AN ARTIST'S ADVENTURES
By Donna Yawching
Sunday Express
Section 2
October 5, 1997
Page 3
When I first meet Ricardo Nanton, he is squatting on the concrete floor at Mt Plaisir Hotel, painstakingly painting a precise red border inside a purple border. Over the course of the next two days, these borders - and the space within them - will blossom like a garden of flowers: strokes and arabesques, dots and curlicues will unfold into a magic carpet of colour, an Aladdin wonder that will make one wish that Mt Plaisir's guests could walk on the walls, like flies. Nanton's Arabic motif, achieved through sheer build-up of detail and startling juxtapositions of hues, simply seems much too fine to set foot upon.
"I don't always look like this," Nanton says ruefully at the end, stretching his tortured back. Actually, barring a distinct layer of sweat, he doesn't look too bad: his close-cropped hair is incapable of being dishevelled, and although he no longer flaunts the pretty-boy, Greek-god looks of his youth (the chiselled profile that graced so many theatre posters in the 80s), his features have developed an infectious humour that speaks of someone capable of laughing at himself.
Mt Plaisir, an eclectic creation by Italian photographer Piero Guerrini, is the perfect place for Nanton to express himself. Tucked between mountains and ocean in Grande Riviere, on Trinidad's rugged north coast, this is a hideaway that attracts artists of every calibre; a place where the vibrant colours of nature are echoed in the eccentric rooms. The magic carpet floor is not Nanton's virgin effort at Mt Plaisir: some of his more portable works hang on the walls, and a few of the walls themselves display a rich faux marbre finish that Nanton has achieved through a mysterious rag-painting technique.
As he looks down at his Arabian Nights creation, Nanton runs his hand through his receding hairline ("The worst thing in the world is losing your hair") and asks, a trifle anxiously, "Do you think there's a market for this kind of thing?" He has, after all, only recently returned from New York, and has to come up with ways of making a living.
"I am right now a professional bum," he jokes, not seeming unduly worried about the fact. He needn't be: already his interior design techniques - acquired at Parson's College, New York - define the walls and floors of some of the most posh mansions in the Caribbean; and it should be just a matter of time before the Westmoorings crowd catches on.
"I am," he says simply, "available to do just about anything that needs a creative opinion."
Faux finishes and fancy floors are, however, just one facet of this versatile artist's abilities; for Nanton, has at some time or another painted on virtually every possible surface, from T-shirts to pottery.
"I'll paint anything," he declares. "I've had people hire me to paint their refrigerator, their car, their bicycle When I paint, what I really try to do is make things sing."
By that token his next major commission, a gigantic Mediterranean-style mural for a mansion down south, will probably rate as grand opera.
High on his list of paintable surfaces is, of course, canvas: Nanton had his first one-man show in 1984, at the age of 30 ("I was so shy; a friend of mine pushed me"); and is currently contemplating another. His last local exhibition ("beautiful and successful") was at the Gallery 1.2.3.4 in 1993; his next - a three-man show that includes Noel Bowen and Barry Pierre - is slated to open on October 16 at Bo's Gallery on Woodford Street, Port of Spain. Entitled Images and Things, the show will feature not only paintings and drawings, but also images imposed on clothing, bottles, and pottery. Muses Nanton: "It won't be just paintings thrown on a wall."
In the artistic world Nanton's greatest strength - his versatility - might also be viewed as his prime weakness: a reluctance to choose one art form and follow it through to the (often) -bitter end. This is a man who has launched a theatre company (Immortelle Theatre Company, in 1984: the first local company to attend an international theatre festival); has operated a boutique featuring his own hand-painted clothing and accessories (Wearable Art, 1985 - 1991, starting in New York, moving to Trinidad, and ending up in Bequia); has successfully produced and acted in his own theatrical scripts. Nanton's professional CV is as confusing as the artist himself is straightforward.
"They call me a jack-of-all trades in the arts," he laughs, clearly not taking it as an insult; "I like to do a lot of different things; I'm not just a painter. I just do whatever I want to do. I don't ponder too much." He admits that while he likes to get things started, he hates the responsibility that comes with keeping them going. "You know what I am?" he reflects. "I'm an instigator. I like to instigate things." Since Nanton's interest in theatre has by no means waned, it should come as no surprise if one of these days he "instigates" a writer's studio or an actor's studio, two dreams that are very close to his heart. "There are so many wonderful people (artists) here who have to live abroad because there's just nothing for them here," he bemoans.
He should know. Since 1977, Nanton has flitted back and forth between New York and Trinidad like a batty mamselle. The two extremes seem necessary to feed his creative wellspring. The Big Apple beckons because "I always had a complex about all the stupid things I thought and felt; when I reached to New York where people actually enjoy their neuroses, I felt, this is the place for me." Lengthy visits to Venezuela and Spain have also played a part in his creative development.
But, inevitably, Nanton always returns to Trinidad - specifically, to Grande Riviere. "It's a survival thing," he explains; "this is where I come to get energy. This place keeps me sane."
He has been tapping into Grande Riviere's energy for 30 years: his parents own a little stone cabin - style rustique - along the Matelot road. Out in the bay, swimming distance if the currents allow ("I used to do it in my youth; I wouldn't try it now"), a large rock capped with green scrub thrusts upward from the water. Beside the main cabin, a ramshackle wooden structure, 105 years old, is Nanton's personal hideout: here he keeps his newspaper clippings, yellowing theatre programmes, photos of past glories. An old mattress sleeps in the corner.
The family's land stretches back into the towering rainforest, where Nanton hopes one day to build a slightly more comfortable haven.
Upriver, we come to a deep green glade with a clear pool cupped in its embrace; this is where he likes to come and "just loll".
We loll for awhile then return to the cabin. As I take my leave, the sun is setting behind the little island, a blaze of gold.