Atelier
A Mutiny at the Orphanage
2025 · Technical Data Title: A Mutiny at the Orphanage Author: Gloria Angélica Saggiorato Artistic pseudonym: SAGGLO Technique: Acrylic paint on canvas Style: Contemporary figurative-abstract, expressionist and playful in character Subject matter: Music, symbolic orphanhood, loss of control, dissonance, rebellion and the search for belonging.
What she felt
Description
A Mutiny at the Orphanage turns music into a preposterous universe where instruments, notes, sounds and silences, with no family to contain them, star in an outright disorder.
The triptych develops a dynamic composition in which the forms expand, spin, collide and cut across the three panels. Recognizable elements of musical instruments coexist with spirals, curves and abstract figures, as if music had deliberately lost its structure in order to surrender to movement.
The reds, yellows, blues, oranges and violets intensify that sensation of vital chaos. The curves seem like frequencies propagating; the spirals concentrate and release energy; the notes are left scattered, while strings and fragments of instruments are deformed in a scene where nothing stays in its place.
The work converses with the absurd humor of poetry: the bass condemned to be a guitar, the tuning pegs in their death throes, the "parentless" sounds that embrace dissonance, the quarter notes dancing with a limp, and a violin that ends up losing its mind. Exaggeration and nonsense turn chaos into a language of its own.
The triptych thus represents a sonic and visual insurrection, but behind that apparent rebellion arises the possibility of creating without always submitting to the rules.
Meaning
A Mutiny at the Orphanage
The bass
condemned to be a guitar
strangles the tuning pegs without mercy,
the poor things lie dying
in the cold metal
and the electric slap.
The wounded tones
sink into the abyss
the low frequencies.
In delirium
the parentless sounds
cross paths
unplug themselves,
embrace the dissonance
of dense distortions
they leap,
they bounce,
they trample one another.
They dig up the staff
because they feel like it.
Faced with such nonsense
the silence goes shhh
on the verge of sneezing.
The solfeggio blows away dizzy
the quarter notes dance lame
and the beat falls apart.
The violin
loses its mind, faints
right in the corner
where the eighth notes burst.
Strings,
notes and clefs
spin, spin, spin.
A centrifugal vibration
hurls them into another dimension.
And a crimson whirlwind goes mad.