The Intimacy of Domenico Gnoli

The intimate and humorous paintings of a forgotten artist

I’ll start with a confession that is both somewhat embarrassing and incredibly revealing: I thought Domenico Gnoli’s artwork was fan art for Mad Men.

Now, in my defense, Mad Men is amazing and a personal favorite of mine. It is, in my opinion, art. And if you’re familiar with the show, then you can see how in many ways Gnoli’s work is reminiscent of Mad Men, and not simply because it’s set at the same time he painted his pieces.

I was delighted to be proven wrong. I had many misconceptions about Gnoli: I thought he was a contemporary artist (hence, fan art of Mad Men), I thought some of his pieces must have been Magritte’s (not surprising), and I thought that he must have been obscure to me in the ways Alex Katz was until recently (meaning: he’d been alive for years and I had no idea). All of these false ideas I had of Domenico Gnoli only begins to scratch the surface.

The story is rather simple, albeit tragic: Domenico Gnoli was a young artist just starting to gain recognition for his genius until his untimely death at age 36. He had a near cultlike following after his death, but this once shining star has fallen into obscurity until, of course, the age of the internet.

What draws me into Gnoli’s work is the incredible detail. His work is a melding of pop art and surrealism, taking cues from Magritte while carving out a world of his own. That his work was initially mistaken in my eyes for being modern is largely due to how his style is somewhat reminiscent of Anna Weyant and his themes and topics akin to that of Andy Dixon (two of my personal favorites). I could argue that his work is incredibly modern, but at the same time seeped in the sixties.

Once I found his work, I was quick to sink my teeth into it. Finding something that interests me is one thing, findingsomething that stems from the 20th century and captivates my attention is a whole other thing. That’s an addiction. I have a deep love for 20th Century anything. I love the fashion, film, books, and music from the 20th Century (but I could do without the values and politics). Gnoli is my kryptonite, his work is the kind I would lose my life savings for. Thankfully, though, it hasn’t come to that.

Domenico’s life is brief, and given that he is relatively unknown there is little information out there so there is little to say. He was born in Rome in 1933 to a ceramicist mother and an art historian father. Domenico is noted for saying he always knew he wanted to be a painter, that it was the only life ever presented to him. He studied stage design at the Academy of Fine Arts in Rome and by age 20 was already a successful designer. In 1955, he created the set and costumes for a production of As You Like It for the Old Vic Theatre in London.

Despite his success in design, Domenico gave it up to pursue painting. What may come as a surprise is that while commercial art is often a more feasible means of making a living while artists try to sell to galleries, there is often contention among artists over this.

Andy Warhol struggled in his early years in New York, working in commercial illustration while trying to get his foot in the door with galleries. This earned him scorn and distrust from other artists. Edward Hopper was also a commercial artist, a job he deeply resented but relied on as his paintings weren’t selling enough for him to live off of. Even Magritte made posters for commercial art, a task he despised and would have no doubt made him unpopular with the surrealists (more so than he already was). Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec is known now for his commercial work, but there’s a clear distinction and different reverence given for his fine art. Domenico Gnoli was no different.

This presents a struggle for many artists: commercial art allows them a living that is still in the arts but may deem them as ‘outsiders’ unwelcome in the realm of fine art. Even today, I know of some who go by different names to sell commercial art for money while pursuing fine art.

Despite this dilemma, Domenico worked for magazines such as Sports Illustrated and Fortune Magazine while working on his large-scale paintings and trying to get into galleries. In 1968, his work was featured at the Venice Biennale, and eventually, his biggest break would come when the famous gallery owner Sidney Janis caught win of his work. Janis was instantly struck by Domenico’s large-scale pieces and insisted he had to do a show of his work in New York.

The stars were finally aligning for Domenico. For a year he worked tirelessly on paintings for his show in New York, and his work was an instant hit. Sadly, Domenico died of cancer just a few months later. His fame slowly faded with him. In recent years Gnoli has had a resurgence of fame as new showings of his work have appeared, giving him a new audience to see and admire the work of the talented Italian artist.

His pieces are large-scale and ultra close-ups of various people and objects. They are, to put it simply, intimate. It was this factor that drew me in. It’s easy to get lost staring at Gnoli’s work. I can only imagine what it must be like in person, how the urge to stand close and study every minuscule detail would pull me in. His pieces, rather than showing faces or full being, focus on one aspect and allow us to fill the rest (hence me seeing Joan Holloway). They are relatively large in scale, nearly taking over a wall, and full of tiny detail.

