Craig Stephens: Candle #2

I think that this piece can be viewed in terms of Yin and Yang, visually as well as conceptually. There are two major areas of contrasting colors, while each one is blemished by the other -- the black wick deep inside the candle and the white spots on the nightly background. Darkness and light, both drawing meaning from each other, they are interdependent, constantly negotiating with each other. It is difficult to avoid simplification and cliche but, for once, we are indeed confronted by a strong black and white image. What is interesting in the above comparison is how Western tradition may be demonstrated not to be that different, in its core, from the Eastern.

This candle ignites a sense of delicate intimacy and warmth, as the soft yellow and white ward off the enclosing darkness. But the intimacy is rather abstract, as we don't know the purpose for which the candle was lit; it travels to the closest subject capable of carrying it -- the viewer -- thus inspiring introspection and self-reflection. In a way, the candle on this canvas sheds light on the observer, and, in a rather complimenting fashion: personally, I get a positive sensation of harmony and self-acceptance. We all have our demons, but this small light does its best to deter and mollify them.

The melted wax is visual treat: an exquisite lateral ballast that exemplifies how laws nature often make the most compelling creations. It is reminiscent of a Gaudi bench; which makes me wonder about the source of his inspiration. It is known that architects (as well as painters) sculpture their models with wax -- perhaps the bench was a chance discovery by the esteemed architect. In similar tone, the whole inside of the candle resembles an amphitheater. Translucency once again becomes a motif; this time, however, the culprit is in the center of our attention. Perhaps, in a kind of tribute, the artist depicts light in one of its purest forms. If one allows for it, the effect can be quite cleansing.

Craig Stephens: Feather

This feather has personality. It reminds me of a willful Pekinese that owns the whole couch while sitting on the edge. It occupies the bare surface with pride and miniature stately gravitas; which is surprising considering its notorious weight. One knows that it can be blown away by the weakest waft, yet somehow it is hard to believe and to accept that fact. Thus this feather invokes an emotional response, empathy, a refreshing crossover for an inanimate object (though perhaps the animate origin plays a role here too) -- and eventually for the artist -- to achieve.

As often happens in minimalistic compositions, a simple, binary decryption ensures probably the most effective viewing experience: feather vs. the background, vs. its own shadow, vs. the chicken; the two colors of the feather, the two different materials that make it up, the soft touch of one vs. the pointy tip of the other, and so on and so forth. This is the basic form of compiling data that later can be used to substantiate allegory and symbolic meanings. In a way, the depicted object resembles a piece of evidence placed on a sterile surface to keep it from being contaminated. And it has already been said that the interpreter's job replicates that of a detective.

So what do we have here, ladies and gentlemen? Exhibit A, a feather collected from a battered chicken (read the witness' report from July 18th), it prompts to ponder the relationship between predators and their prey, and make conclusions about nature's cruel ways. The next step is to consider human efforts to control and redirect animals' rabid instincts, mostly by domestication. However, since human nature itself can be extremely violent, it needs a token of refined culture as a constant restraint: the feather again, a writing instrument during hundreds of years of Western civilization, it symbolizes the arts and their taming effect.

But one doesn't have to drift in the direction of symbolism, and perhaps interpretation is altogether unnecessary. While looking at this painting, I found enjoyment in simply recalling known uses of feathers: native Americans' headgear, filling for pillows, a material used for corporeal punishment, writing instruments (though usually made of geese feathers), currency -- just to mention a few. I think this piece proves how powerful the genre of still-life can be: an accidental found object is revealed to touch so many spheres of human activity and thought simply by being put on canvas. It tickles me to have missed this before.

Craig Stephens: Honey and Cream

Before everything else, this painting demonstrates how a liquid can capture and preserve light. The role of the jar, both in the case of being an art object, and a container of a culinary ingredient, is similar: it conserves the contents (light and honey respectively) and, it mixes them, making the viscid substance appealing to the eye, as well as to the taste. In a way, the jar becomes the epicenter of an active process, artistic for all our purposes. Its placid appearance is misleading, and the lid comes to support that hypothesis: the red color implies on the representational tension occurring down and inside; the apple segment and the creamer's nose, both filtered by the said mix, only add oil to the fire. There is a sense of impending implosion, all the fumes being channeled to the red lid, a valve, which becomes the pictorial counterpoint of this piece.

