Within a year of exhibiting it, he would never paint like this again
The woman and man are eternally bound in a psychopathologically perverse interpretation of yin and yang.
Little popcorn puffs or higher, more distant, cirrus… a shorthand for how the duration of a painting allows for some time.
I was struck by Pippin’s preference for angular, even knife-like, shapes and harsh environmental contrasts
One man is found pulling leaves from a stem, as if counting down time. Another man stares longingly at a pile of petals.
Its minimal linear elements raced around the side of the canvas and played with my expectations of where paint would normally be.
“Less is less, and more is more. No more, no less.”
There is almost a metaphysical postponement of finish throughout these portraits, a hesitation as if waiting for an informant of the future to complete them.
To my eyes, this is a love letter to the maternal archetype—the maternal ideal.
Each hue resonates as cool or warm, deep or shallow, allowing the eye and the sensibility to soak in energy, light and form as pure color sensation.
Then there is the color itself – the purity of color and the psychological effects that pure color can have not only on the eye, but also on one’s emotional states and well-being.
I like thinking, though, that the painting makes a complete body out of dispersed heterogeneous parts, a complicated body constrained and subdivided by guardrails, pedestals, canvas edges, bowler hats and neckties.