"Prometheus" by Donato Giancola. Oil; 77" x 95" on stretched linen. 2005.
I first noticed Dan's work when he was still extremely fresh in his career with his covers for Penguin, Tor, Bantam and a batch of others in the early 1990s; I wish I could say that my expert eye had spotted a talent in the rough, someone who, with a little time and encouragement, would eventually grow into a skilled pro...but I can't. He was already hot stuff; he was already making heads turn and giving more established artists a run for their money. I mean look at his covers for Otherness by David Brin (1993) [below left] or Lethe by Tricia Sullivan (1994) [below right] and tell me he wasn't already painting memorable pieces right out of the gate.
Donato first entered Spectrum
with the second volume and has been included in every book since. He was twice a juror and was featured on the front cover an unmatched three times (volumes 5, 13, and 20). It wasn't friendship that got him there (others always had input as to what ran on Spectrum
's covers): it was the quality of the art and the way others responded to it that earned him distinction. And, yes, he has been routinely recognized through the years by other art annuals and competitions, winning all manner of honors along the way. It is all attributable to his hard work and his unrelenting—and uncompromising—pursuit of excellence. It doesn't hurt that he's focused, smart, and, let's face it, a genuinely good person to boot. His compassion for others is projected through his art and allows him to connect with an audience regardless of subject matter. Remember Lauren's post
about empathy? Yep, Dan has it. By the boat load.
For a number of years we set up with Donato and Stephan Martiniere (and various other artists) at the San Diego Comicon and it was during one of those shows that I spotted a drawing of Dan's and commissioned him to do a painting of it [below left]. Three other commissions followed over the years, including a wonderful portrait of Cathy [below right].
It's easy to be enamored with Donato, easy to understand why his fans, admirers, and collectors are now legion. The fact that he enthusiastically gives back—through workshops, classes, and mentoring—heightens my respect for him. Several weeks ago I watched him (as well as Dan dos Santos across the aisle) review student portfolios and offer career advice pretty much nonstop. His interests and tastes are far-ranging and he takes delight in all types of art; when he teaches or offers tips it's always done with the goal of helping the other artist becoming a better version of themselves, not a clone of Donato.
Without trying he's become a leader for our community and hero to many. And, yes, there's the old saying of "never meet your heroes" out of fear of disillusionment, but if Donato is one of yours...meet him. You won't be disappointed.
I've been involved in the field of fantasy and science fiction since I was, quite literally, a kid and have been sometimes disheartened by what had-and-has been generally described as the ghettoization of genre. Regardless of breakouts and "serious" works finding audiences and acclaim, contributors—whether writers, artists, or even filmmakers—often felt they had to leave the F&SF field in order to be successful, even if they were really only swapping one genre for another (like Western or Wildlife art). It's gotten better over the years for a number of reasons, but there are still prejudices that can prevent worthy creators from getting their due—or frighten them away from associating with the "wrong type" of artists, events, and collectors. There are temptations to turn away from, not only genre, but illustration as a whole in order to court acceptance from more pretentious, deep-pocketed, and, frankly, more fickle markets.
Early on I was a little worried that, as someone who could literally paint anything he could imagine—and paint it exceptionally well—Dan would make a huge splash then start looking for greener pastures. Who could blame him if he did? Money is money and a family needs to be clothed and fed.
But as proponents of Fantastic Art, Cathy and I know that the health—the acceptance, the growth—of our field and community is dependent on the active participation—and leadership—of the best and brightest. They open us all up to possibilities; they challenge us and raise the bar for quality that ultimately helps us all become better at our craft; they alter the perceptions of the public or break down the prejudices of patrons that grow the opportunities for everyone.
During dinner at one Comicon many years back, I leaned across the table and said to Donato, "Please...don't ever leave."
God knows I've got no dictatorial power or mind control abilities, but at that moment I simply wanted to express to Dan not only Cathy's and my appreciation and respect for him and what he was creating, but also the importance of his—and of many, many others'—contributions to our very specialized field and role in its continued success.
Of course, I didn't have to say anything at all, but it felt good to do so. If you've been reading Donato's Muddy Colors posts, you're well aware of his unapologetic passion for fantasy and D&D and Star Wars and comics and Tolkien. He can go off and paint historical subjects or landscapes, portraits, figures, flowers, or anything he might choose as much as he wants and that would be great—but I'm 100% confident that Dan will always express his love of genre in some way and in some form. Perhaps via traditional narrative works for publishers, perhaps through allegories for galleries, patrons, or himself—but I know the Fantastic runs through his veins.
Yeah, I guess I am bragging. Not about adding something to our collection, but about knowing an artist who has done and continues to do so much for our field and for the community that surrounds it.
And I'm thankful.
So thanks, Donato Giancola. For creating wonderful art through the years. Thanks for your ongoing community leadership. Thanks for nurturing young artists. Thanks for being a positive role model. And above all, thank you for your friendship. (Oh, and thanks for being the one up on the ladder on the stairs hanging the painting—with Kelley on the other side—instead of me.)