Another gift from the Art Pixies who come in the night and leave things for me. Things I never dreamed of painting myself. Things that seem at once familiar and strange to me.
You have to understand that I’m not a follower of “automatic writing” or “automatic painting” or the idea of art rising out of my depths. I’m a follower of doing the work. A follower of, “Painting is about paint.” So I do the work and I paint.
When I finished this one, the colors reminded me a little of Van Gogh. Please understand, I am in no way comparing my work to his – it’s just the colors.
But the color of the circle/ball/orb in this one really belongs to Frank, so I thought perhaps he and Vincent had something to say to each other. I hope it’s more than the weather.
Who knows, really, where abstract images come from? For me, it’s still all color, all the time. Adding the discrete circles is new, and they’re challenging. They’re also imperfect, the space within the circles broken or incomplete.
It’s easy to make assumptions or to assign meaning beyond what’s on the canvas.
I was surprised to see that it’s been three months since I posted here. Three fascinating months, I should add, with more art than writing.
My apologies for leaving on such short notice, but I’m back… and I have a few pieces of work to show for my absence.
I’ve been experimenting with a lot of things and it’s a great ride, so far. One of them, the piece above, came at me out of the blue. I’m still trying to sort out what happened here and who actually did this painting. It doesn’t feel like me or look like me but it fascinates me in a way none of my other pieces has even come close to doing.
I like several things I’ve done – trying to be objective and not just “in love” with my own work. I know what’s working and what’s not, but with this painting, it’s different. It’s nothing like what I started out to do, and I find myself wanting to ask it questions, discuss important issues with it, argue with it, get its biography in writing.
In an odd way, I find myself pulled to it as if somebody else really did paint it. But that can’t be. I was there.
For the record, I was looking at a Frank Lloyd Wright drawing because I liked the colors. That’s where I started. And then all hell broke loose.
I don’t call it “Deconstructing Frank Lloyd Wright” for nothing. My apologies to the master.