|Wood, 2015, oil on canvas, 12 x 16 inches|
|Love's Spine, 2015, gouache on linen, 16 x 12 inches|
|Hillside, 2015, oil on canvas, 11 x 14 inches|
There is a little Paul Klee at play in Hillside. He can be a mentor for small paintings. Play is vital. The tree-figure form is rather animated. Can be person, place or thing. Animal or vegetable. Its red paint becomes the light in the canvas. I starting using the tree-figure mark in a mural three or four years ago to organize some otherwise random brushstrokes (although its origin is without question totally and absolutely rooted in my wooden sculptures of the last fifteen plus years). These marks from the mural seemed to be literally marking time at first. Four strokes and a cancellation to make the numeral five. Small family of five. Father of four. But then tree. Especially pines. Pines that dot the 360 degrees of woods that surround my studio and home. They jumped from my sculptures and out of my mural and into my paintings last Winter, and lasted through early Spring. Where they go from here I have no idea. How strong they are remains to be seen.
|Flap, 2015, gouache and oil on linen, 18 x 24 inches|
|Becco's Ride, 2015, gouache on linen, 16 x 12 inches|
Light Sail, 2015, gouache on linen, 16 x 12 inches
I use color and shape and mark and line and texture and contrast and signs and arrows and metaphor, etc., to give wings and heart and fire and brains to my paintings, to bring them to life, to set their sails to the wind, and cast them out to sea. A painting like Light Sail takes me back. Back to 1960, the Winged Victory of Samothrace, to the morning boat from Venice to Pireaus, to Mykonos, to white light and white stone, to blue sky and blue water, to windmills, to the lions at Delos. I can feel the stiff, salty breeze.
When I see my old paintings, they tell me so much, almost too much, of what I was thinking at that time, where I was, how I was, up or down, in or out, happy, challenged, heartbroken, or on top of the world. They tell me what inspired me, what called me, what drove me; in short, what I cared about. They also tell me what I was struggling with or opposing or ignoring at my peril. I see them and a little voice says, oh, that was what was going on. I feel exposed by them sometimes, or thankful to them for bringing back a happy memory about something or someone from long ago. They are so personal that way. Vessels. Filled with light and dark, yearning and passion, daring and delight, foolishness and anticipation, rawness and struggle, wonder and sorrow, and the occasional glimpse of the breathtaking, the sublime, if fortune smiles on me. All served up in triumph and celebration.
|Cathy's Turn, 2015, gouache and oil on linen, 16 x 12 inches|
Quite often I have to resist the urge of trying to use a painting I like as a stepping stone to another painting, as much as it might tempt me, as much as it might yield. You know, keep painting the same painting until I get it right; mine it until there is no ore left. Instead, sometimes I try just letting one painting tell its story, give what it may, get it right the first time. And then start again. The complete tabula rasa. Back to the bottom of the hill, back to the beginning. A new day! Door number three!
|Plot Line, 2015, gouache on linen, 16 x 12 inches|
|Not of This World(Pine), 2015, oil on canvas, 14 x 11 inches|
|Fall, 2015, oil on canvas, 11 x 14 inches|
Inwardly is different. Think Advent calendar. Think nesting. Eddies. Secrets. Buried treasure. Wormholes. Cupped hands. The beachcomber's prize.
|Seventh Samurai, 2015, oil on linen, 24 x 18 inches|
|Heaven's Gate, 2015, oil on canvas, 14 x 11 inches|
|My Heart is by the Window, 2014, oil on linen, 12 x 9 inches|
|Addison Parks @ Nielsen Gallery @ Bow Street Annex|
To see more work please visit addisonparks.com