Arts and Letters

I first met Federico when he was in his early twenties. I liked him immediately. He had a very scholarly face, open, honest almond-shaped eyes, and was so friendly and dear, that everyone who met him liked him right away. He was of medium height, broad-shouldered, handsome, very appealing. He had an especially soft musical voice. As a gifted young artist at that time, he lived in a loft studio, and on my first visit I was impressed with its neatness and orderliness. I found him working with a very fine pen point, drawing the most exquisite, intricate, realistic figures and objects.

In a short time we became good friends and frequently exchanged visits. Late one evening when I stopped in at his studio, Federico was at work on a large canvas which literally sparkled in an extraordinary way. Each stroke on the canvas ignited another spark until it seemed to me as if the entire canvas burst into flames. That particular painting I shall never forget. It was a Christ in a brothel, a Christ angry and tragic, surrounded by bodies shaped as if they were in sacks, wriggling like snakes. The execution and realization were masterly, like the great Renaissance paintings of the fifteenth century.

Federico was unafraid in his work, always in full control, whether on canvas, lithographic stone, etching plate, or in sculpture. He mastered whatever medium he worked in. He was truly an artist's artist. Equally knowledgeable in literature, music, and world history, he traveled extensively and was fluent in many languages. On the surface he was rather shy, but when he liked someone he could be talkative and affectionate, for he basically loved people and communicated easily.

Federico, his wife Hilda, and I spent much time together in Paris, working on lithographs, visiting museums as well as the Flea Market, which he loved so much, and exploring the city, especially the print shops. His greatest pleasure was sitting in a café, reviewing the day's activities. I remember once when we met for an apéritif before dinner, we spoke of our work at the atelier, and he told me that he had not planned anything in particular for the new stone he was to begin on that day. On his walk from the hotel to the atelier in the morning, however, he had formulated his ideas, and by the time he had reached the studio and prepared his stone, he knew exactly what he was going to do. He had a unique way of preparing a stone: he would flood it with water and add touche, which is a lithographic paint. As the water and touche dried he would control the light and dark areas, in preparation for his very delicate and personal way of working on the stone.

Federico was a perfectionist. To a complete knowledge of the lithographic medium he added a subtle sense of color and strong masterly drawing. He was an inspiration to those who worked with him; both recognized artists and young students learned by watching him. In years of teaching he left his mark on the young who will be among our future artists.

Federico's accomplishment has been recognized and acclaimed in the art world. Carl Zigrosser, Curator Emeritus of Prints and Drawings of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, says this:

Castellón has phenomenal technical facility…. And he has an extraordinary visual memory: he does not draw from an object or a model, he draws from imagination…. Graphic ideas come bubbling up in great profusion—ideas that are crystal clear and complete. No need for him to grope or fumble. Such prodigality of accomplishment is refined and heightened by his innate sense of style. It governs his thought, his feeling, and his action.

Federico was a man who relaxed in work and friendship. He had time for accidental meetings on the street, and would discuss everything from poetry to women to travel to good food. He felt a quiet sense of pride in being Spanish and knew the Spanish poets. He especially revered Lorca.

He was a man who could do anything with his hands. He could put up a brick wall, nail down a floor, redesign an apartment or a loft. He was a good cook. He could create a feeling of home in a single room. He was always surrounded by books and paintings and plants and the people he loved. Art students, wanting advice on printmaking or painting or just wanting to talk about art, could knock on Federico's door and would not be turned away. He had time for those who struggled, as he himself had struggled.

He was known by his neighbors and friends as a man who was always modest, always friendly, always honest and sincere. In his life and art there was not a single fraudulent note. He was an artist, fiercely loyal to his own ideas. Never a painter of fashion, he stood firmly amidst small tides and storms, determined to ride out his life within his own vision. This he did.

We try to praise his art and person. Perhaps a Spanish poet should have the final word, and from Lorca's lament for the death of a bullfighter, we take this thought for our Federico: "I sing his elegance in words that tremble / and remember a sad wind through the olive trees."