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Balancing Light and DarknessAll art is meant to be entered into. I create art as a place to go. I want to create a world completely, a world that is a respite, an adventure, a mystery that draws one deeper and further in. When I look at a piece of artwork, I don't want to be simply diverted, but nourished. To provide such nourishment is my goal.
I can honestly say most of the moments of great inspiration in my life have come through witnessing some great natural beauty: rain changing the surface of still water in northern Florida, reflected sunrise lighting up the side of a towering rock formation outside Laramie, Wyoming, the shifting, dappled sunlight covering the flowered squares in Savannah, Georgia, or the bright green moss reflecting against the bamboo surrounding a teahouse in Japan. There is still loveliness in this world worthy of holding up: I truly believe that in the creation of new visions, genuine beauty is deeply important. There is such ugliness in the world, such injustice, that there must be a corresponding balance. Any current lack of such balance is strong motivation for me to think about the nature of my new creations.
Unearthing darkness, no matter how necessary, is alone not healing. Sharing experiences of sublime beauty make me feel part of something greater, more connected with both other people and the land itself. Such experiences make me feel more alive, and at such a time I physically ache with the need to honor and share that feeling. It fills me with a fierce urgency to make possibility and light as mighty and ubiquitous as the cruelty and stupidity that can be so present in our culture and our lives.
I once experienced such transformative loveliness at the Chicago Museum of Art. There, surrounded by works by Claude Monet, I began to cry. I can not remember ever being so moved. The colors and textures, the spaces, the total dedication to the world he created, the magnificent light--all that potency had an overwhelming effect. If ever I can approach that kind of mastery, I will be happy.
I am also inspired by Edward Hopper with his precise lines and sense of comfort found in desolation. His work, too, is suffused with distinctive light and powerful decisiveness. I love Georgia O'Keefe's landscapes for the smooth, precise spatial sense, and for her finely tuned colors. Her watercolors of the moon were an inspiration for my own series of moons. The choices she made with the horizon and with slices of sky mesmerize me. I also enjoy getting lost in J.M.W. Turner's spacious, atmospheric paintings. I enjoy Joseph Alber's color studies, but am moved by early Wassily Kandinsky, whose wild abstractions are very exciting. The movement is palpable in Kandinsky's work, and it is executed with impeccable color. I consider myself a colorist because I am excited by the visceral power of color as well as its potential and incredible utility. I strive for brushstrokes as vital, fresh, dynamic, and effective as Robert Henri and John Singer Sargent. These artists from the Ashcan School create my idea of a perfect translation from mind to canvas. The brushstrokes look to be the result of dancing; natural, immediate, fresh with improvisation, but flawlessly intentional: alive. I seek to employ such brushwork in a new arena.
In terms of technique, my media are more traditional, but I am interested in exploring unique, somewhat nontraditional surfaces. I've worked on board and often on raw and un-stretched canvas. I've had success and failure within my experimentation with the canvas' rough, loose edges; I enjoy the challenge of physically struggling, and coming to terms with my materials.
In my undergraduate work, I discovered an immediate love for the physical qualities and potential of paint. The importance of structure and the need for a strong logical framework were longer in coming. However, those concepts are vital to me now and have become an integral part my process. I combined media with the incredible power of color in my thesis work, achieving the most success when intaglio and monoprinting joined paint on the canvas. ( See "Bedroom Landscape" 2008) In addition to the exploration of physical media I learned to think of art making as a means of growth and self exploration. While abroad at the Siena School I believe I grew the most as a painter. I was fortunate to study with Ian Factor. I learned so much with him, particularly about portraiture and the Ashcan School. In the year after graduation, I painted on my own for the first time. It was then that my subject matter began to move toward the landscape, and become more abstract. I believe I needed to test my limits and do something completely alone and unfettered.
My current work is highly dynamic and full of energy. It is frequently semi-abstract with a focus on the landscape. I often begin with the horizon line. From there I can build the tension between what is near and far, what is descending and ascending, and what obstacles lie between them. I manipulate the tension toward the highest dramatic impact while working toward cohesion. I keep in mind the maxim that says that every painting, no matter its subject, is a self-portrait. I used to paint only self portraits , so understanding this paradigm shift is important to me. While my paintings depict outdoor scenes, they are describing an inner space. My landscapes function symbolically (and sometimes literally) for the universal human search to find a place of our own: a safe place, a place to belong. This is the work that nourishes me. In doing so I hope to create something universally meaningful.
My work is about yearning, searching, exploring and discovering. I think my work is valid now. I take feelings of instability, impermanence, and strive to make them work for me as I create a new, fantastical place. It is respite, it is relief, but it is not weak. I hope to make the impossible look not only possible, but concrete. My work may be whimsical, but I strive to ensure it is never without muscle, structure and logic. It is transformative.Ultimately, I hope my work will function to validate the basic human experience; to validate that which is important, that which is universal, and that which needs to be recognized for true renewal.