Living big on a dream in an abstract world, visual transformation arranged haphazardly in moments of creative spontaneity. Events influences authority in a collective flash of light on paper and consciousness is fueled by art. History and desire for all to see and wonder is for humankind to create and make stuff. Such passion for art is innate, an attribute to our total DNA.
It is a great opportunity to be in the company of artists and more-so to write about their work. Fortune presents itself not too often. The privilege to interact and likewise survey a distinguished body of art-works in total privacy with the artist is treasured and unforgettable as it is among the greatest of honor that can be bestowed on any guest. With so many artists living and working in Los Angeles, it is of coincidence and a considerable gift to be in the company of an artist whom I so admire. Rather un-assuming he has not quite adopted a persona that may be easily tagged, certainly not the artist type. Quiet, shy and un-assuming he moves comfortably through his work and among friends with ease and confidence. One of the many who works in secrecy he is fastidious with a tendency to avoid the public eye. An artist of a different rank, he is bent on eluding the loudness of the art world, so as to create without distraction. Privacy of self and art drives his ideas of a particular visual syntactic dialogue in form and color.
Watercolor sketches on paper in many states, some incomplete and others mulled over, yet they are all quite beautiful as they graced the artist studio walls. These are art-works crafted over many years between moves of patterns and necessity, such pleasure to witness a lifetime of an artist history unfurl in a beautiful and flawless dance of colors and imagery. New world color appears they unfurl a passionate and unflinching directness of the artist play on a creative tour de force. Some artworks art are carefully rendered and others appear to reveal a true search, a battle of artist and canvas for control to grasp the timelessness of vision and continuity. There is a sense that in the artist grasp for identity and vocabulary, vision is uniquely in search of itself. What is not lost on this viewer however is that the artists vocabulary is not singular, it is an indelible form of observation painted or drawn in pure symbols that shout and scream for meaning. In his art the newness of the theme time appears in an uncommon nakedness, it jars the unsuspecting eye. Hello, hello! one hears so many voices yet there is only one, it is not that of giddiness, it is in the colors that are hurled in syllables and sound.
Of Art and Ritual
The craft of an artist holds many unknowns, certainly there are surprises of what seems to work well and on the other those that do not. However the belief of an uncommon baptism of exuberance steeped in highs and lows underlines the satisfaction of pleasant search for perfection. There are themes that invite discussion, yet such discussions go untended to invite greater discussions. Her are reminders of gestures reminiscent of Rodin hulking Balzac. Questions are often better without answers. Of works in development, the artist point of view is centered on ideas, some of which are immediate and others that are content focused and thought out in time, He targets watercolor as a media and its application exclusively, an application most suitable as a vehicle for impact and meaning.
The article also points to works in production that aims to shed light on the history and development of the artist. The few selected artworks of this post details a cross-section of large format watercolor paintings , some measuring 7’. 5″ x 7′. 5″ In the studio there is a combined collection of finished and unfinished works. The watercolor paintings uncover a degree of unorthodox methods in application. The artist control of his media suggests that technique and treatment follows a traditional norm yet the is not bound to such pattern. The artwork embodies a strong sense of history and practice altogether, he suggest quite stubbornly an emphasis on Latin America and Caribbean vision with flourish beyond these geographical confines. Without fear the artist ventures into patterns of departures that suggest a rich and vibrant complex search for certain materiality of light, something he desires in order to project a powerful vibrancy that is true to his creations. As I looked on quietly, he engages the paper before him, bereft of image, he took several paces forward, with brush held aloft, he gestures, moist saturated pigment dripped from the paper on contact. Succulent as the soft delicateness of an overripe mango, fresh and un-rehearsed he painted. Ritual perhaps in a kind of pagan manner? Everywhere there are flowers, carefully placed; unfinished pieces of artworks lay about, some hanging and others in various stages of completeness.
On the studio north wall hangs an out-of-place clock upside-down, if by purpose, accident or well intended, there is a reason for its placement and context. This gesture is immediate; it is an object that symbolically catches the unsuspecting 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 meaning of life and art. A soft warm spring light reflects the oval face of the clock. The clock’s hands in flawless movement, beats trance-like in song against a calm soft and airiness of a beautiful California light in spring that graces the creative calmness of the studio environment. Each article becomes an object of thought and a work of art. Symbolism is paramount to many artists yet this studio is special, because of its arrangements, it reflects a place of rites “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 Saturday morning, a customary cacophony sound, voices, machines, the chopping and arranging of flowers. A hard fluorescent light lingered among echoes of the flower market on sixth and Maple Streets. The usual city din is turned down, not many moving vehicles around today. A breath of fresh air, the decibel of ageing garbage trucks that belches noxious diesel gas has taken the weekend off. Gone are the sonorous hell on Wall and Boyd streets where often toy stores and merchants clash on a week-day for customers and parking spaces for a congregant of eighteen wheelers and a network of cardboard containers hurriedly discarded as litter.