Neil Hollingsworth: Cherry Goblet

There are two paintings here: the still life itself and the miniature of the room, as it is reflected in the goblet's plump side. I believe that they vie for attention; the artist leaves it to viewers to decide which one they prefer (I will reveal my favorite only if asked nicely). It is possible, however, to envision a peaceful cohabitation. I suppose this choice is also a matter of individual standpoint -- once again the artist prompts the audience to take a stand. This predicament really reminds me of our peace negotiations, where even the terms of negotiations are being negotiated... Regardless, the mere abundance of available choices attests to the complexity of this piece. Perhaps there is one thing missing: such goblets are used in traditional Jewish Sabbath meals, held, full to the brim with red wine, in the right hand of the man of the family -- I think that a really nice, oily fingerprint would have made this painting even more interesting. Maybe I should make a poll on this...

The goblet and the cherries make up a cute composition. The berries saucily show off their tails, balancing out the sombre looking container. But there is a deeper conflict: the palatable fruit symbolizes life in its quickly passing, delicious moments, whereas the silver stands for tradition and time as it slowly limps across generations. That one contains the other not only emphasizes this discrepancy, but also mitigates it. Thus it is possible to interpret the scene in universal, philosophical terms. In this context, the cherry outside of the goblet may point either towards the artist's conviction that life should be lived "in the moment," or his statement that it will, anyway. I think that the photographic look, with its precision and uncompromising realism, serves to even further accelerate the clash between the young and the old. I would even go as far as to suggest that the outcome (for the viewer) needs to be somehow cathartic -- perhaps I am out of my scope here, but this is just a general feeling I get.

On a lighter note, the mirrored room provides a positively entertaining break. There are various colors and fine details: I think it is possible to make out a porch on the left, and a coffee table and an orange curtain on the right. But it is the light inside the room that makes this miniature so different from the goblet&cherry mise en scene, and that in fact makes it an independent painting. In a way, after all that tragicomic stress induced by the big players, it provides a safe way back to reality -- a device similar to that which protects the eyes of movie goers after they exit the dark hall into a sunny afternoon. Actually, I am not aware of the existence of such a device, but it would make sense to invent one. It seems that Neil has already tested its usefulness in his field, on his terms -- and with considerable effectiveness.

Neil Hollingsworth: Bulb Vase no. 2

This is a very ironic image -- breakable objects inside a breakable object. The theme by itself seems rather contrived, as it is difficult to imagine someone actually storing light bulbs inside a vase but, the irony redeems it. There is something theatrical about this display, or perhaps something acrobatic. These bulbs pile up similarly to circus performances where athletes load themselves with improbable amount of weights. The only difference is that this scene appears to be more stable, and no foreboding drumming is heard; it may be seen, however, symbolically, in the heap of glass, which by itself may signify the moment of peril -- that may last much longer than a single circus act. There is no visible breaking point, but the sheer amount of fragile material forms one such mentally, in the viewers' perception.

The scrutiny of light effects also falls under the aegis of irony: natural light illuminating light bulbs... that's got to be funny -- and it is. Still, there are some fascinating refractions to be examined here, particularly at the vase' bottom. A rich concentration of white lines and seemingly random blots demonstrate how thick glass can distort light, and, make it the center of attention, despite the fact that the event takes place quite far from the center. The highest positioned bulb reflects what appears to be the hint of a window frame, an interesting detail. Since the background remains decidedly black, one can imagine the space as an attic, with a small fortochka (I was amazed to find that word in the dictionary!) for an opening. Thus, one thing leads to another, and viewers gradually discover more about the surroundings.

Rhythmically, this is a balanced composition: odd number of bulbs, three pointing downwards, the other two up, all pleasingly interspersed. This is a dichromatic painting, yet the artist succeeds in avoiding monotony; partially by using various compensatory grays and whites, and partially through the various said ironies. I have to admit that have I seen this vase in real life, I would have been attracted to it almost like by a magnet, wanting to push it just a little, to see what happens... Mwahaha! There is something very musical in the sound of a breaking glass. I think that the artist -- possibly subconsciously -- probes into this strange destructive appeal (which may also have subconscious roots). He taps into the prankish side of the viewers, testing them on the one hand, and providing with a visual outlet on the other.

Neil Hollingsworth: Pool Balls no. 3

I lost the last game of pool I played -- it must have been all that beer. You could say, I am not such a good player, but why would you want to say that?! This piece manages to squeeze the most out of a fairly mono-typical theme: a pool ball. Variety is achieved through colors, complimenting, such as the yellow and the black, and neighboring (regarding the color wheel), such as the green and the blue. The multitude of white dots, sprinkled throughout the canvas, reminds of a starry night (not the van Gogh), the black ball aptly contributing color. Despite the simplicity, this piece harbors some sort of magic. Indeed, crystal balls and fortune telling come to mind when looking at it.

The viewing angle is somewhat disorienting: it is difficult to determine the optimal position for the observer, no beer this time. I think that this peculiarity has a purpose. When playing pool, one can become so absorbed in the game, as to become totally unaware of the surroundings and of time. This irregular composition achieves just that; it sucks the viewers in, by painterly means -- by prompting them to find a stable axis. This, in turn, appears impossible to accomplish, as the painting can be turned by ninety degrees and remain similarly viewable. Thus, one becomes lost in a seemingly futile exercise; only seemingly, as looking at a painting is never futile, though often addictive. Additionally, this turning effect reflects the physical reality of the game, as the pool table consists of a rectangular frame, and every wall can be used as the springing point for the next shot.

