Seeing True...
Jay Asquini’s Journey from Photography to Painting
Story by Diane McCallum

Meeting Jay Asquini for the first time, it takes a while for the eye to register a little extra stillness in his movements. He moves so much he blurs — shaking hands, getting notes of some reflections he’s made, picking up and passing a wine bottle and a glass, then later, getting paintings, sketch books and pads, a journal. His hands are rarely still, if not holding something, then waving, moving, a constant accompaniment to what he calls "chatter," an on-going stream that comes out in response or even in anticipation of a question. The energy he used in photography is still very much there, but running inward.

But stillness is there as well, in the way he turns--or doesn’t turn--his neck. There’s a delay or some zone of caution between the ears and the shoulder blades. Everything moves except…there…like in a movie, when the dialog is a second or two out of sync.

The caution isn’t at all surprising for someone who has a hunk of spine missing and bears a long zipped scar from the metal bracing deftly inserted 3 years ago, skillfully holding what’s left of his spine in place. When he’s not moving, he cradles his neck against the curve of a high-backed canvas deck chair.

It’s not like he set out on a journey, more like he was catapulted into one. Story continues...
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