Paschón
UPDATE: Since posting the original message, we have received a picture of the only known Paschón original. The authenticity has been verified by two individuals who attended the showing in Hawaii. We welcome your comments.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Margaret - Corpus Christi, TX
Over the last year I have watched with keen interest the
continuation and growth of the Paschόn story, my intrigue stemming
from the fact I attended the showing in Hawaii. It was a fabulous
event accentuated with coconuts, pineapples and mangos fresh from
the trees and fields, Mai Tai’s, champagne and cheese, and pu-pu’s.
The women, mostly “howlies,” were resplendent in their mumu’s and
leis. There was subdued lighting and classical music, accompanied by
a low-level buzz of excitement as some serious (and a few not so
serious) minded art enthusiasts were fortunate to be “in on” the
first American showing of an up and coming artist. Paschόn’s name
alone engendered a romantic image of the gently swaying palm trees
and turquoise Pacific waters of Hanama Bay. To say now that a cloud
of mystery surrounds Paschόn and the paintings, and the subsequent
disappearance of both is an understatement of Diamond Head
proportions.
My purpose in writing is to offer information that was in
circulation that evening and subsequent weeks about the origin of
the paintings. The story was that some Marine Corps fighter pilots,
inspired by the artist Salvador Dali, concocted an incredible ruse
on a bet: that fueled by an unlimited supply of Primo Beer, a
handful of pilots and their wives or girl friends could paint
comparably to Salvador Dali, and then under the right combination of
presentation and marketing, pass these “paintings” off as legitimate
artwork.
At the time I was single and socializing with some of the pilots
from the Marine Base at Kaneohe Bay on the windward side of Oahu.
Although this dubious story had considerable cachet in certain
circles I have serious misgivings about its authenticity and offer
my thoughts as simply one more observation.
First and foremost, to suppose that Marine Corps fighter pilots of
that era knew anything about art is farfetched. The only art they
knew anything about had the letter “f” in front of it. Their idea of
fine art was a hand drawn print of the fighter they happened to be
flying at the time, the authenticity of which validated by their
name and colorful call-sign prominently displayed on the side of the
airplane.
Second, the idea that the pilots I knew were inspired by Salvador
Dali is a real stretch; those fighter jocks didn’t know a palette
from a pallet. It’s safe to conclude there weren’t two among the
bunch who even remotely had a clue who Dali was, much less
appreciate the creativity, some say Dali’s bizarre Renaissance
inspired Surrealist talent that produced the melting clocks in the
Persistence Of Memory. More than likely they would have thought
Salvador Dali was a hot babe from South America.
Third, to think that some of these pilots could concoct such a
scheme, inspired under the influence of a vast quantity of adult
beverages, then produce a bevy of compelling and thought provoking
paintings, create the illusory name Paschόn out of thin air, and
then have the temerity to “sell” this to a group of somewhat erudite
people, some of whom, like me, had an art background, is perhaps the
biggest delusion of all.
There is little doubt that Marine Corps fighter pilots are cunning
and bear considerable watching. Although it was generally accepted
their collective IQ may have been slightly above average, there was
not an intellectual amongst them. Think about it – to do what
fighter pilots do you have to be a little nuts. The joke was that
the only thing that would disqualify you from being a Marine Corps
fighter pilot was if your parents were married!
Make no mistake, I love Marine Corps fighter pilots—one a little
more than I should have, but that’s a wild story for another day!
When the Jackals are at the front gate there is no one I want more
to see booming out across Kaneohe Bay with afterburners blazing,
shaking the earth with a roar like a thousand angry tigers on the
prowl. But let’s leave it at that. Artists they are not. Period. End
of story.
It would be wonderful if the true story of the quixotic Paschόn
could ever be known with certainty. Absent the artist, or artists as
this wild tale portends, something makes me think we will all be
left wondering. What a great mystery!