Friday,
September 22, 2006
Michelangelo's Sistine
Chapel Ceiling Replicated in
The
ANNOTICO Report
Paco Rosic, 27, a Bosnian agnostic, with
a Catholic mother and Muslim father, is an obsessed graffiti artist, that
is using 12-ounce cans of spray paint, (about 2,000 so far) to recreate a
half scale replica of the Sistine Chapel Michelangelo Fresco, in a
formerly dilapidated building, that had to have an arched ceiling installed.
He
is almost done after working on it for four months, after traveling
to
Back
home, he practiced painting each biblical panel: Paco
hung the frames from wooden rafters in his garage and learned to work lying
down. When he started, he carried a sketch of the Sistine Chapel ceiling onto
the scaffolding. Now, it sits at home; he has memorized the painting.
The painting will be the centerpiece of a cafe and jazz club, that is
underwriting the project, that has captured the
attention of art aficionados and the faithful alike, across the country,
including art instructors.
Thousands
of people have flocked to his website (paco-rosic.com/sistine.html), where he
has posted snapshots of the work in progress.
A Can-Do
Painter's Creation
This
By
P.J. Huffstutter, Times Staff Writer
September 22, 2006
Paco is using 12-ounce cans of spray paint to fulfill
his lifelong obsession: to re-create one of the world's
greatest artistic works Michelangelo's fresco on the Sistine
Chapel ceiling in his own street
style.
Paco and his family have spent their life savings, and his parents
have taken a second mortgage on their home, to buy a dilapidated building in
this sleepy Midwestern downtown, about two hours northeast of
They paid $67,000 in January for the two-story, 1870s brick building that once
housed an antiques store. The shop's ceiling wasn't curved, so the family hired
workers to tear it down and create a plaster one that, at its highest point, is
gently arched 14 feet above the floor. Paco ended up
with 2,511 square feet of blank space.
He has spent the last four months reproducing a nearly half-scale replica of
the fresco illustrating the birth of man and early Christian history, including
nine scenes from the Book of Genesis and seven Old Testament prophets.
When he started, he carried a sketch of the Sistine Chapel ceiling onto the
scaffolding. Now, it sits at home; he has memorized the painting.
Michelangelo, who was ! commissioned
to paint the chapel in 1505, finished in 1512. Paco
is almost done.
His reproduction is smaller, more vibrantly colored and
has far fewer details: The eyes and cheekbones of the figures are made with
broad lines of paint instead of tiny, delicate brushstrokes. Some of Paco's Ignudi, or the
naked males painted in the corners of the creation scenes, are surrounded by
garlands of oak leaves just like
Michelangelo's. The emerald-green garlands, like the folds in the prophets'
robes and the gentle sway of Noah's beard blowing in the breeze, were painted
freehand.
Paco said he left out thousands of tiny acorns
clustered around the figures because "it's too small of a detail. It would
look like a big blob."
So far, he has drained more than 2,000 cans of spray paint, regularly wiping
out the stock of every Wal-Mart, craft store and hardware shop in a 10-mile
radius. With each can costing about $4.50, Paco
estimates that he has spent $9,000 o! n paint supplies
alone.
He still needs more.
"My friends thought I was crazy," said Paco,
27, a Bosnian immigrant. "So did my family. But this has been something
I've wanted to do since I was a child."
An agnostic raised by a Catholic mother and Muslim
father, Paco said his focus is more on reverence to
art than God. But after a local newspaper wrote about the project a couple
months ago, it captured the attention of art aficionados and the faithful
alike.
Recent visitors, said Paco, have included elderly
women from
"This is unbelievable," said Kathy Snider, a visitor from
Religious groups around the world have e-mailed Paco,
asking about his inspiration. Art instructors have pestered him for private
tours. And thousands of people have flocked to his website
(paco-rosic.com/sistine.html), where he has posted snapshots of the work in
progress.
Paco's fascination with the Sistine Chapel began at
age 6, when his mother, Anna, began sharing her passion for art. In the family
home outside of Sarajevo, Anna, Paco and his older
brother, Alen, would study books filled with the
works of Pablo Picasso and Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec.
But it was Michelangelo Buonarroti who captured Paco's imagination.
"He always was drawing" and asking questions about the Sistine Chapel
and Michelangelo's work, said Anna, 45. The Rosics
fled the violence in
In 1997 the Rosics arrived in
"He kept telling us that he was going to paint the Sistine Chapel,"
said Jacky, 51. "I didn't believe him. Over time, he convinced me he was
serious."
Jacky and Anna started looking for a building with a ceiling large enough to
accommodate Paco. They also wanted enough space to
open a cafe and jazz club to help pay for the building. Paco
joined the search.
They found the spot late last year next to what was once Grandpa Harry's
Antiques and Collectibles in downtown
"He has a passion and a focus that most artists his age don't have,"
Kelley said. "I knew that once everyone saw his progress, people would be
intrigued."
The cafe and jazz club due to open
in November will join the revival
of a downtown which declined in the 1980s, when scores of family farmers were
driven into bankruptcy and the largest employer, Deere & Co., made deep job
cuts. Investors now are turning empty buildings into airy artist lofts and chic
restaurants. But even in a place hungry for innovation, some considered Paco's idea crazy.
The artist didn't care. He traveled to
"I'd step outside to smoke a cigarette late at night, and I'd see this guy
come out of his garage with a gas mask on," said former neighbor Terrance
Bush. "I didn't know whether to ask what he was doing, or to call the
police. Then, I saw the paintings and loved them."
Even critics have offered ideas for improving history.
"We had a city inspector come in and spend a long time looking at the
ceiling," said Alen, 29. "He said: 'I like
it. That man next to God? He's naked. Don't you think the people need more
clothes?' I looked at Paco, and we tried not to
laugh."
Trying to reach a far corner to finish a column, Paco
stands on the scaffolding. With his legs apart, his spine bowed nearly
horizontal, he aims a can of almond at the ceiling. With a few quick strokes,
the outer edge of a column appears.
A faint, brownish haze floats around his slender, 5-foot-9 frame. He grabs a
can of white. Carefully, methodically, he uses the white to lig!
hten the brown, and create
the illusion of depth around the curve of the column.
A black mask with a filter protects Paco. Though the
temperature in the room hovers in the 50s, sweat trickles down the side of his
face.
The interruptions are constant. His cellphone rings.
It's the fifth stranger to call this hour with questions.
Three college students from the
When two more visitors show up, Paco calls it a day.
He caps his cans of watermelon (for God's robe) and Woven Tapestry (for the
snake's tail in the Garden of Eden). Peeling off his mask, he climbs down the
yellow metal scaffolding and steps gingerly over dozens of empty cans littered
across the floor. Paco smiles and offers to give the
visitors a tour.
p.j.huffstutter@latimes.com
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