
I kept my crown for two more weeks before Sylvia showed me that she could indeed pull my card.
By this time, I was okay with it. We were fast friends by that point.
There was no need to paint that part of my life though, so I stuck with the part that mattered.
When I was Queen of the Double Dutch world on Edna Place in Covina, CA.
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