When I was four years old, I was hit by a car in front of the American Academy in Rome. I was hospitalized with a broken leg and serious injuries. The day before the accident, my parents, brother and I arrived by boat in Italy from the United States. My dad, a sculptor, was just awarded a two-year, Prix de Rome. It was 1970.

 

Last summer, between my first and second year at the NYAA, my father underwent a serious surgery and long, challenging recovery. I spent those months cooking, scheduling and helping my elderly parents in the home where I grew up in CT. My dad was bed ridden. 

 

I slipped away from them for a moment to myself one day. I began sorting through old storage boxes in the basement. I came upon a trove of my childhood drawings I forgot about. I created so many between the ages of three and seven. My mother, a painter, carefully stored them away. On the back of each, she scribbled my age next to my name. These brought back memories, emotion and gratitude of a magical and tragic time. I was fascinated by the vibrant imagination of this child. The next day, I shared them all with my parents. I watched their faces transform as we went through the pile, one by one. It was a visual celebration that took us to a place of laughter and remembrance.

 

My final year at the Academy was abruptly interrupted by the deadly pandemic. I was gripped with dread, loss and uncertainty. It prompted inspiration and drive however, to paint this series of childhood drawings. I was invigorated with reminders of the power of art to unify, this boy’s vitality, resolve and origins that sustained and still fuel that creativity today.

Excerpt from Thesis Paper, Why I Paint- Tom Matt

Tom Matt, Resume, 2020