Bonnard’s was a revolution in subject matter, turning a dining room table into a phantasmagoric carnival and a woman at her toilette into a primal spectacle…
If we were to think about the image in terms of language, it would be a noun or a verb.
The thin screens of constructed space, which I wade through at a sluggish speed, feel like the layers of a person you’re getting to know.
While I admire Picasso’s drawing, prints and sculpture, Matisse still represents for me the fullest mixture, in the modern age, of discrimination and passion.
There’s an unabashed honesty in the way Henry Taylor paints a picture.
How else to paint but to concentrate mercilessly on the singularity of high end realistic focus and finish… rendered to an almighty faultless Metaphysical T.
This is an instructive demonstration of using the right shapes and shadows to conjure story and character to visualize the contents of psyche and soul.
Over and over again, the sky changed: until it was brand new. Or I was.
Picasso said of Cezanne: “He is the father of us all.” In this essay I want to take the “us” expansively.
The blade may be in front of the self-portrait of the axe man… but it serves to slice the man into numerous pieces.
In his mature works the portraits are literally portraits of the walking dead.
It’s a curious thing to feel an immediate and unflagging connection and respect for a fellow painter’s work