John Cadiz: Listening to the Music

Listening to the Music

Art Exhibition by

John Cadiz

"Lively and anarchic, Cadiz's paintings replicate dreamscapes where the real and the unlikely slide together as easily, and tastily, as warm butter and hot milk."
- R.M.Vaughan, The Globe and Mail

Feb 16 to Feb 26

Opening Night
Thursday February 16
7p.m.

Ideasincorporated Gallery
1081 Bathurst St.

416-854-5687 johnmcadiz@gmail.com

Listening to the music 23 x 24

1992

I regularly returned to Trinidad for carnival and developed a reputation for keeping to myself. When I did this painting I was dealing with some residual stuff that crept into the work.

One false move 24 x 30

2009

From a dream in which I was sleeping in our bed with Monica and the kids. It felt really cozy until I realized that there was something else in the bed. A large serpent had quietly entwined itself around us and if I moved something bad would happen.

Arima morning mist 24 x 35

2011

One morning I went out to see the sunrise. There was a thin mist hugging the ground, which for a tropical island is very unusual. I’m starting to move away from paintings of our house in Trinidad so placed the viewer outside the fence.

The Question 15 x 19

2011

$750

This one is based on a nightmare. I was driving along a country road in the dark. There were bloodied bodies lying on the road ahead. Military types flagged down the car and motioned to an old crone to come forward. I knew she was going to ask me a question and if I didn’t answer it correctly I’d be killed like the others. I’ve used Trinidad carnival imagery for the person stopping the car.

Apparition at Awenda 24 x 16

2010

$850

Camping at Awenda is always fun. But there’s a period around dusk when the ordinary, in this case a person walking with a flashlight, can take on a different meaning. This, to me, is how religious myths come in to being.

The last Resort 24 x 33

2011

The annual holiday at a tropical resort courtesy Monica’s parents. When I’m there I don’t exercise, eat badly and drink too much. Then I have a morbid fantasy that I’m going to die while drinking a mohito. It’s always the last resort.