It is the spherical form of the balls that makes this multilateralism possible. I think it is quite difficult to find new ways of examining such a basic geometrical form, but the artist achieves it, in what I see as a true original method. He uses the power of artistic manipulation to an actual, physical effect, forcing the viewers to tilt their heads, or rotate the painting itself. And then, there are the six and the nine balls, with those markers that never made sense to me... No matter how you turn the ball, it remains incomprehensible which number it is supposed to be. But then, I was never good with numbers too. Damn, what am I good at?.. Enough about me though. Eventually, a pool table can be a gold vein for a painter: all the colors, the shapes, the tension. In a way, it is the perfect still-life scenery, and Neil proves this hypothesis without reservations.

Neil Hollingsworth: Nautilus

This nautilus reminds me of a rare nocturnal flower that cowers under the morning sun's bright rays -- the artist uses the shape of the object to imply interaction with the surroundings, a clever compositional trick. Light and shadow, diagonals and straight lines, sharp angles and soft arches, they all point towards the theme of contrast, of color and geometry respectively. Yet what makes this piece particularly fascinating, or paradoxical even, is the sense of serenity and confidence generally projected from the canvas. There simply does not seem to be a place for a conflict, though there are so many conflicting elements. Perhaps it is the clear-cut nature of these contrasts, and their effortless identifiability that makes them work for the opposite, unifying effect. Or perhaps they just cancel each other out.

This is a classic, and a classicist composition: the column and its capital echoes Doric architectural elements, while wide and clean light stripes divide the scene into four slanting parts. Gray alternates with white, producing a zebra-like pattern, which is then repeated by the color scheme of the nautilus; a recurring theme that engages the viewer -- whether you tend to look at the bigger picture first, or prefer to delve into smaller details, you will arrive at the same road sign, aptly showing a zebra. Additionally, there is something very solid in the way the artist employs simple and basic lines. He does not merely employ them, rather, he exploits them to the maximum, perhaps driven by self-imposed economy in more luscious elements, in turn ensuing from adherence to certain stylistic principles.

But, there is the culprit, which despite its relatively insignificant size, owns the space, the canvas and the title. The nautilus plays the lead role, and appropriately so: it concentrates all of the mentioned features in its small body. First, there are the lines, second, there is the incredibly soothing and reassuring sea sound trapped inside, and third, its spiral form reaffirms theme repetition, which is an important motif in this piece, -- in an allegorical fashion. Eventually, the calm that the shell holds inside transpires outside, to the painted surroundings, and beyond, to the real minds of the viewers. I live half an hour drive from the Mediterranean, and I have become so accustomed to it, I rarely appreciate the sea view. It takes something indirect, and surprising -- such as this painting -- to rediscover the pleasure of watching the waves hit the rocks that try to break them.

Neil Hollingsworth

I know that it may sound controversial, but I have always felt that photography is yet to prove itself as a real art form. Yes, there are some components, most of which were borrowed from painting -- but can the craft of a photographer, whose most basic skill boils down to pressing the button of his apparatus at the right place at the right time, both of which they often achieve accidentally, be compared to that of an artist holding a brush, with which they try to create new life on another surface? There is no doubt that photographs can induce aesthetic pleasure, but so can nature, or almost anything, after being processed, with a specific intent, in our minds. The effect by itself does not transcend the cause into what we call "art." But, there are artists -- and I mean painters -- who have found a way to reconcile photography and painting*. Thus, "photo-realism" was born. Neil Hollingsworth is a photo-realist painter, and he makes the best of two worlds.




















Neil fully exploits photographic effects: many of his still lives include metallic objects that mirror the minutest details and reflect light with unprecedented precision. Lines and palette enjoy refinement rarely seen in painting; the photographic origins rule out painterly excesses. Despite the overwhelming possibilities, Neil gravitates towards minimalistic, classical compositions, which nevertheless project a piquant off-beat quality. An object will appear far enough from the center to make the displacement notable, but not too far, as to not to encumber the viewing process. Backgrounds, though traditionally secondary, illuminate canvases with subtle but permeating light. These are elusive qualities, and figuring them out may significantly enrich the viewing experience; when combined, along with the more prominent elements, they make up the artist's style. I don't think there is a concession in acknowledging that it is more difficult to define the individual style of a photo-realist artist. But when still trying to do so, and doing so, it may prove to be a more rewarding process than usual, in direct proportion to the invested effort.




















When working within such an idiosyncratic art movement, the choice of a subject matter can also become a challenge. Here restraint and caution serve the artist similarly well. Neil focuses on a few themes and explores them almost religiously. Spheres, one of his favorite subjects, are depicted in numerous variations: transparent, translucent or opaque, in different sizes and settings, they corroborate his dedication on the one hand, presenting a true visual insight on this geometrical object on the other. Other themes include filled or empty glass containers, vintage cars and sliced bread. Regardless of the subject, Neil displays admirable consistency in accuracy of delivery. Eventually, when each painting can posit a visual surprise for the viewer, it is particularly pleasing to recognize that, while studying Neil's artwork, the feeling of surprise can become the less surprising of all.




















Neil Hollingworth lives and works in Atlanta, Georgia, USA. He has displayed his artwork in various galleries across the nation. He is a member of the Daily Painters Guild, and keeps a website and a blog.


*No photographers were harmed during the writing of this review.