Robert Ricov - Artist

My paintings are figurative because I believe we are all deeply interested in people. But more so, people who live different experiences than we do. Their lives, of which we see only a facade, offer a kind of seductive mystery. I place my characters in these mysterious environments to evoke that feeling of wanting to know. It is a kind of chaos, the chaos of observing those unknown lives around us that promise better experiences than the ones we are living. A promise of more. More of whatever desires we are currently hoping to satisfy, and that sense of wanting more is what leads me to paint in what is termed Maximalism. Humankind is both beautiful and ugly, clean and dirty, and so I paint in oils—a greasy medium, but always on a clean canvas.

Three Wishes over Tea. Oil on canvas, 97 x 150 cm.

She sits there, behind the curtain, staring at you. Why? What did you do? There’s something there. Beside her. Hidden. Its presence sending the butterflies into flight. Each one carries with it a wish, the things she wishes for most. As they ascend, leaving the tea party, she wonders if they will ever return. After all, three wishes granted are worth waiting for, worth drinking cold tea and eating stale biscuits for—sitting behind that curtain, next to the hidden thing that scared her wishes away. She will not pull her eyes away from you though, lest she gaze upon the creature, lest something bad should happen. Do not look away—you are keeping her alive. Do not look away—her eyes reveal the deepest wishes of her soul. Look away and she will never have the chance to love you.

I painted my muse and now she’s on display at the MEAM Museum until the 27th of September. If you happen to be in the area I would be honoured if you could check it out.

Almost at the opening…

Spring. Oil on canvas, 46 x 60 cm.

This painting was an interesting experiment in which I painted it with another artist: We took turns with the brush—one of us painting for a certain amount of time while the other waited and watched. Indeed it is difficult to know where her brushstrokes begin and mine end. I would say the most difficult part of the experiment was waiting for my turn to paint, and I know she would agree. Would I do it again? Maybe, if the canvas were large enough that we could both paint at the same time. But watching her paint while waiting for my turn tested my patience, and hers. We did, however, learn much from the experience, and the end result is a rather positive one.

Cherub with Borrowed Comet. Oil on canvas, 20 x 20 cm.

A small fountain sits behind my house, enriched by a stone cherub seated atop it. Bellow, several goldfish know its greenish waters as their home. This small painting illustrates the life I might have given that cherub if I were still a child.

Bambi Blues. Oil on canvas, 76 x 100 cm.

How quickly time passes. How quickly, how many locations change. That childhood toy she used to sleep with, placed on the floor like an anchor—securing her to a more innocent time. A happier time. She still sleeps with it. Waiting backstage she listens to the other acts earn their applause. Why does their applause always seem louder than the applause she receives? It’s probably just all in her head. Like the things she sees in that mirror, like the things that stare back at her from it. And like whoever it is that she is waiting for. That mirror, a gateway to another world, where the drums upon which she sits can be seen but never heard. And then she sees herself in her reflection—seen but never heard.

The lamentations of cherub mother. Oil on canvas, 92 x 144 cm.

Fall of the German-American Fourth Reich Alliance — Memories of WW4. Oil on canvas 200 x 300 cm.

My paintings live in an alternate version of Earth, a parallel dimension, a reflection of our world. Germany and the United States were allied during the Second World War. An uneasy alliance that formed a regime which would rule the world until its demise at the ending of the Fourth World War. In this world military might is celebrated above all else.

The worst of the worse. The lowest of the low. The slimiest of the slick with the trickiest trick. This Captain made his career through tactical son-of-a-bitchery the likes of which no one has ever seen. But it was his interrogation techniques, the way in which he would bring even the most battle-hardened bastard to tears, that earned him the nickname “Captain Crybaby”. A man with no family, no relatives, but an unwavering devotion to The Alliance. If he loves anything at all, he loves Lieutenant Lingerie. As previously mentioned, she was born into the military; and although their property, the Captain views her as his daughter. After all, it is likely that she might actually be, since he has on occasion donated to the breeding program. Although she was raised by the military, it was really the Captain that raised her. His politics are hers. His brutality hers. And because of his influence she was assigned to lead the fastest fleet of zeppelin. The zeppelin with the longest tentacles, the most aggressive scrapers of the ground.

The Captain trains a herd of genetically engineered walrus. Engineered for speed and with hides that are practically bullet proof. They too have rank, and to identify them the Captain has their tusks painted black or red or gold. This world has a lot less land than does ours, and so for the most part war is fought in the skies and seas. The Captain’s walrus are an invaluable force when sacrificing themselves against torpedos, and when swarming they can open the bottom of an enemy ship like so many can openers. Such sights are beautiful to him, and although highly disciplined and ordered, he is truly the Captain of chaos.