Granite quarry his ‘bread and butter,’ but passion for art shines in Castleberry Hill.
By Chris Reinolds

by Adrian Dannatt

You meet the Spanish artist Alexandro Santana and you think, cripes, can he be for real? So handsome, so flamboyant, so seductive, so amusing — you’re not sure whether it’s intentional or inadvertent. And then you discover he is the son of a notorious Dominican admiral, that the tyrannical dictator Trujillo was best man at his parents’ wedding, that his mother was a fabled high-society beauty, that he grew up on battleships and estancias before going, inevitably, to Brown.

Even more surprisingly, Santana stayed in Providence for graduate studies at the Rhode Island School of Design, where he received his degree in architecture, soon plying his trade in Manhattan and his adopted city of Savannah, where he eventually set up his own firm. Astonishingly, in this era of CAD, he draws every detail entirely by hand.

Considering his tweeds, his bow ties, his drawl and debonair dress, it is perhaps not surprising to learn that Santana’s architectural taste is strongly neo-classical, inspired by the vernacular Palladianism of antebellum Georgia, with of course a touch of the Postmodern.

Santana’s detailed and decorous architectural plans for his clients are complemented by drawings created solely for himself — exotic imaginary cityscapes and urban fantasias, like the dreams of Sir John Soane channeled through Aldo Rossi or John Hejduk. One’s appreciation of these drawings is enriched in turn by Santana’s pencil portraits of friends and lovers, personal sketches of disarming intimacy.

Santana’s line has a languid, fluid eroticism to it which perfectly suits his subjects; he touches them all with a graphite whisper coaxing them to appear.

But the surprise within the Santana oeuvre is his series of large-scale abstractions, outrageously bright and scandalously juicy paintings that were recently on view at the Besharat Gallery in Atlanta. The setting was indeed a fine and dramatic one, the scale and grandeur of its spaces, with walls of pure local granite, hardly better suited to a display of riotous color and anarchic vigor.

Some of Santana’s works bear hints of fragmentary imagery, from guns and weapons to genitals and guts, as if indexing a sublime violence matched by the savagery of his palette and his brushwork. In the 48 x 60 in. oil Haecceitia, for instance, formless blotches of rose and pale blue sprout a black line drawing of a foot in a high heel, or a series of louche paint marks that might well be lipstick kisses.

Clearly, more is going on here than idle expressionism. His exhibition title lends a clue: “Haecceitia: Homage à Michel Foucault.” Plumbing the catalogue essay, it becomes clear that Santana is seeking not decorative effect or personal expression, but rather is making a stab at painterly semiotics, an open-ended mode of signification (“haecceity” can be translated as “thisness”) that the artist claims “takes on a pictorial platform” in his work.

Whether or not Santana’s paintings rise to this philosophically mystical level, they certainly have an artistic flamboyance and wit that is as eccentrically remarkable as the artist himself. And that should be enough for anyone’s first major solo exhibition.

Alexandro Santana, “Haecceitia”, Nov. 19 – Mar. 1, 2010, at Besharat Gallery, 175 Peters Street SW, Atlanta, Ga. 30313

ADRIAN DANNATT is a New York-based critic and writer.

The Fame Monster

by Cielo Lutino on March 10, 2011

Maison Massoud

A peek into the loft/gallery of Castleberry’s new art czar reveals an aesthetic informed by exotic
globetrotting, classic good taste, and a pinch of provocation | By Nancy Staab | Photography by Sarah Dorio |

