I´ve always been an artist and a collector.  Drawings and crayola paintings of the Texas –Louisiana swampland, where I was raised, adorned the walls of our home, images that my parents said I began to make when I was four years old.  My Dad said that at that same age I began to make decorated boxes and masks, and to collect insects, evolving by the age of seven to the collecting of snakes and frogs.  These I kept in the mason jars my Mom and grandmom Nana used for pickling and conserving, carefully perforating the lids with little holes to allow the entry of air, until my collection outgrew the jars and took up residence in aquariums that I decorated with little plants and rocks from the swamp, buttons, scraps of material and lace, and whatever else I thought the inhabitants would like.  My parents said that I went out faithfully, every day, to catch the bugs that were the favorite meal of my beloved pets.  They said, too, that from that tender age I loved the metaphors and allegories of nursery rhymes and fairy tales, and that I always looked for meaning beyond the literal in everything that was read to me and that I later read.  Soon I began to question the apparent in the iconography of the Church, and even looked beyond the essential nature of my beloved swampland.   And from that East Texas swamp, having come a long way around, I find myself in this new millennium in Spain, married to a bone-deep Galician, still drawing, painting, making things, and collecting.  During these years in Galicia, my interest and fascination for simbols has remained a constant, and my work has gone on a path of prehistoric themes, mythology, petroglifs, and symbology,  so abundant in this land, nestled in the  bosom of Galicia like mounted jewels in the silent, ageless rocks of the Gallego landscape. 

After a lifetime immersed in the exploration of symbols and mythologies, I found timeless and universal themes in these prehistoric gems, as well as  private mythologies in the stone itself, causing an almost delirious exploration of textural possibilities in my work.  At the same time, personal allegories born of the flora and fauna of Galicia  began to emerge in my imagery, many times centering on the flower of the tojo, a plant considered sacred by the ancient Celts and other civilizations for its long, sharp thorns.  And in many canvases I painted my love for my adopted land, a personal exegesis of the gallego landscape, especially the streets and surroundings of Cedeira, the town where I´ve found so much happiness. 

But even while this happy romance continued, I began to feel a discomfort with my work, a disquiet I was at a loss to explain.  Something was missing from my imagery; something intuited, almost palpable, in earlier years, was no longer there.  I continued to feel, and still do, a connection with, an allegiance to the powerful talismans that prehistoric peoples left in the stones of Galicia.  But even by virtue of these gems, I had not found the connection to ........ what?  The more I wondered, the more questions, nebulous and without form, swam around in my head.

Then, in April 2005, I submitted my application to the renowned Basque artist Agustin Ibarrola, to be accepted in the workshop that he was to give in the Contemporary Arts Museum of Union Fenosa in A Coruna.  He selected me to participate, and in July I spent two glorious weeks with him and 19 other artists, painting, sculpting, working intensely, transforming industrial scrap discarded in the warehouse yards of Union Fenosa into works of art.  We created so many pieces that our mentor requested another warehouse to store and exhibit our work, which he was immediately given.  The days passed, and we alternated seamlessly between hours of hard work to somehow finding ourselves gathered around Agustin, listening to his wonderful words while he shared with us his ideas and theories of art, his days and years in prison during the Franco dictatorship, his philosophy and reflections on being human and the importance of life.......  then suddenly he would send us back to work and without blinking we would return to our artmaking.

The maestro, who celebrated his 75^th birthday with us, was always in our midst, every day, watching as we worked, explaining and demonstrating on the makeshift blackboard all of the formal elements of art that eluded us, and talking to each of us, individually, while we worked.  The first few times he approached me were almost frightening, because of the tremendous respect I have for him, but before long I was anticipating and longing for our private conversations about my work.  What did he tell me?  That he loved the textures in my work, but that I needed more variety of texture across the surface of the image.  That my use of expressionistic line was very “juicy,” and to hold onto it. There was much in my work that he liked, but he always ended with, “More forceful.”   But,  “How?”  “Look and you will see.” 

