Christopher Sousa is a largely self-taught painter. He lists Lucien Freud, Paul Cadmus, Jenny Saville, J.C. Leyendecker, and Euan Uglow among his influences. He was born in Fall River, Mass., in 1968, and apart from a quick stint in Los Angeles, he has always lived in Massachusetts. After moving to Provincetown 10 years ago he began painting, but he had been drawing all his life. His environment was less than supportive when he was growing up. Sousa describes his family life as "pretty dysfunctional" and says he was a "wild child." His family and school guidance counselors discouraged his idea of pursuing art as a career, advising him instead to learn a trade that pays well. Thankfully, the wild child would have none of that.
The Advocate: When did you first start painting? Did you begin with the male figure? If not, how long did it take you to get there as your main subject?
Christopher Sousa: As stated, I began painting about 10 years ago when I moved to Provincetown. As far back as I can remember I have always been fascinated with and wanted to depict the human form. I used to draw pictures of Playboy centerfolds when I was a kid and would spend hours drawing female movie stars from magazine photos. As I grew older my attention turned to males. When I was a teenager I watched with much fascination the developing bodies of my friends and schoolmates, and my natural instinct was to draw them. It's still my subject of preference, although I'm sure I will do more female figure paintings in the future. But for now it's males.
Your compositions are so formal and random at the same time. Stories start to emerge, then disappear. Is there a mythology going on here? Or are these setups, props, and top hats just punctuation?
I think the formal aspect stems from the fact that I've worked for the past 10 years in a gallery that specializes in vintage photography. In old cabinet cards and daguerreotypes the subject had to remain very still to accomodate the long exposure time. This often resulted in a very stiff and formal quality. These photos look more like still lifes than portraits of actual humans. There's a "flatness" that appeals to me. I like the strange aesthetic quality of these old photos and I think it has informed what I do to a great extent. A few years back we had a show at the gallery of photographs by Mike Disfarmer, whose portraits from the '30s and '40s, which were taken with an antiquated camera using glass plate negatives, possess a similar stiff, uncomfortable quality. I think these photos influenced my painting as well.