In Gigantia, Gregory Kitterle constructs a fresco landscape that feels simultaneously ancient and abstract, its layered whites, greys, and pale blues evoking the remains of a monumental site weathered by time. The title recalls the megalithic temples of Gozo—among the oldest human structures—while the composition suggests eroded stone, shifting light, and the quiet persistence of form amid decay. The fresco’s irregular surface and subtle tonal transitions create a vision that feels excavated rather than painted, as if memory itself were embedded in the wall.
Here, the fresco medium becomes central to meaning. Its matte, mineral texture carries an archaeological presence, recalling fragments of plaster unearthed from antiquity. Kitterle’s palette—muted whites and silvery greys with glimpses of blue—renders atmosphere and structure inseparable, suggesting an architecture made of air and dust. The work bridges material and metaphoric time, where ruin and renewal coexist. There is a sense of scale that exceeds the picture plane: though intimate in size, Gigantia feels vast, monumental, and weightless at once.
Echoes of Giorgio Morandi’s restrained tonal harmonies and Antoni Tàpies’ tactile surfaces emerge, yet Gigantia remains wholly Kitterle’s. His fresco practice transforms the physical wall into a temporal one—each mark a residue of thought and touch. The result is not a landscape in the traditional sense but an excavation of seeing itself. Gigantia becomes both a relic and a meditation, poised between the endurance of matter and the evanescence of perception.
