I enjoy interpreting visual art my way, and I want you to interpret my pieces in your individual ways. Therefore, I often (though certainly not always) focus on non-objective abstraction, providing few or no visual cues to the relationship between the visual composition and any human or physical objects in the world. Abstract, non-objective imagery can convey and elicit feelings and understanding more universal and permanent than transitory humanity and nature as we currently see it. Abstraction reinforces both the uniqueness of the viewer’s interpretation and the commonalities among natural, physical, and human worlds.
Geometric abstraction forms the basis of many of my compositions. Geometric shapes interact with plain or carefully mottled backgrounds. Their relative slopes, colors, and heft imply movement or stasis, balance or imbalance, and even power relationships.
I am especially inspired by non-objective “Suprematism” championed by Kazimir Malevich and his contemporaries in pre-Revolutionary Russia, and I’m generally inspired by 20th-century hard-edge and color-field paintings.
Straight lines convey dynamism, simply because they move (and move the eye) directly and expediently from one place to another. Vertical lines are often divisive; horizontal lines evoke the horizon – and thus should be used sparingly (if at all) in non-objective compositions. Diagonal lines move the eye across two dimensions and are thus inherently more dynamic. I sometimes prefer positively sloped diagonals, because they may be hopeful to any viewer accustomed to reading from left to right.
It's trite to say that circles are “perfect” in their enclosure of space, but they are. Their constant radii are comforting, as is their association with eggs and with the womb. I often paint circles as enclosures – more focused on the interior than the figure. However, sided figures – triangles, quadrilaterals, and the like -- behave like figures (actors, if you will), within a composition. They develop characteristics akin to personalities.
Color – hue, value, and chroma -- is vitally important, even in its absence. I enjoy using color for its emotional and visual impact, and in representational painting, its ability to render recognizable objects and scenes. I’ve painted a 30-painting Color Abstraction series, emphasizing the visual dynamic of solid blocks of complementary colors. I don’t rely on a generalized characterization of colors. Rather, I rely on the juxtaposition of colors and values to convey potential impact. “Any color rendered in paint seems ‘warm’ to me, because of the lusciousness of solidly applied paint.”
Enjoy the lines, bars, rectangles, triangles, circles, and arcs cavorting on color-filled -- or color-less -- grounds. Inspired by Albers, Kandinsky, Malevich, and Mondrian, these compositions maximize viewers' ability to decide what the image and interactions mean to them.
However, in 2020-23, I decided to remove the symbolic and emotional connotations of color from a series of abstract paintings – so that the viewer has even more freedom to interpret each composition. I painted a set of 36” square canvases with a palette limited to black, white, and grays mixed from them. Thus, the variables at play were value, shape, and the combination of shapes to form a composition. The MBTW series is named for the only two pigments used in these paintings: Mars Black and Titanium White. Each of these is close to visual black and white, respectively, and each has high tinting strength – so they are pretty well matched to create strong contrasts and to mix for a wide range of grays.
While many of these monochromatic paintings use a range of values from black through grays to white, most of the individual geometric shapes are solid, with no value gradation within them. To reinforce the solidity of these forms, I minimized visible brush work by thinning the acrylic paint slightly, using long strokes that extend over the entire form, using matte finishes, and applying matte acrylic varnish across the entire completed composition.
There is a seeming contradiction between (a) my admiration and following of geometric abstraction that does not attempt to force a third dimension into the two-dimensional picture plane, and (b) my appreciation of visual depth, which I try to inject into all my representational painting. I think this is why I’m drawn to biomorphic abstraction. In these paintings I model colorful, carefully crafted, curvilinear forms interacting in visually playful ways, sometimes portrayed against wildly gestural backgrounds. The forms are quite abstract, some seeming more animal-like, some more plant-like. I render these compositions in acrylic paints, oil paints, or oil and cold wax.
Why engage in fanciful biomorphic forms? Viewers are more likely to uncover (within themselves, really) meaning and interaction when the forms seem organic – but are sufficiently vaguely rendered to prevent ascribing characteristics of any particular species. The paintings are also just plain fun to observe!
"Strata" are abstract paintings in which densely painted swaths of oil paint form saturated layers across the canvas. When the swaths are roughly horizontal, they evoke geologic layers. When interrupted by an abrupt slash of dark paint, they remind me of life’s contrasts and confrontations with the void. When they are roughly vertical, plant-like leaves or branches weave across the composition. When small circles are added to some of the layers, they appear as "eyes" and give the layers the impression of sentience. These are great fun to paint, and very dynamic to view.
Despite my commitment to individuality, I also look forward to life’s end, when there’s no more “I,” no more desire, no more goals. Being part of a universal consciousness will bring acceptance. Pain, suffering, love, tyranny, and the swirling of the cosmos are all part of the picture, and the universal consciousness continues – aware of all these, but very cognizant that these are the ways of the universe. The consciousness suffuses everything; some things “pick up” on it, and some things or beings do not. This is the motivation for a series of paintings that I call “mystical self-portraits,” envisioning the submersion of the self into broader consciousness.
“The Impossibility of Knowing” refers to the strength of memory and imagination, compared to what is “real” or “observed.” In these paintings, a solid shape, figure, or silhouette interacts with its mirrored outline, against a shadowed background. Something that seems substantive is augmented with its mirror, shadow, future, or past. The interplay creates visual dynamism as each shape is pulled in its opposite direction, and interpretive dynamism as each object or figure interacts with its complement. I want to maximize the impact of each painting, but I don’t want to determine the nature of that impact. That’s why I’ve given each painting a simple numerical title. You’re welcome to develop your own, personal subtitle for each painting – I have!