Louise Fishman paints planes in space with a rough hand that really become something else. Elegiac. Fierce. A rough elegance.
Beneath all of that are miles of nuance. Miles of contemplation. Miles of poetry in paint. Louise Fishman has always been about collateral paint. Collateral expression. The things that happen while you are painting. The ghosts in the paint.
Whatever Louise Fishman has ever painted consciously has always opened a portal to something else. Some place else. Some place where words always fail. Aren't those the places that really matter. Love, death. No one knows what to say. Painting finds a way however. And Louise Fishman paints those paintings. Maybe better than anyone else.
Louise Fishman delivers what Franz Kline promised. More and more the boldness of what he started has given way to a thousand inflections of gray and color where other worlds flourish.
It is not just that Fishman has taken up where Kline stopped, that would be a gross understatement. It is like when you get to the beach or out on the ocean and can really see the night sky. It is no longer just the Big Dipper, it is clouds of constellations swirling around in the heavens. She takes us there.
How? That is the thing. There are no real answers. Something else. How much time have you got? Her paintings can take all day. And more. No rush.
Spring Hill, October 2016