Montreal-born in 1964, Adamo Macri isn’t easily boxed in. His education at Dawson College spanned everything from commercial art to art history, photography to fine arts. That broad mix didn’t just shape his skillset—it shaped his entire way of working. Macri doesn’t commit to one form. He moves across sculpture, video, painting, and drawing. But photography has become a kind of anchor, or at least a recurring container, for his ideas. And what he’s after isn’t just how something looks—but how it reads.
Words matter in his work. He treats language like raw material, loaded with hidden meanings and cultural residue. His titles aren’t labels—they’re landmines. Each one sets off a chain of associations. The photograph gives you one layer, the name gives you another, and the real tension lives in the space between them.
Male Head with Bugle (2024, Photography, 84 x 89 cm)
On the surface, this looks like a straightforward portrait—a male figure and a brass instrument. But the title opens a different door. “Bugle” is more than a military horn. In Cockney slang, it means nose. In street slang, it’s tied to cocaine. In ceremonial use, it’s about order and signal. On the street, it hints at chaos and excess.
Macri plays in that overlap. The photo itself is cool, quiet, composed. But once you let the slang meanings in, the calm starts to feel suspicious. Is this man calling something into being—or reflecting the aftermath of indulgence? The viewer is never told. Instead, you’re stuck between archetype and accident, history and hangover. Kenneth Radu’s essay “Tricky Titles” highlights this exact slippage—Macri uses titles to crack the surface of the image. The form is classical, but the meaning slips in sideways.
Aerosol (2024, Photography, 84 x 89 cm)
Here again, Macri gives us a portrait, clean and composed. But the word “aerosol” does the heavy lifting. It’s a term with industrial roots—fine particles suspended in air. It’s also linked to hairspray, deodorant, pollution, or graffiti. It floats between cosmetics and rebellion, vanity and protest.
The image doesn’t show a can, a cloud, or even movement. But the word carries all that with it. You start to imagine what’s unseen—the invisible stuff in the air. The moment after the spray. The drift of scent, paint, or infection. Street artists turned aerosol into a tool of urgency. Macri repurposes that urgency—turning it inward. The body in the frame is still. But the title makes it unstable, unpredictable. Something’s being released here, but you’re not sure what.
Pinus Attis (2013, Photography, 41 x 48 cm)
This work goes mythological. Attis, the Phrygian god of renewal, castrated himself and became a pine tree—symbol of seasonal death and return. The title Pinus Attis collapses that story into two words, making the myth feel like a brand name or a taxonomy. The image doesn’t shout its meaning. It whispers it.
The figure is posed, silent, solemn. There’s no tree in sight. But if you know the reference, you start to sense the pressure of transformation. The body becomes a stand-in for something larger—ritual, loss, continuity. Nothing is literal here, but everything is implied.
Macri lets the mythology hum beneath the frame. It’s not about explaining the story. It’s about letting that old myth press gently against the image, warping how we see it.
