Bruce Docker: Sleeping Swan

This image incredibly resembles a coat of arms. All of the attributes are there: an animal of noble connotation in the center and a map-like illustration on the sides, one portraying the land and the other the sea. The yellow and the red islands may symbolize the shipping industry, the merchant and the military fleet. The yellow and the orange stripes may signify farming or roads, that in turn may stand for communication, diplomacy and prosperity. The only thing that is missing is an inscription in Latin. I suppose that the artist's signature can pose a logical substitute (I think I have already shown once how the signature can be extra-meaningful in the need of a textual reference). I suspect that the artist intended for this piece to convey an iconic message: there is something very solemn and dignified about the bird, while the other parts are very schematic, as to not to divert the viewer from the main idea that is supposed to be put across by the swan.

I could play around and try guessing which country or what kind of institution such a coat of arms would suit best. Perhaps research will reveal that some emblems indeed include a swan -- but I don't want to make this extraneous information the point of this review. I feel much more compelled to understand how the artist's style coheres so effortlessly, with the winged addendum, into a representation that differs conceptually -- which means quite significantly -- from the traditional notion of what is a "painting." After some more browsing, it occurred to me that I simply have not payed enough attention to that emblematic, highly stylized facet of Bruce's art; the trees and the clouds exhibit it in particular, and they could be introduced into the above piece without notably changing it.

In more formal terms, it is the shifting towards the abstract that predisposes towards emblematizing. For instance, it is not accidental that early Soviet posters depicted the human figure by using only a few geometrical figures -- borrowing from Malevich, these artists utilized abstraction for pragmatic, propagandistic and ultimately emblematic purposes, incidentally elevating their posters to works of art (a feat ascribed before to Toulouse-Lautrec). Here, the only difference is that Bruce stays within the limits of his own artwork. He reshuffles some of his trademark elements, such as the intricately formed shadows, and puts them in a new context by adding a new feature in the form of the swan. In other words, the artist crossed over to a completely different genre, while remaining loyal to his personal style.

Bruce Docker: At the Base of the Hickory Tree

The sharp contrast between the yellow and the black creates an unexpected effect of collage: the leaves appear as if inlaid into the board, as a foreign body. Correspondingly, the shadows seem to have been cut out from the surface. It only takes a small step to conjure up that the cut out pieces are the leaves, basically relocated from one layer to create another. If this indeed were a collage, the process would denote a clever trick of economy and maximal utilization of available materials. But since it is not, I tend to consider this allusion as a more poetic, inspirational and less controlled method of portraying the play of light and shadow on a small but very saturated floral area. Overall, this might be the artist's painterly version of the "flesh from the flesh" idiom.

The ragged edges of the shadows remind of what appears on a movie screen when the film starts to burn during projection. This resemblance triggers the unusual tension resulting from looking at something that is about to be lost, like a last moment opportunity -- and thus, by invoking yet another art form, the artist conveys the momentariness of the scene, as well as his own passing perception of it, not unlike in impressionism. As a side effect, the heat of the sun, which forms the blinding yellows and whites and consequently the shadows, may be additionally envisioned through the association with the technical trouble of overheating. The power of allusion adds up to that of color. As to the colors, I think it's quite amazing how black, usually assigned auxiliary roles, is employed just as actively as any other hue, becoming an active participant in the unfolding scene.

I have always had faith in extreme close-ups such as this one. They have their own charm, ensuing from the amount of detail concentrated on the very limited space -- the very essence of the presented theme. And though this piece is a miniature both in size and theme, it is not such in the aesthetic implications, which may be rich and vast, and which hold their own when compared to any regular landscape. The seemingly untidy and random composition carries an important and adequately self-important message of the beauty of nature; of how it can be found in almost any surroundings. The untidiness is a superficial camouflage of the well thought-out plan that constitutes this painting. Hence, the artist achieves what may be the primary goal of every painter: to make it look easy what was difficult to accomplish.

Bruce Docker: Utah Desert

I love the desert, but it took some time to develop that sentiment. Only after spending most of my army service in remote sandy areas such as this one, have I learned to accept and eventually like it -- the hard way. Every single tree, every slight variation in the terrain can emancipate from the harsh and relentless monotony of the desert, if only for a few minutes, and I immediately recognized both in this painting, in a nostalgic reminiscence. The weather is the other scourge of this wasteland; penetratingly cold at night and blazing hot during the day, it casts its dwellers from one extreme to another without mercy. The wind fills the eyes with sand. Really, the desert does everything it can to make one hate it, yet one eventually falls prey to its bleak magnitude: it's a mystery. Some of that mystery is caught -- and unraveled -- in this piece.

There is the blue turning white sky, scorched by the invisible sun, a purple, yet paradoxically realistic, as colors indeed mutate in such atmosphere, hill in the distance, and the ground, illustrated by variations of yellow and brown. The green waving tree, which appears to leave a part of itself floating in the air, before consuming it by the crown, is another characteristic touch. The sturdier, flattened tree in the distance, the unclear perspective, folded flat by the light -- these are all stereotypes, which, however, doesn't make them less authentic. I think that the artist demonstrates a deep understanding of the subject by including all of them in this painting, in a crowded, but effective rendering of desert.

So what, and where is the mystery? Well, if you have been reading closely, you must have noticed the "monotony" mentioned in the first paragraph, followed by a list of colors mentioned in the second. There is an obvious incongruity, but there is also a solution. All of these colors indeed appear in the desert, but usually in a much more subdued and modest form, being covered by a layer of sand. The artist intensifies the colors -- removes the sand in what may seem like a replication of a restoration process in art -- and presents us with a cleaner, brighter version. What happens in reality, however, is that a person needs to perform a similar process by themselves, without the aid of a brush. This is a very energy consuming process, which obviously gets abandoned very quickly. Thus the surroundings appear distorted and monotonous from under the patina of sand, while in fact there is a colorful life going on right beneath it. Eventually, though, it beams through the grainy layer -- and works the magic.