But this is a three-way composition: the creamer further stabilizes it, providing a soothing outlet. Its neutral color, the color of all colors, becomes the white flag that suppresses the heat, in compositional, as well as in physical-optical terms. We do no see the cream, but the promise of it adds to the sense of balance. Appropriately, it is not the milk that gets spilled here: we can see how the golden light travels further to invade the shadow and become a part of it. A rare battle is without losses; the canvas becomes the land of milk and honey, and I should know...

The combination of two seemingly separate spheres of perception, the taste and the vision, is not incidental. It is well known that presentation is a key component in gastronomy; arranging a serving to appear appetizing demands an artistry immensely valued by connoisseurs. After the aroma, composition and color play the next in importance part in achieving a mouth-watering result. Both visual constituents, much like in painting, they target the aesthetic sense of the consumer. Consequently, this particular choice of subject matter, and its treatment, could be seen as a nod to the restaurant industry and the art of cooking. You know what -- and the art of eating, too.

Craig Stephens: Green Grapes

Introduction
Craig Stephens paints mainly still life, often in dark, cool hues. The two most remarkable features in his artwork are the treatment of light and the brushwork. Sometimes, they coincide. His subjects filter the light, which manifests through degrees of transparency and translucency -- but rarely in a pure, pristine form. This quality is best demonstrated in the many depictions of glass and liquids, where he explores effects of refraction and reflection. Sometimes I get the impression that he uses a flashlight to illumine his models. It is as if they are covered by a thick drapery, which he removes for just a second, to point the small focused lamp on the uncovered object and expose it, only to return the veil right after. I would go as far as suggesting the child reading or playing under a blanket allegory, if it wasn't for that sombre, classic mood that permeates Stephen's art. Back to the lighting, the ensuing effect renders the subjects especially precious, fragile and even vulnerable. The general impression is of being let into a secret nook -- where the paintings divulge secrets (they whisper), and where they become secrets. Some of those are innocuous, while others may be sarcastic, and even subversive.

His peculiar brushwork bends the light even further: when it does not pass through, it mixes with the color it falls upon, producing a foggy surface. Due to these evolutions, which absorb most of the light, Stephen's work inevitably gravitates towards the darker tones of the color spectrum. But his brushwork deserves an account on its own merit. It appears that the artist sculpts with the instrument; not by erecting dramatic impasto, but by a more subtle, and even application. He manipulates texture: paint protrudes, and interacts with the canvas -- a stylistic device of micro-sculpting with the substance. Perhaps as a result, various still life appear to be carved out of stone: this could sound as a reprimand, but, not so when the effect is consistent, and obviously deliberate; when it is a part of the artist's vision. Interestingly, allusions to other art forms are also not alien to Stephen's art, as I will try to show in future posts. Sometimes it takes time to accumulate enough visual data to make inferences regarding the painter's style. But here the whole oeuvre appears to be slightly off the axis of the generally accepted pictorial trend, reducing the recognition time to a minimum. This, by itself, is an achievement. Craig Stephens lives in Northern California. He keeps a website and a blog.

Here the brush not only paints, it also takes the role of a chisel -- precisely because the subject is a real fruit. The grapes appear to be made of stone, a semiprecious stone to be more accurate. I find jade to be a probable candidate. The artist mixes the light's white with the green of the berries, so that each color gradates into another, with different levels of sharpness. As a result, he manages to convey various light effects: the grapes positioned closer to the left part of the canvas appear translucent, while those on the right display a deeper green, sometimes nearing black. At the lower part of the canvas, white is interlaced with black and brown, also producing a complex surface.

This painting provides a series of variations on the theme of a single grape: each one is depicted from a different angle, under varying light. In turn, the series can be divided into groups that demonstrate certain commonalities. This grouping serves to remind that the bunch in front of us was also only a part, of a bigger bunch, -- but in the outside world, before the artist intervened. A corresponding aspect touches the process of consuming grapes: I have actually witnessed people trying to keep the bunch's structure intact as they pick out a grape after a grape. Sometimes that demanded tearing out a small cluster, which they would place into their mouth and chew upon gluttonously. Okay, I admit that it was me.

Despite the stony appearance, the bunch seems almost weightless; there is something ethereal in its presence. There are two clearly visible points of contact, while the third is either invisible, covered by the subject itself, or, is concealed by its shadow. In any case, the grapes appear to hover. To my mind, this feature strongly alludes to the taste of the fruit: light and sweet. Consequently, it also reinstates its floral origin, which may have become compromised due to the overwhelming resemblances discussed earlier. In many ways, this painting epitomizes the artist's style. While the black background tends to the classic atmosphere created by the sculptural subject, the latter retains its sweetness due to various pictorial effects. And if this begins to sound too much like a wine description -- perhaps it should.