Carlo Cesta
"Carlo Cesta" by John Massier, Winter 2007, p. 114
The Toronto artist Carlo Cesta makes works about optimism—not that this is some obscure secret. After all, his most recent solo exhibition, held at Diaz Contemporary late last spring, was called “International House of Sunshine.”
Early in his career, Cesta’s Italian-Canadian heritage— and use of decorative elements rooted in that heritage—led to the positioning of his practice within the identity politics of the 1980s, but his work was never really about that. Cesta is, and always has been, an optimistic decorative minimalist. During the past 20 years, his materials, forms and gestures have become so distinctive that it is impossible to mistake his work for anyone else’s. At the same time, he manages to use this personal visual language without falling into repetition or, worse, predictable shtick.
Cesta’s exhibition was dominated by four large new sculptures, all of which combined similar industrial materials in a similarly aerated manner. The physicality of steel constructions and metal garage doors was made light not merely by Cesta’s insertion of his trademark accents of Plexiglas but also by the works’ elegant and balanced configuration. Despite their delicacy, there was no sense of impending collapse. Chateau Blue—comprising a garage door held horizontally aloft on a wall of plated, coiled steel— was a model of delicate poise, so light and buoyant that it seemed on the verge of boinging itself out of the gallery and into the ether.
The subtle humour that has become familiar to Cesta fans was evident in the title piece of the exhibition. It comprised another garage door, this one supported by lean steel frames that formed a network of emphatic sunbeams. Most terrifically (though “most” is deceptive when all the works were equally compelling), one of two Insulated Shed works in the exhibition presented a garage door diagonally fitted with multicoloured Plexiglas, suspended on a slight incline and butted into a corner of the gallery. It was held aloft by a low wall of curved aluminum lines, their patterning culled from the architectural symbol for insulation.
All of these large works communicated some sense of upward lift—not merely in the suspension of the flat planes of the garage doors, but also in a directional sense, as emphasized by the lines leading up to the planes. They all seemed to be wafting up. To see these charming, unexpected things defying the weight and heft of their materials is to be physically confronted with possibility and unabashed optimism. They were smart, serious and heavy as well as buoyant and funny—oversized industrial pastries prepared and presented by a master chef. Soul food.
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