Generalized figures occupy a somewhat strange and surreal landscape; recognizable in ways but always feeling a bit out of reach; like a dream you can't quite remember. The figures go about their business, unconcerned with the viewer, but oddly unconcerned with each other as well. There's a sense of calm and isolation, but also an oppressive heat from the warm colors occupying the top 2/3s of the canvas. An eye stares at the viewer from just below what seems to be the sun...but is that a sun? If so what are the other two red orbs in the sky? As the viewer we're not entirely sure where we stand. Are we part of the scene on the other side of the pool mirroring the standing white figure? Are we voyeurs hidden in the surrounding foliage; a potential danger to the exposed figure? Are we disembodied beings invisible to the figures? Two are or appear to be toweling dry but they face opposite directions. The two figures lying down appear to hold hands behind the standing figure, but they also appear almost lifeless. Are the figures simply lounging or is there more to their relationship? Why are the separated by the standing figure?
This painting is a great example of what I think makes my art unique and ultimately successful. I like to present a scene that can be enjoyed for aesthetic reasons, but when looking closely, narratives, relationships, and questions emerge about what the viewer is faced with. Landscapes create a setting that feels like a place you've been, but also is intangible; unable to be placed firmly in reality. I want the viewer to be attracted and then enveloped with the image, absorbed in the possibilities, and encouraged to investigate. I have my own thoughts about what the scene depicts and what each character represents, but I only want to leave bread crumbs. If I want people to think a certain way, I can tell them exactly what I want the painting to say. If I want people to truly engage, I give them bits and pieces that require threads from the viewer to connect. I want the viewer to inject a bit of themselves into the painting, this way, every time its shown or seen, it becomes something slightly new, perhaps more powerful, perhaps connecting to or informing a viewer in a unique way that brings something more important than just an image I put on a canvas.
When I am on vacation I often consider the locals you encounter. While I relax without a care in the world, they go about their everyday life. While I day-drink and absorb the sun, they're running errands like it's any normal weekday. The stark realization that paradise for some is nothing of the sort for others always makes me wonder what "paradise" really is. Is it some far off magical land where no one has a care in the world? Or is it more down to earth; something more akin to the pleasantries of everyday life? I'm not saying that we enjoy monotonous errands, illness, or minor annoyances, but would we, on the contrary, really enjoy a life without any conflict at all? Would I make art if life was perfect and I had no desire for more? Would it be any good? Are negatives required to appreciate the positives when encountered or can you appreciate perfection even if nothing ever goes wrong?
Island; Garden; Oasis; Eden is available for purchase through the Thelma Sadoff Center for the Arts during the duration of the show. Feel free to contact me with any questions.
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 With the recent Natural Remedy series, titling has become a bit more of an afterthought than usual. As part of a series, the paintings have relatively formulaic titles and while that makes the "wrapping up" phase easier, it removes one element that I've typically utilized to frame the message of the painting for the viewer. I always start with a simple title; in this instance "Waiting for the Boats to Come In". At this point in the process I wasn't finished fleshing out the figures and wasn't entirely sure where the painting was ultimately headed outside of a harbor scene with figures. At this stage the title informs the scene to a degree but doesn't add a whole lot in terms of narrative or emotion. As I continued painting a few of the figures became a little more defined with the center red character taking on some elements of the boat itself. Other figures filled this sort of secondary role, filling space but remaining a bit less individualized, almost a repeating texture. The character on the right stood out from the start; a bit more front-facing with a more humanistic pose, this character breaks up the statuesque characters that almost become silhouettes.
Once the center character was "finished" and "connected" to the boat, I felt a narrative begin to take hold. This felt like a more "put together" figure...one with a plan. They were all waiting for the boat but, with a matching outfit, this character was ready to sail. He knew his purpose. The other figures occupying a more secondary role wore the same kind of outfit but more plain. they were ready to board but less dedicated to the path before them.
The figure on the right didn't take long to actually paint, but it was one of the last portions of the canvas I finished. Once the other figures all fell into their own groupings, this fellow stood out and I knew he'd act as the main driver behind the narrative. I reflected a bit on the original title and realized I had set up a bit of a dichotomy; on one hand you had uniformed figures standing stoically as they waited for a boat to dock. On the other you had a figure seemingly in turmoil, undressed, with its head down. A moment of serenity (or monotony) for some was a moment of existential angst and isolation for another. Is this figure questioning getting on the boat? Is there something foreboding about the boat or where it's headed? Are the other figures accepting of this path or resigned to it? Are the others perfectly fine and this figure is in turmoil or are the other characters blindly moving forward and this figure the only one rightly considering the future? When you go from "Waiting for the Boats to Come In" to "When There's Calm in the Harbor for Many" you introduce the fact that calm for many is not for some, revealing the dichotomy between characters and informing the viewer that something is not well. Figuring out what exactly that is, though, is purposefully left vague and intended for the viewer to fill in the blanks. Do you embody the anxiety of the outlier or feel like you are one of those ready for what's coming, prepared, put together and unflustered? Are you stoic and emotionally statuesque or do you find yourself anxious for what's around the corner? Are you accepting of your current plot or constantly railing against it? Or does this painting mean something else entirely to you? Painting, for me, is about discovering truths about yourself. While I do that through painting for hours and hours, I always hope the viewers can follow along in that journey for themselves. Take a closer look at "When There's Calm in the Harbor for Many" and let me know how you connect to its themes and imagery.  |
Daniel
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