Caravaggio to Griffiths

The Unreel series is a haunting triptych. In each piece, three women stare blankly outward, with vacant gazes, while above them, a ghostly, faceless figure appears to sculpt their forms from the shadows. Though each composition varies slightly, the process remains clear. We are made to question: which version is the true self? We are offered to think it is either the direct gaze of the women before us, or in the unseen force shaping them from above. Themes of falseness and manipulation emerge, suggestions of AI distortion, or the curated identities of social media. The triptych’s very structure recalls the Instagram grid, where images are refined, filtered, and perfected before being presented to the world.

Griffiths’ use of chiaroscuro here is clever. The shadowy figure above remains blurred, while the figures in the foreground are bathed in stark contrast. A subtle glow hums around them, yet the surrounding darkness is impenetrable. The effect is unnerving. For a moment, we trust the clarity of the figures staring back at us, but upon closer inspection, nothing is certain.

Beyond chiaroscuro, Griffiths’ large-scale compositions, teeming with figures, recall Caravaggio’s dynamic, densely populated canvases. The disparity in expressions, the heightened drama of movement, and the theatricality of contrapposto all reinforce this connection. De-Coronation (2024) is a striking example. Two central figures command the scene, while a further seven linger in the shadows. The narrative remains ambiguous: the woman to the left either removes or places a drone-like crown on the head of the figure beside her. The surrounding onlookers react with exaggerated expressions of awe or concern. Their poses are dancerly: elongated limbs, arched torsos, pointed toes, accentuating their idealised physiques. The central figure is spot lit, emphasising the suppleness of her skin, while the surrounding darkness creates a sense of unease. The contrast unsettles; it refuses to dictate a singular emotional response. Griffiths, like Caravaggio, thrives in this ambiguity, where light and shadow are essential to storytelling.

Just as Unreel interrogates identity and self-perception, Griffiths’ broader body of work frequently returns to specific figures or individuals whose striking presence and lived experiences add depth to his compositions. Like Caravaggio, who repeatedly painted figures from his immediate surroundings, Griffiths is drawn to people with distinctive features or unconventional backgrounds. His subjects were often chosen for their piercing eyes, unique physiognomies, or extreme professions, and they carry stories within them. This fascination with unidealised, deeply human figures reinforce the emotional charge of his paintings, moving them beyond pure representation into something more visceral.

Griffiths, like Caravaggio, employs dense symbolism to infuse his works with layered meaning. Caravaggio embedded religious and social themes within his compositions, often using everyday objects as coded references to mortality, redemption, or vice. Similarly, Griffiths fills his paintings with contemporary iconography: drones, red plastic cups, and worn Converse trainers, each serving as visual cues that prompt deeper interpretations. For instance, Shrine (2022) brings together diverse references, from the impact of drones and human-removed warfare, to the ravages of Californian wildfires, religious iconography, and the comforting onesie-strong fashion of the Covid-19 era. By blending these elements within a single canvas, Griffiths crafts nuanced narratives that continue to resonate today, just as they did when the work was first created.

In De-Coronation, a woman either places or removes a crown resembling a drone, while a group of shadowed figures watches with exaggerated expressions. The ambiguity of the scene leaves the viewer questioning whether it represents ascension or downfall, control or submission. This tension, heightened by the dramatic interplay of light and shadow, recalls Caravaggio’s ability to obscure moral certainty in his narratives. A similar tension arises in another recent large-scale work, Destroy Me Again (2023), where the central figure’s crown or halo shatters. The crown, resembling a modern ring-light used to enhance one’s appearance in videos and optimise visual clarity, is torn from the figure’s head by a man lurking in the shadows. Further complicating the scene, the figure is enwrapped in a petrol pump tube, prompting an exploration of the human condition and our impact on the world.

Griffiths’ work exists at the intersection of tradition and modernity. While his compositions evoke the drama and symbolism of Caravaggio, his integration of contemporary objects, such as drones, iPhones, and selfie sticks, roots his work firmly in the 21st century. His engagement with religious iconography and the motif of the ‘shrine’ further complicates this dialogue, suggesting that even in a hyper-digital world, we continue to seek meaning in symbols, rituals, and constructed narratives. By blending past and present, Griffiths creates a visual language that feels both timeless and immediate, challenging us to reconsider how identity, truth, and meaning are constructed in an age where reality itself often feels curated.

Like Caravaggio, Griffiths fills his works with symbolism and layers of meaning. Both artists employ iconography to invite deeper interpretations: Caravaggio with religious and social themes, and Griffiths with contemporary visual cues. Whether using a mechanical crown in De-coronation or the haunting figures in Unreel, Griffiths’ paintings provoke questions about the human condition, much like Caravaggio’s do.

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