Leo Frontini: Painting from the Subconscious in Unsettled Times

The tension suggested by the title became a foundational force in the development of this body of work. While creating the exhibition, I turned inward, examining the structure of my own practice. I wanted to loosen my attachment to a fixed theme or direct conceptual focus, as these can sometimes limit expression. The idea of “fraying,” like unraveling twine, became a metaphor for this intentional, meditative process, an opening up rather than a constraining. It allowed me to give way to the subconscious, letting each work emerge from and inform the next without imposed direction. The “yield,” understood as both harvest and surrender, is the outcome of this release. I let go of rational control in favour of a more intuitive state. In doing so, I aimed to create scenes that carry a sense of escape, where form and meaning emerge through unraveling rather than resolution.

There isn’t a precise order to how the work evolves. Instead, a harmony develops between the different elements as the painting progresses. In the beginning, everything exists only in my mind. Visual fragments of potential scenes appear and disappear in cycles, constantly shifting as new ones enter. That ongoing movement allows each possible work to develop in the subconscious slowly. Eventually, I move to paper with whichever image feels most compelling in that moment. At that stage, reference and rationality enter the process as compositional structures are introduced and the scene begins to take form. Symbolism, however, is not something I try to impose deliberately – although at times, if it is central to the work, I will guide it more intentionally. Often it emerges through the viewer’s own introspection and through the work’s relationship to the present moment. In that sense, meaning continues to evolve even after the painting leaves the studio.

Writing the poems began for me as a practice of introspection after the painting was finished. Over time, I started to think of them as an ambiguous introduction to the work as well. Rather than trying to define or explain the painting, the poems are meant to draw the viewer further into its mystery and narrative – perhaps evoking a feeling or atmosphere that might not otherwise emerge. The poem “Yields of Fray” reflects the journey of escaping reality, or of unraveling the self from imposed structures. It speaks to the process of letting go and moving deeper into the imagination, where joy and a kind of transcendence can be found. In that sense, the poem and the works exist in dialogue as they both emerge from the same immersive state, but language approaches the experience from a different direction than the painting.

I feel that the sculptures act as another reading of the scene or narrative, offering a more realised representation of specific elements as they enter our physical world. They also give the viewer a bodily experience of the story, allowing them to literally move around the work and discover different parts of the narrative. Because the paintings and sculptures developed simultaneously, they continually informed one another to the point where neither can be fully understood without the other. In this exhibition, I see the sculptures as markers of time: the same figures or elements from the paintings reappear in a different context, or further along in the unfolding action.

These are very challenging times. Today we are faced not only with heinous realities on the ground in our cities, but also with constant inflammatory and destabilising media in all its forms. There seems to be a universal sense of angst that is often intensified through endless engagement. I believe it is important to stay informed; however, there is a point at which one must step back, because the cycle can become all-consuming. I often think about how I can be helpful and productive in the world as an individual. For me, that has meant making art and sharing it with others. Even if the influence is small, it is still productive and contributes something meaningful to the whole. I feel that art has always been and will continue to be a place of refuge, healing, processing, protesting, and understanding for both the artist and the viewer. Art made with depth and intention has the potential to reach anyone.

To desire escape, in that sense, is not withdrawal. It is a deliberate act of choosing where to place the mind when the world becomes too loud, and insisting that meaning can still be made there.

I do feel the works fit well here. Over the past year of creating them, I was already inspired by Venice from afar, and my practice overall is strongly influenced by Italian painting. Tiepolo in particular, has always been an artist I’ve admired. The works carry a spirit that is similar to Venice itself, boundless and winding in their narratives, full of light, color, and drama. That resonance feels amplified here, shaped further by the beauty and vibrancy of Venice.