The differences between painting large and small scale are hard to overstate. From different brushes to different media, not to mention the literal physicality of walking around a studio to see a painting from multiple angles versus holding the entire thing in your lap, painting small scale doesn't replace large-scale, but it presents an opportunity for something a little different: Accessibility, both for the artist (me) and viewers.

While I love a good large painting, in a largely digital world things can get lost in translation. Looking at something on a computer screen that, in person, would dwarf you is, simply put, different. Think about the "spectacle-type" art that dominates social media: It's fun to look at photos but you really aren't going to "get it" without being there.

Small art bridges the gap A BIT. While nothing can replace the in-person experience, seeing art at actual size (or at least not 100x smaller) allows more viewers to experience to get an accurate feel of a painting. On top of that, smaller scale means lower price, literally making the art more accessible to a wider audience.  

On the artist side of things, it's a bit of a relief; Less setup, less clean up, less pressure, less time. I love painting large but there is a dedication required to do it. You need enough space and, depending on that space, you may need to adjust your habits, which ultimately effects how the work is made. If you're cramped, you're not comfortable. If you can lounge and complete an entire piece in one (or a couple) sittings, it's much easier to set things aside for a period or power through to reach the finish line. There always seems to be a light at the end of the tunnel, whereas a large painting can sometimes feel a bit monumental and overwhelming; hours or work and nothing yet to show.

There's nothing worse than getting done with a studio session and not liking where you are. With a small-scale painting, even if you're starting from scratch, its only 200 square inches versus 2,000. While my best art, IMO, is some of the larger scale paintings, it can take some stress to get there. Working small scale brings a different sense of enjoyment and freedom, sometimes the perfect cure for a busy life outside the studio.

"The more things change, the more they stay the same" - someone

An interesting recent development, entirely predictable of course, is a certain social media network showing me memories of decade-plus old art. I never really thought about it when I was in my 20's but at that point I really didn't have much if any art that was a decade old. I painted and drew in my teens and grade school but if it survived, it was nothing I'd really consider "good".

Now, every few days I'm reminded of a painting that I thought would get attention or start something big...they didn't...but luckily I still largely like them AND it gives me an opportunity to reflect on old trends in my art, current trends, and some similarities and differences a decade or more makes.

The painting on the left popped up this week as I was processing photos of the new painting on the right. While very different, it's interesting what tendencies have continued alongside some pretty drastic changes. I think the most obvious and important is the figure, or lack there of, in the previous work. There was a number of years I largely didn't paint people and if I did it was a very simplistic form. Not that my current figures are realistically rendered, but the human connection brings a great deal to a painting and has become a mainstay of recent work. 

Another difference is the focus on mark-making in a non-painterly way. While I still draw plenty, flowing paint is a constant in almost all artwork these days where the majority of paint used a decade ago was simply as a backdrop for oil pastels. I've dropped the oil pastels for a few reasons in favor of acrylic markers, but there is a textural and tactile quality lost from one to the other. 

While different, as called out above, similarity can be found in the symbols used and general mark-making. On the right side of the new painting you'll find almost the exact same "wave" shape as on the left. While a little less repetitive, these simple marks add energy and movement along with a child-like looseness that embodies my paintings. While the scene on the right is more refined, the overall activity and abundance of these marks has been a constant over the last decade-plus.

I regularly am asked why I paint in different styles and while I understand the question it also perplexes me to some degree. I see the differences, but I also see how they connect and transition, typically differing based on size and media more than intention. While I can obviously see differences between these two paintings, I also see how one followed in the steps of the other and could be considered a refinement of style rather than a complete departure. 

I started the next morning around 8AM and dove right in. Each mark inspired the next; each step illuminated the path ahead; 8 hours of painting flowed easily and energetically until the last marks were made. As I reviewed the painting over the next few hours, I pulled out a new 24x48" canvas and got to work on the next one. 

Canopy started exactly as I hoped, and ended very far from expectations. I'm very happy with the outcome and excited for its debut this weekend at Lifelines, opening April 4th at 6PM at Scout Gallery.

This past weekend I got to work planning a new show that will open at Scout Gallery April 4th. 

For the first time in a few months I felt inspired and optimistic toward new art happeningsrather than anxious. Images of new work cascaded through my mind and from the second i got home I started putting together a few new canvases. While, as usual, I didn't have a specific sketch or composition in mind I wanted to do pretty much the opposite of what i had been recently. Rather than starting with a bright and vibrant background color, I wanted raw canvas and I wanted that to show through to the end. Instead of the directness of drawing, I wanted the ethereal qualities of watercolor and washes. Figures would be paired with nature in a somewhat voyeuristic, gauguin-in-the-tropics sort of way that carry a mysterious, almost mythic or spiritual atmosphere.

At the moment I think the building just stands on its own a bit too much. I think the current status will serve as a great foundation for more work, but overall I want the scene to be much fuller. Currently it feels airy and fresh, like just after a summer rain. I'm looking more for stifling and full, like walking through dense brush on a hot day.

Check back in after the weekend for updates and, as always, feel free to contact me about the painting or with any other questions or inquiries.  

There is always a sense of pride and accomplishment when setting up a big show. Growing up, with dreams of art-stardom in my head, I always pictured the stereotypical white-cube gallery with large-scale artwork adorning its walls; crowds of people clamoring to get close to the latest painting; waiting lists a mile long; the artist, me, happily walking semi-anonymously amongst the crowd almost like a spy in my own party...

While the latter few daydreams haven't quite come to pass (on second thought I am fairly anonymous...) Good Air brought that "ideal" setup to life and provided a welcome but somewhat unfamiliar sense that I had "made it" to some extent. Truthfully any time a feeling like that creeps in I reflexively call to mind the many signs that I have not, in fact, "made it", but either way, when I left the gallery on the final day of setup I felt accomplished and even a bit impressed with how nice it all looked. In that moment I felt proud...

One of my favorite moments had to be spreading out 30 or 40 paintings across the gallery floor, taking up almost the entire space. This was less than half of the Pandemic Painting series, but seeing them all laid out brought an almost overwhelming sense of pride and energy. I know I like what I produce and I know I make a lot, but this was maybe the first time it's been laid out in such a way where I could get a sense of, not only the number of paintings, but the quality (IMO at least) as well. Seeing the colors and shapes interact from one composition to the next filled the space with commotion in a way I haven't felt in years and, in some ways, made it all seem worthwhile.

As I stood on the ladder overlooking the collection, I felt like I accidentally may have found the perfect way to experience the Pandemic Painting series. My next pitch might have to be somewhere with a footprint large enough for a floor installation of the paintings, forcing the viewer to physically move around the unstretched canvases, viewing them from a variety of angles much more similarly to how they were made in the first place. 

There's about a month left for Good Air and I'm definitely entering that melancholy phase of reflection. It's no longer the shiny new object, but one awaiting its demise, so to speak. I loved the setup; I love the results; I loved seeing the collection spread out, but all I can do now is promote it for a few more weeks, hope it's enjoyed and then it all comes down to head back to storage. Was it worth the work? Yes...It almost always is. Was it successful? Yes, I think the show looks fantastic, the art is a great example of my recent work, and I think it showcases the quality of that work. Was it a success? The answer depends on how you measure that and these days I think my definition constantly changes. 

Good Air is up at the Thelma Sadoff Center for the Arts through March 21st. Contact me with questions or inquiries and contact the gallery for purchase information while the show is up.