Massoud Besharat is a gregarious man with a large circle of international friends, a raconteur who spins tantalizing tales at his favorite neighborhood haunt FAB (French American Brasserie), and a bon vivant who contends that “a meal is not worth eating if you don’t have at least 12 people at the table.” Walk into his salon-style lof, hung floor-to-ceiling with eclectic works, and you are likely to find him playing opera music by Cecilia Bartoli, while proffering a glass of Chateau La Grange Clinet to his guests. But few Atlantans outside of his creative circle had heard of the arts ambassador before he boldly opened Besharat Gallery two years ago. Who was this mysterious avatar of art, an Iranian expat by way of Austria, London, Paris and then Elberton, Georgia, who dabbled in multiple vocations from art to the travel biz, real estate, and even stone quarrying? Asked about his past, Besharat weaves a heady tale of a teenage dropout who wandered through Europe living by his wits and fueled by his Renaissance interests (“art, books, politics, sociology and sex”). When the Iranian Revolution of 1979 closed the doors of his homeland, he eventually followed his brother to Atlanta in the 1980s to obtain his green card. Somewhere along the way his bachelor pad collection of “primitive café paintings of dancing women” gave way to a serious collection of internationally renowned contemporary artists (from photojournalist Steve McCurry, whose 1984 image of an Afghan girl with a mesmerizing gaze is iconic, to classicist sculptor Roberto Santo). Likewise, Besharat’s works span every medium: sculpture, photography, abstract and figurative paintings, drawings and installation art—the result of his very visceral, “spontaneous relation to art,” he says. Forget sterile white cubes. Besharat’s self-designed lof is the antithesis of this conventional gallery model. Instead, his lair is a highly personal, eccentric place. Te hodgepodge multi-level space was carved out of a historic turn-of-the-century warehouse and retains original elements such as exposed brick walls, which provide an interesting textural backdrop to works of art. Over the course of four years, the run-down space emerged into a stunning groundlevel open gallery, equal parts raw and refined—paved with rough cobblestones from Besharat’s own Elberton quarry and lit by neon columns and biomorphic glass chandeliers by local artist Christopher Moulder. A dramatic “ghost” staircase of translucent acrylic leads down to the cavernous space, which might be flled simultaneously with abstract paintings in candycolored pastels by Spanish artist Alexandro Santana, classicist nude drawings, and alarmingly realistic, expressionistic carved heads by Spanish artist Samuel Salcedo. “I tell visitors they are my ex wives and girlfriends!” jokes Besharat. Tucked in a corner of the gallery is his prized red Harley-Davidson Duo-Glide, which he likes to take out for long rides (accessorized by his Louis Vuitton helmet). And just outside is an urban garden tucked beneath Peters Street with train tracks that run parallel to Besharat’s potted cacti and lemon trees. Upstairs, on level one, is the more traditional gallery and behind it, a two-story open-plan living space that encompasses Besharat’s private quarters—a sleek kitchen on a raised platform, and a dining and living room area punctuated by tall windows to let in light. fle rotating private collection of art, hung fioor-to-ceiling, ranges from a portrait of French actress Charlotte Rampling to poetic paintings of light-flled interiors by Parisian artist Jean Arcelin. A nude female sculpture, painted in bright colors by artist Jean Tannous, lounges in one of Besharat’s vintage leather armchairs, a fedora tilted rakishly on her head. fle furniture, like the art, is a mishmash. Sleek modern pieces such as white leather chaise lounges from Ligne Roset and Starck Ghost chairs harmoniously cohabitate with antique tapestry chairs, a French loveseat covered in Orange Crush suede, Persian rugs, and a shimmering fve-foot candelabra of Venetian glass from Murano. Exposed beams and an aluminum staircase add industrial chic, while the mezzanine level boasts a daring 21st-century master bath set in a nearly all-glass cube splashed with glazed-red tiles. Most romantic of all is Massoud’s master bedroom, up another set of stairs that lead to the rooffop. flere, in a glass greenhouse structure, is Massoud’s magical sleeping quarters overlooking a rooffop terrace
and the gritty-but-glam downtown skyline. Besharat says the bedroom is a nod to his childhood in Iran. “My family didn’t have air-conditioning, so on sultry summer nights we offen slept on the roof where it was cooler and you could see the stars and the moon.” An arts haven it may be, but nomadic Besharat is not one to stay put for long, even in his Castleberry castle. Jetting between his pieda- terre in Paris (the flm location for Last Tango in Paris), art shows in posh places like Palm Beach, and Aspen for play, spontaneous Besharat is always on the go. Next up for the entrepreneur: La Vie Salon Massoud, a boutique art hotel he is developing in Barbizon, France, with a rotating gallery of international artworks in each suite. flere’s also his big-news collaboration this spring with Fay Gold, whom he fondly calls “the grand dame”—a greatest hits show of large-scale, experimental works, old and brand new, curated by Gold and tapping her blue-chip cache of local and international
artists (Herb Ritts, Mike and Doug Starn, Gregor Turk, Zoe Hersey, Robert Jessup, Anthony Liggins, Jane Manus, Scott Ingram, RadcliTe Bailey and more). flere are even hints of future collaborations between these two powerhouse gallerists. Originally, Gold’s show took the theme “Detox”—though it has since been officially renamed “Onward.” Perhaps the name change was reasonable given the various interpretations that the word “detox” inspires. Gold’s defnition referenced the healing eTects of art, while Besharat oTered a playful counter defnition: “Detox means it isn’t working! Retirement didn’t work for Gold, and now she’s back!” A
“Onward” opens March 19, 6-8pm, at Besharat Gallery, 175 Peters St.,
404.524.4781, besharatgallery.com.

6:00 p.m. – 8:00 p.m.

Step into a 1925 building with the art and flair of a European Salon. This evening in the Castleberry Hill Gallery where owner Massoud Besharat mixes business with pleasure, you will meet a collector whose calling card reads ‘Saint and Poet’.

Massoud makes his home in the gallery he has designed as a reflection of his own sense of calm, beauty and pleasure. It’s a living space, yet a gallery done to the 9′s, with lighted cobblestone floors, two story granite walls, a glass stairway and a rooftop terrace. He didn’t plan to live in a 5,000 sq. foot loft attached to his 6,000 sq ft gallery; it just happened that way.

The gallery is his passion; a granite quarry in Elberton is his business. On this evening, Massoud will surprise guests with the introduction of five well known European Artists who have brought their work to Atlanta especially for this evening. We will hear how the European Art world has influenced our own Atlanta tastes for art. After the discussion, guests may tour the permanent collection in the gallery as well as Massoud’s private loft, including photography, sculpture, paintings and art works by artists from across the globe. The collection is always comprised of art chosen by Massoud because it is what he loves.

Bring a non-member friend and if they join Art Partners they will enjoy a special discount as well as a gift from the High Museum of Art.

R.S.V.P. by September 16: call Art Partners at 404-733-4521 or e-mail artpartners@woodruffcenter.org.