Living big on a dream of an abstract world, visual transformation arranged haphazardly on moments of creative spontaneity. Events influences authority in a collective of light and consciousness fueled by art, history and desire. It is for humankind to create and make stuff, such passion is an innate attribute to our total DNA.
it is an 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 collection of art-works. With so many artists living and working in Los Angeles, it is rare indeed to be in the company of an artist whom I 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, incomplete finished, unfinished some mulled over, yet beautiful. Art built over years between moves in patterns, a lifetime unfurl in syntax’s. New world color unfurl before us and marks a trajectory of passion on the artist play. Some works are carefully rendered and others veer opposite, and untethered in a tangent of an unknown vocabulary, they shout and scream for meaning. In the newness of art and time there appears an uncommon nakedness that 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. The artist craft are excerpts of an uncommon baptism where themes anchors discussion and discussion in itself become the work.
(work on this soon) Focus is placed on works in progress, the artist point of view and processes that targets watercolor as a media and its application exclusively. The article also points to other works that surrounds production to shed light on the history and development of the artist. The few selected artwork 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 on paper suggests that technique and treatment follows some traditional norm in technique an expressive execution. Yet the artwork embodies some history and tradition in practice. Seemingly the artist is un-afraid to venture into patterns of departure that projects the rich and vibrant complex materiality of light he desires in order to project a powerful vibrancy to his creations The artist engage the paper before him, bereft of image, he took several paces forward, brush held aloft, he gestured, moist saturated pigment dripped from the paper. Succulent as the soft delicateness of an overripe mango, fresh and un-rehearsed he painted. Ritual perhaps? 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 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 in flawless movement, beats a trance-like song, an object of thought and itself a work of art. “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, the customary hard 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. A breath of fresh air, the decibel of ageing garbage trucks bangs has taken the weekend off, gone are their sonorous hell on Wall and Boyd streets.