Jesus surrounded by money lenders in the temple, and his crucifixion surrounded by a dark, threatening sky. Outside the raised garden beds are grottos to Francis of Assisi and Mary, mother of God, being graced by cherubs or cast deep in prayer with a serpent lying at her feet. A living, ever-changing mural is a tribute to Italian-American soldiers who died in combat. From World War I to Korea, Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan, fresh names are added to the list.
Then, not at all connected to the church of San Gennaro, on the wall of an adjacent building, the mural of Tristan Eaton beams extraordinary color that is neither pious or gold, but passionate enough, and designed from spray paint. Tristan Eaton is a young artist from L.A. who is growing more famous by the day for his public art—urban landscapes on billboards and on the sides of buildings, dumpsters and doorways. Many of his images are abstract, Day-Glo bits and flecks of Technicolor people who hail familiar from popular culture. Signaling the entry to the Little Italy of the Twenty-first Century, one of Tristan Eaton’s murals, Audrey of Mulberry, is on the wall next to the legendary Caffe Roma.
Tristan Eaton’s public art is borne of his own person, and meant to connect with the community. People are iconic unto themselves, he seems to be saying, and I am an individual artist who has the power to connect with you. This artist is very much the individual, a byproduct of himself, and not the collective cultural force of the many artists, largely anonymous or unknown, who created murals, frescoes and sculptures of saints currying the favors of a merciful God. In the San Gennaro Church murals, Christ is walking amid the people to show he is forever one with the people, and the people are forever one with him. Whether we worship something greater than ourselves or whether we only worship our own individual selves, who can say what has been lost and what has been gained. Why do you need a saint to intercede with God, when you have a phone and can text his name directly? In the end, it’s all about what we choose to worship, ourselves, or something greater.