From the beginning, he prohibited us from using ways of working or the imagery we were accustomed to using in our studios.  He wanted us to make completely new work using the discarded industrial materials and scrap that surrounded us outside the Fenosa warehouses, without resorting to familiar imagery or techniques.   I almost despaired of ever understanding him.   He told me, “It´s not that you should discard the imagery that has blossomed out of your new life in Spain, but you have to look into your gut and find the images of the lands that are yours from your roots,  and give those images a place beside what has come out of you here.”  “But, how?”  “You have to find that for yourself.  Look in the materials here, search in your gut.”

With another artist, Mercedes López Peón, I took a walk around the scrap piles, looking at what was available for our use:  industrial spools of all sizes, that in their time had transported electric cables; computer parts; huge and small wooden planks; junk pieces of metal of every shape and size; and wooden boxes of every dimension imaginable.  Then, seeing a box that, if we placed it vertically, we could both almost fit inside, I said, “When I was a little girl I used to love to trace my playmates´ forms with chalk on the sidewalk, and for them to trace me.   If we were to trace each other inside this box...?”   We painted the box black, got inside, and laughing, bumping, and  colliding  with each other and with the walls of the box, as we barely fit inside, we each traced the other.  We painstakingly incorporated all possible formal precepts that our mentor had taught us on the blackboard, as well as sharing with each other suggestions from our private conversations with him: the continuing of a line from a vertical plane onto a horizontal one; the placement and relationship of planes, the transcendence of line......  And so, Mercedes and I relived the lessons of our mentor, discussing his formal and informal theories of artmaking; we traced, we painted, barely able to move, giggling, sweating, feeling the intimacy of our pressed together bodies, laughing, in a concordance of formal elements of art and the innocence of our childhood, and the work became delicious play.

We continued to work together on other pieces, using the discarded materials around us, learning, from  both the maestro and from the very materials he urged us to use,  about the value of process without permanence, even to the making of a “sculpture of tons”:  All 20 of the artists who participated in the workshop collaborated on a monumental sculpture, using the massive concrete blocks stored in the area around the warehouses, painting them and directing their placement by means of a crane in one of the central plazas of Union Fenosa.

And so, in that almost unbearable heat of July in A Coruna, in the industrial warehouses and scrapyards of Union Fenosa, images began to spring out of me, so rapidly that I had no time to think or understand what was happening, images condensed into a simbology born of my own viscera, of my childhood in the swamp of East Texas, of my adolescence among the pyramids and temples of Mexico, of my years in Chile, of my pain for the condition of women in the world, of my anguish  during the long and tragic illness and death of Jim Danko, of my doubts of faith, and of my belief in a feminine Goddess.  It was as though Augustin Ibarrola had caused the deepest part of my being to come out, kicking and fighting, to take form, ripping image after image from my gut, images born of the roots that anchor me to the earth on both sides of the ocean.  I began to paint one of the wooden spools, thinking to convert it into a table for my home, for our orchard, as a wedding anniversary gift for my husband.  I painted silhouettes, giving form to nothing more than the essence of feminine contours, as if they had been traced on a sidewalk.  From the hands of some, reflecting the good humor with which my husband teases me for gesturing so much with my hands when I talk, simbols for speech used by the ancient civilization of Teotihuacán somersaulted out, and from the hands of others, spirals and Celtic suns.  From that moment on, the work and the images continued to spill out like white water rapids, and at night in my room in the hostal, I filled page after page of my sketchbook.  

Simbology has always been my central motif; the exploration of symbols gives my work its raison d´etre.  Through my work I try to intuit that which is not so easily articulated, but which clearly exists in our primordial collective memory, because when we see it we recognize it.  I think that it is through simbols that we approach the door to the beyond, because of the intuition that symbols stimulate and liberate in us, giving us entrance to the essence of both the physical and the ephemeral, as indeed the people of prehistory achieved through their petroglifs and paintings, perhaps also in an attempt to open the door to what lies beyond.  

The search for the essencial, coupled with reverence for the vitality of nature, is my joy, and the entrance into my viscera that Agustín Ibarrola opened for me consecrates my journey as pure process, without goals or worries:  the process of creation of art.     

 Cedeira, 20 de agosto de 2005

 Jane Danko