It’s easy to say that his work is intimate because of its close-up nature, but we can easily argue that his work is teeming with sexual intimacy as well. I don’t just mean that because of his famous painting of two figures in bed, especially given they aren’t touching. What I mean is Domenico’s work almost appears to be from the lens of a lover examining their heart’s desire. His work often shows buttons, unbuttoned or otherwise, in a way that could have sexual undertones. And, of course, the close-ups of bodies, namely that of women, are charged with sexual energy.

In turning back to Mad Men, the character of Joan Holloway is something of a vixen. She works in the office with the hopes of finding a wealthy husband so she can abandon the workforce. While this may seem like a dated ideology, it’s surprisingly relevant with the rise of Trad Wives. In the case of Joan, despite having a long affair with Roger Sterling, her boss, she ends up marrying the medical student Greg Harris. This turns into an unhealthy marriage, leaving Joan in a situation she never imagined.

Throughout the show, Joan Holloway’s character is presented and showcased for her body and sexuality. It’s not so much that she’s revered and respected for her sexuality, but her body is constantly the object of gross commentary. In a later season episode, she sits with Peggy in a meeting trying to sell the agency’s marketing to a company that sells pantyhose and is run exclusively by men. The men spend the whole meeting making sexually aggressive comments to Joan about her body.

This is the world Domenico Gnoli occupied. So is it so strange to say that his work isn’t just intimate in an emotional nature, but a sexual one as well?

I think what Gnoli does is master intimacy in its dual forms. We see the close-up details, the sort of things one in love would know and understand. But also a hidden sexuality, an implication of clothes coming off, of the things that draw us to attraction towards another.

In many ways, it’s this intimate energy in his work that taunts me. I’m 31 years old, and I’m sitting here looking at these paintings and realizing I’ve never lived with the intimate knowledge Gnoli is displaying. And I’m ashamed, but mostly I’m hurt. In my most vulnerable moments, I found myself asking, “Why am I not worthy of loving? Why does no one love me like this? Am I not lovable? Is there something fundamentally wrong with me?”

This isn’t a particularly unique sentiment to me. Many have found themselves in my very shoes, hell I suspect all of us have in some capacity. And for the record, I’m fine. It was a moment of weakness, not a lifelong sentiment I’ve held onto. On the contrary, I’m quite fond of being single. It’s more that in searching through his work, a wound I thought was healed has opened up.

What I see often in Gnoli’s work is my own failure. To make such pieces of detail on a large scale, to show buttons undone and bodies under blankets and ask, “What do you know if this intimate moment?” can do nothing short of make my breath catch. I can’t help it, I want to sink deeper and deeper into his work, and there’s so little for me to see.

Of course, I can only speculate what he would have done with his newfound fame and where his work would go. Similarly, I can only speculate where my own life will go. As I write this, I’m quietly waiting to hear back from the man I’m seeing while he works long weekends and studies day and night to finally finish medical school (the irony of how similar this is to Joan is not lost on me). I have this terrible ache to say, “I care about you and I want to help.” But I have this even stronger ache to remain silent.

I’m aware I’m putting myself onto the canvas. Like Magritte, Gnoli adds humorous elements to his work. And, like Andy Dixon, his work is often in observance of the 1%, and not often kindly. There is also the element of his work that essentially takes Renaissance Italy and asks, “How can I put this in the 60s?” I realize in this sense that I still have more to explore when it comes to the work of Domenico Gnoli beyond my own personal life manifesting onto a canvas. There are few things more delightful than knowing you’re just scratching the surface of your understanding of an artist.

I also don’t believe I’m wrong for putting myself into the paintings. If anything, that just makes me human. We all interpret things wrong. We all see something of ourselves or try to, in the media in front of us. I think it’s normal to seek understanding of our own lives and struggles in the things around us.

That time where I saw both Mad Men and my internal dilemma with relationships was some time ago, and I’ve ceased pouring my soul onto the work of Domenico Gnoli. Now, I find when I look at him not only do I see intimacy, a beautiful human thing, but I see, once again, the world of Domenico Gnoli is still waiting to be explored.

And I cannot wait I sink in.