Savannah Procession
Savannah Procession, dyptych. 74" x 186" (188cm x 473cm), oil on linen.
SCAD Permanent Collection.
Savannah Procession
Artist Statement
The past few years I’ve been intrigued by the theme of processions. I’ve been inspired by the religious processions that happen with regularity in every village in the valley where I live in southern Italy. The entire community participates in some way, departing from the village in the pre-dawn hours, winding their way up to a shrine on a hill or mountain above. Statues are transported, prayers recited, and songs are sung in honor of the Madonna or of the patron saint of the village. The roads are steep, sometimes paved, often not. In many cases these processions are connected to the agricultural seasons. They recall more ancient local practices of bringing gifts to the gods that once protected this area and they mirror similar events in every culture worldwide. There is power in a group of people all walking together, united in celebration, prayer, exodus; liberation.
During one of my return visits to Savannah, GA, where I'd lived for 20 years, I started to expand the scope of this visual and metaphorical investigation to include the processions more familiar to that part of the world: marches, funeral processions; parades. I think of Sherman’s March to the Sea, of the civil rights marches that occurred during the Savannah Protest Movement; I think of people lining the street to honor the line of cars in a passing funeral; I think of Flannery O’Connor’s Birthday Parade, the Slithering Lantern Parade, and of course the famous St. Patrick’s Day Parade— this one with links, if rather remote, to the religious processions in southern Italy. In taking threads from the marches and funerals and parades, I started to imagine what a contemporary Savannah procession might look like.
My work on this painting started with being accepted to ARTS Southeast’s Artist-in-Residence Program, ON::View. I started my 2-month residency in August 2025 with a town-hall style meeting in the organisation’s gallery space. Around 50 people showed up that steamy Savannah evening to listen to my proposal and to participate in a discussion about it. We talked about current events: global, national, local, and personal; political, environmental, and social. I was interested in hearing about the topics most important to each person in the room and about how everyone was feeling concerning the state of our world in general. During the meeting, as the people who’d gathered there began to share, just about everyone mirrored my own sense of heartbreak about what we are seeing playing out in the United States and across the globe: the many injustices, the loses of rights and of lives; the needless devastation. We found ourselves carried through a range of emotions: confusion, rage, cynicism, despair, hopefulness, surrender….
Each person in the meeting shared something that helped me begin to deepen my own understanding of the theme the painting would carry. One extremely important contribution came from a young woman named Chantal, depicted in the painting in a magenta dress, leading the group. She synthesised what she sees happening on the world stage right now as a “period of transition”: moving though upheaval, difficult times, and even destruction is the path to a brighter future. It is natural that light follows darkness. Chantal’s comments helped give our procession an pivotal layer of meaning and something of a destination. Astoria, smiling and waving a large flag, spoke about her concerns around climate change. The image that emerged from her words was of rising waters and the marsh setting I’d already imagined acquired a river and, ultimately, a boat.
As the discussion continued during the meeting and afterwards, one unequivocal feeling emerged and was echoed across the room: being in community is vital, particularly in these times of unrest and uncertainty.
To this end, I asked for participants, for people to volunteer to be depicted in the work and to contribute some time and energy to the project. I invited anyone who felt moved to take part in the painting to sign up for a private visit on the online calendar I created. More than 30 2-hour sessions were subsequently booked before I had to stop accepting appointments. In these sessions I sketched and photographed each participant while we spoke again about topics raised during the town-hall meeting.
The most important question I asked turned out to be, What role will you play in the community we’re creating on the canvas?
The discussions and this question in particular helped determine the pose each person would take. Kevin, for instance, a highly sensitive artist, was feeling overwhelmed by world events. He was having trouble seeing the light that Chantal had spoken about. So he is curled up, head down, turned away from the sunlight that everyone is moving towards, nestled in the black canoe. Much later Lynne came by. In talking with her about her role in this community she spoke of her faith (Muslim) and of her natural tendency to seek out the person in any group who looks like they might be having trouble, might be getting left behind. In mid-conversation she bent over the figure of Kevin, already painted onto the canvas, put a hand out towards him and asked: what’s this young man’s story? The image was clear. Her place in the painting determined by her kindness. Dorlene, a therapist by trade, spoke of feeling that her role was to hold space for people during the times that were challenging. When I asked her what that might look like, she crossed her hands over her heart and closed her eyes.
Daniel came into our session up in arms about the executive order signed that day that prohibited flag-burning in the United States, an act long-protected by the First Amendment. The flag he holds, the white flag of surrender, is burning. Carol holds her singing bowl, an offer of healing; Nancy holds a symbol of the peace she found in the Buddhist temples of Vietnam. Gus is sounding out a call with his trumpet while his mom Katherine looks on (love and protection) , and his dad Jack is joining the music. Tobia brings the Mother energy; Paul is a foil character, the masked and inscrutable “pulcinella”. Lisa carries pitcher plants and her love of Nature while Jessica guides the group in a yellow top hat and Mark paddles the canoe. Cedric looks out at us: an invitation? Or a challenge? The artist lies at the bottom of the composition, a visual nod to Jacques-Louis David’s Death of Marat, the darkest hour in the transition, the point of utter release in the cycle of life and death.
