Stepping into the world of Manuel Santana is like entering a dream. Or a nightmare.
Behind the popping, luminescent color of flowers and poets can lurk shadowy blue faces and snarling white dogs.
In the most startling painting, ìEl Paseo,î one such growling canine looks poised to pounce off the canvas and right at someoneís jugular. The crazed dogís sharp movement against is haunting against a fiery, dark background.
But most of Santanaís vibrant paintings and black and white lithographs currently on display at the Community School of Music and Arts are more palatable for the faint of heart.
From simple flower patterns and engraved depictions of carnival-like characters to anti-war statements, Santana sets a mood that is often fanciful, and sometimes frightening.
Santana, 79, was born in Los Angeles to Mexican immigrants, and is both good-humored and gruff. Throughout his life, he spent much time on both sides of the border—his family resides in Aguascalientes—and his art has done the same. Each piece bears a bilingual title, and his flowers, as well as his vibrant palette, are reminiscent of Mexican artwork.
With a bicultural upbringing, Santana is particularly attuned to the differences between Mexico and the United States, which emerge when Mexicans and Americans respond to his art.
ìHere, culture is going to a museum. In Mexico, culture is the sum total of human history,î Santana said.
The main principle in Santanaís art, and in his worldview, is chaos. He rarely has a plan when he begins a painting or an etching — he begins each canvas naÔve and curious. But slowly, through creating lines and circles and fields of bright color, he begins to find his way.
ìLittle by little, something begins to suggest itself. Itís process, constant process. The only way you can understand it is to get pieces of it,î Santana said.
ìIt makes you realize the only real power you have is to accept the fact that you donít know everything.î
In his paintings and wood cuts, Santana plays with texture. Smoothed swirls of acrylic paint interrupt raised, knobby portions of the canvas, causing the viewer to see different things depending on the angle. Heíll experiment with a drill for his wood cuts, or xilographs, losing the control of familiar tools to discover a new form of chaos.
In this way, he learns constantly.
Santana became an artist almost by accident. He was in his early thirties taking classes and a psychology teacher saw his drawings and encouraged him to enroll in an art class, and then in art school for two years. There, Santana experimented with various media and had the opportunity to work with experienced painters.
After a 30-year hiatus during which Santana worked in construction and opened up Manuelís, a Mexican restaurant in Aptos, he returned to art 15 years ago and focused on painting.
ìI didnít have any style when I quit,î he said. ìI was just learning how to do things. I just decided that since I was already in my 60s, I would forget about being a great artist and just started investigating everything I wanted to know about art.î
Most of the paintings and xilographs on display in the Mohr Gallery are from the past few years. A 1993 painting, ìDos Poetas,î showcases Santanaís ability to contrast bright hues with dark emotions to render a complex effect. His two poets are men with large, round eyes, huddled together almost as one person. Their gazes are identical and grave.
Instead of letting the color mirror the poetsí solemn expressions, Santana fills the canvas with a prism of neon warmth. Colors reflect and bounce off one other, camouflaging the two pensive men in their surroundings.
At least one of these men is Santana.
