A painted door

 In Chloride, Sharon shared her paintings she had from Tony Mafia. She loves horses and thus when Tony did the painting on her door he portrayed her on a galloping horse in the left top corner. In the full length portrait she is holding two dolls.
Tony wrote: How beautiful she rides and signed it. The painting was done in 1990.

The Circus

Tony lived in the circus, saw the circus and was the circus.
He was half cowboy and half Indian, a man from "Faraway"
a creative creation of humanity.
He lived under a tent of friendship with mainly poets, buskers,
hearts with a message and clowns.
He didn't like preachy people and politics and was not a man
of compromises.
He knew that grown-ups were nothing more than full grown children
and he remained young until the end.

Watercolor, Antwerp, 1983

can you see

Give me death and a dragon then my eyes can close,
I give this and all of yesterday careing.
Can you see.
Antwerp 1982
In that period Tony painted a lot of 'Punks'. Anything visually different would stimulate his mind and lead to new pictures. Death was a constant companion in his thoughts, not only because of his heart disease, but also because of his experience when Shanghai fell WW II being there with the merchant marine as an able bodied seaman.

The horsewhisperer

Tony often wrote stories and illustrated them. He was a painter first and foremost. These illustrations are done with airbrush. You have to love the horses! Tony knew horses, he rode, as a 14 year old he worked in a very famous stable. Didn't really like him since one of the horses was really ornery. I think it is an early seventies piece when many of his best stories originated.

Horse dance

THE GENESIS OF CREATION
(The tearful eye of God)


It is always the power of the beast excelling human beings
and present in images we see with closed eyes
(sometimes blind to history). In a different place.
In the Camargue (wild horses). In dreams saved in scraps
in the head, the mind, where all eventually disappears.
But this horse that has broken free of the herd
I saw again in a man, a long time ago. He stood with his feather
headdress on a stage in Battery Park swaying his arms
screaming at 200,000 people - in the background
above him the Twin Towers emerging
as temporary gods - the eye of an invisible hurricane:
First they took our buffaloes
then our land
and what’s still left for us in territory
they build nuclear power plants!
The red stallion is the painter’s brush:
he who creates knows that this arises from what is destroyed,
he who writes knows that words have to perish
if they are to have new life.
They are like the flowers on giant cactuses, briefly blooming only.
I see a part of a painting and I see a part of what
is expressed: all Guernicas and Chattanoogas never passed.

Poem by Hannie Rouweler publisher of Black Sun. It wasn't about these horses she wrote the poem but this painting in oil hasn't been posted yet. It has been shown in Hoboken in the townhal..