Artist Statement
The past few years I’ve been intrigued by the theme of processions. I’ve been inspired by the religious processions that happen with regularity in every village in the valley where I live in southern Italy. The entire community participates in some way, departing from the village in the pre-dawn hours, winding their way up to a shrine on a hill or mountain above. Statues are transported, prayers recited, and songs are sung in honor of the Madonna or of the patron saint of the village. The roads are steep, sometimes paved, often not. In many cases these processions are connected to the agricultural seasons. They recall more ancient local practices of bringing gifts to the gods that once protected this area and they mirror similar events in every culture worldwide. There is power in a group of people all walking together, united in celebration, prayer, exodus; liberation.
During one of my return visits to Savannah, GA, where I'd lived for 20 years, I started to expand the scope of this visual and metaphorical investigation to include the processions more familiar to that part of the world: marches, funeral processions; parades. I think of Sherman’s March to the Sea, of the civil rights marches that occurred during the Savannah Protest Movement; I think of people lining the street to honor the line of cars in a passing funeral; I think of Flannery O’Connor’s Birthday Parade, the Slithering Lantern Parade, and of course the famous St. Patrick’s Day Parade— this one with links, if rather remote, to the religious processions in southern Italy. In taking threads from the marches and funerals and parades, I started to imagine what a contemporary Savannah procession might look like.
My work on this painting started with being accepted to ARTS Southeast’s Artist-in-Residence Program, ON::View. I started my 2-month residency in August 2025 with a town-hall style meeting in the organisation’s gallery space. Around 50 people showed up that steamy Savannah evening to listen to my proposal and to participate in a discussion about it. We talked about current events: global, national, local, and personal; political, environmental, and social. I was interested in hearing about the topics most important to each person in the room and about how everyone was feeling concerning the state of our world in general. During the meeting, as the people who’d gathered there began to share, just about everyone mirrored my own sense of heartbreak about what we are seeing playing out in the United States and across the globe: the many injustices, the loses of rights and of lives; the needless devastation. We found ourselves carried through a range of emotions: confusion, rage, cynicism, despair, hopefulness, surrender….
Each person in the meeting shared something that helped me begin to deepen my own understanding of the theme the painting would carry. One extremely important contribution came from a young woman named Chantal, depicted in the painting in a magenta dress, leading the group. She synthesised what she sees happening on the world stage right now as a “period of transition”: moving though upheaval, difficult times, and even destruction is the path to a brighter future. It is natural that light follows darkness. Chantal’s comments helped give our procession an pivotal layer of meaning and something of a destination. Astoria, smiling and waving a large flag, spoke about her concerns around climate change. The image that emerged from her words was of rising waters and the marsh setting I’d already imagined acquired a river and, ultimately, a boat.
As the discussion continued during the meeting and afterwards, one unequivocal feeling emerged and was echoed across the room: being in community is vital, particularly in these times of unrest and uncertainty.
To this end, I asked for participants, for people to volunteer to be depicted in the work and to contribute some time and energy to the project. I invited anyone who felt moved to take part in the painting to sign up for a private visit on the online calendar I created. More than 30 2-hour sessions were subsequently booked before I had to stop accepting appointments. In these sessions I sketched and photographed each participant while we spoke again about topics raised during the town-hall meeting.
The most important question I asked turned out to be, What role will you play in the community we’re creating on the canvas?
The discussions and this question in particular helped determine the pose each person would take. Kevin, for instance, a highly sensitive artist, was feeling overwhelmed by world events. He was having trouble seeing the light that Chantal had spoken about. So he is curled up, head down, turned away from the sunlight that everyone is moving towards, nestled in the black canoe. Much later Lynne came by. In talking with her about her role in this community she spoke of her faith (Muslim) and of her natural tendency to seek out the person in any group who looks like they might be having trouble, might be getting left behind. In mid-conversation she bent over the figure of Kevin, already painted onto the canvas, put a hand out towards him and asked: what’s this young man’s story? The image was clear. Her place in the painting determined by her kindness. Dorlene, a therapist by trade, spoke of feeling that her role was to hold space for people during the times that were challenging. When I asked her what that might look like, she crossed her hands over her heart and closed her eyes.
Daniel came into our session up in arms about the executive order signed that day that prohibited flag-burning in the United States, an act long-protected by the First Amendment. The flag he holds, the white flag of surrender, is burning. Carol holds her singing bowl, an offer of healing; Nancy holds a symbol of the peace she found in the Buddhist temples of Vietnam. Gus is sounding out a call with his trumpet while his mom Katherine looks on (love and protection) , and his dad Jack is joining the music. Tobia brings the Mother energy; Paul is a foil character, the masked and inscrutable “pulcinella”. Lisa carries pitcher plants and her love of Nature while Jessica guides the group in a yellow top hat and Mark paddles the canoe. Cedric looks out at us: an invitation? Or a challenge? The artist lies at the bottom of the composition, a visual nod to Jacques-Louis David’s Death of Marat, the darkest hour in the transition, the point of utter release in the cycle of life and death.
With infinite gratitude for the tremendous support for this project to Savannah College of Art and Design and to ARTS Southeast.
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