Living big on a dream of an abstract world, visual transformation arranged haphazardly on moments of creative spontaneity. Events influences authority in a collective fueled by art, history and desire. It is for humankind to create, to make stuff, this passion is innate an attribute of our total DNA.
It is quite a wonderful opportunity to be in the company of artists much more to write about their work and others. Such fortune presents itself, an opportunity of just such occasion afforded an opening to survey the works of an artist whose work I long admired.
On the studio north wall hangs an out-of-place clock upside-down, if by purpose or accident or an intended gesture, it is an object that immediately catches the eye. Perhaps he intends it to be a comment or a statement of time. The clock define occurrence perhaps, an object that will soon take its place in the creative forces of life in art.
A soft warm spring light graces the oval face of the clock. Its hands flawless in movement and beat are trancelike and are itself an object of thought and process. “Love of ten Springs” he repeated, moving back and forth, sideways, left and right, alike a ballerina’s adagio. Large sheets of handmade papers populate the studio central wall, virgin white and under plastic covers waiting to be touched by the artist oversized sumi brush that graces what he refers to affectionately as Madame Tensprings.
It is early morning Saturday, the customary hard light and morning din has been turned down, not many moving vehicles and thunderous garbage trucks banging their way into an otherwise sonorous hell on Wall and Boyd streets.