The desert is always in a state of transition, its main component, the sand, being highly mobile. It is always moving, but somehow stays the same... before I repeat myself again, I will only say that this understated mobility is a difficult quality to capture in a painting, but that Bruce managed to inject it into his. It is the general atmosphere more than anything else, the air and the light -- the elusive, indefinable things that make this piece effective. The colors work together to convey that atmosphere, but, eventually, a part of it evades clear definition -- much like the desert, this painting keeps at least some of the mystery veiled.

Bruce Docker: Blue Field, Green Sky

I have always found something soothing in deep perspectives such as this one. The eye may travel languorously from the closest tree to the farthest, without tiring; on the contrary, the process may even produce a re-energizing effect. The space is divided by color, the blue assigned to the foreground, and the lighter greens and yellows (save upon the trees) to the background -- further (following the lines) emphasizing the difference between the close and the more distant areas. Perhaps such a painting may serve as a substitute for a nature walk, at least from a compositional&spatial point of view. The colors, though playing an important role in defining the realistic compositional space, are much more surreal than "natural." Perhaps the only realistic color here is the white of the cloud, which hovers above the scene, in an engulfing motion. It may seem as a foreign body in this piece, conflicting thematically with the rest of the palette; still, it provides a needed relief from the rather intense, typical to the artist's style saturated hues.

The fence in the foreground is a recurring motif. It is interesting to notice how dilapidated it always appears, and even more so how its parts seem to form hieroglyphs, repeating the oriental theme I described in the previous post. But it may have a different symbolic purpose: together with the hill and the blue stripe near the bottom of the piece (which resembles a ditch filled with water), it forms a series of obstacles preventing unwanted visitors entering... the blue castle near the right upper corner! But this scenario may have its faults, as the yellow plains behind the hill seem to put in question the effectiveness of such a defensive complex. Still, the idea of defense pertains to this distinctive arrangement: perhaps, along with the line of trees, this is a farmer's way of protecting his crops from invaders, in the form of people, as well as natural disasters.

The shapes of the trees and of the cloud, though recognizable, are on the verge of transforming into completely abstract geometrical forms. This could be the result of a light effect of extreme sunny haziness, the same one that renders the sky green, -- it may be distorting the shape of said objects too. But the contours around the crowns and the cloud undermine this hypothesis. There is an obvious intent of making these forms contained and distinct, regardless of surroundings. Therefore, the abstraction, as well as the contours, demonstrate an intentional stylistic bias. The lines in particular are post-impressionistic, van Goghian, to be even more specific. Nearly every landscape van Gogh painted after seeing the impressionists in Paris boasts such lines. I find the allusion quite gratifying: besides the tribute, it adds historical depth to this daily painting.

Bruce Docker

The unique style of every standout painter is manifested in their artwork, making it easily recognizable. But Bruce Docker invests such a tightly formulated set of painterly principles into his own, that, regardless of the theme, a number of paintings can often be viewed as a series -- on precisely those principles. While every piece is a complete work of art, it is the series that will produce the most dramatic impact. What makes this trait particularly engaging and challenging is that it is up to the viewer to choose the pieces that would make up the best collection; if four paintings would seem optimal to one, another would rather add a piece, or substitute a painting for a different one (this dynamism will also parry any accusations of uniformity and monotony). Looking at Bruce's art requires more than just the sense of vision; for a complete experience the observer needs to partake in a mind game not unlike Lego, where each painting becomes a piece that will fit into the cycle. In a way, the viewer becomes involved in the artistic process, creating a meta work of art by practicing the freedom of choice.


Writing about Bruce's art basically means describing the said set of principles, of which there are quite a few. The artist prefers saturated colors, which often transform into very bright, brilliant hues on the one hand and dark, next to black on the other -- a sophisticated manipulation of value. In more concrete terms, many of his pieces contain a sharp contrast of light and shadow. Bruce likes angles and slopes; many of his paintings display a deep perspective -- another feature -- which allows for diagonals that delineate these acclivities and descents. Brushwork is made visible, producing a disarming informal effect. Regarding formal style, it would be best to quote the artist himself: "My artistic influences are based in the art of the early 20th century, in the paintings and prints of the post-impressionists, the fauves and the German expressionists. Like the work of those artists, I explore the space between representative and abstract art." Indeed, his artwork may often seem like a melting pot of various schools -- a rich and diverse stylistic texture.


There is a strong oriental vein in the artist's work. His landscapes and farm scenes are reminiscent of Japanese wood prints, both in composition and palette. He bends trees and tilts the ground in unconventional, at least in western terms, twists; his cautious and reverential treatment of space also exhibits a touch of the oriental. Japanese workshops often manufactured a series of works, and so does Bruce, either intentionally or not. Perhaps that he paints on plywood is also more than a coincidence. Post-impressionist artist were known to be influenced by Hiroshige and Utamaro, and thus Bruce may be enjoying an indirect fruition from the eastern art form. Eventually, in spite of these influences, the core of the artist's style remains strictly his own, and though there is a measure of predictability, each new painting comes as a surprise. For me, there is a always a degree of comfort to be found in the fact that you both know and don't know what to expect.

Bruce Docker lives and works in Kansas City, Missouri, USA. He keeps a website where you can browse through his artwork, and a blog where you can view his latest daily paintings.