Dee Sanchez: Old Window

At the first glance, the window doesn't seem significant enough for the painting to be titled after it. It is mostly covered by the pots, which along with the flowers occupy the center of the piece, and of the attention. But I think that a more allegorical interpretation may remedy this seeming inconsistency: the painting displays a part of a house, where the viewer takes the role of the guest; the window represents the host, while the flowers are the offerings, symbolizing hospitality and welcome. The window becomes the mediator between the viewer and the host, carrying good will -- and scent -- as it invites inside, bearing, symbolically, all the responsibilities of a hospitable owner. Hospitality is still considered a foremost virtue -- and the epithet in the title may indeed allude to this ancient tradition.

The green window-frame plays the role of a secondary painting frame as well. The strong, and rather mysterious emerald color may be reflective of the owner's character. The blue of the window, which blocks the view into the premises, also contributes to the mystery. It is obvious that there is only one side of the involved figure that we are permitted to see: the joyful and the blooming one; coincidentally (or not), the color of the pots is either identical or close to that of the wall -- indeed a single side of the building. It is difficult to determine whether the artist meant for the flowerpots to stick out only in parts, as the lack of shadows and depth of space doesn't allow to make a distinction. Looking closely, it may appear as if some parts of the pots are outside, while others are in -- a probable misjudgement of perspective -- or an intentional mystification -- how much the flowers inside those pots truly represent the character that owns them? Are they merely an adornment, hiding something more sinister?

Most probably not, though it always is interesting to try and guess. And, regardless, the air of mystery stays. I could not fail to notice that the color of the signature is identical to that of the window-frame -- perhaps the artist is trying to tell the viewer something, besides the liking of the hue. Perhaps there are symbolic comparisons to be made between the window and artist's persona. The window is half-open, or half-closed, while the open part is covered by the flower-pots -- we return to the mystery/host allegory mentioned above. The artist lets the viewers know that her art -- the offerings on the window-sill -- represents only one facet of her personality. In a way, this painting may serve as a confession, where the artist reveals that she does not intend to reveal too much. For the viewer, in turn, it will be the invitation card -- in case the power of attraction of the unknown will prove to be irresistible.

Dee Sanchez: Night Suns

This piece displays two bouquets: one made of the sunflowers and another of the vigorous and cheerful colors. While the blossoms boisterously occupy the center, they themselves become the centerpiece of the color bunch. Together they inspire with vivaciousness and effervescence. Compositionally, perspective also feeds this influx: the artist boldly juxtaposes the fore to the background, making the visual transition effortless and inviting. Consequently, ladders and steps become the leitmotif of this piece. The fence near the bottom resembles the appliance and the gradation of the hills' color, along with the calculated descent (or ascent) suggests a graduated progression.

This is also a very musical piece: the poles of the fence are the fingerboards, the lines are he strings, while the flowers pose as sound holes. The ladder, in turn, can be the xylophone to add some rhythm. This could seem like a strained comparison, but the painting radiates such strong rhythmic waves -- be they of color and geometry -- that eventually they transpose into the realm of sound, at least on the mental level. Accordingly, the blossoms appear to be dancing, gracefully swinging their petals. On a larger scale, the fence resembles a stave, which sinks in between the flowers; figuratively, it is they, and then the hills that play the music the artist conceived in the beginning. This painting is a little animated musical and I can almost anticipate one of the flowers to break in in singing, much like the one in the "Little Shop of Horrors." "Feed me, Seymour!!!" Ahem.

I like how the lines shape a circle inside each petal, forming a kind of a heart. It reminds me of biology lessons in high school, where we used to examine onion cells in a microscope, looking for the nucleus. As I already mentioned, the lines bring with them an incredible variety of biological allusions and insinuations. The colors shimmer, value constantly interchanging -- and the lines delimit each intensification or dilution. It is entertaining to see how a yellow segment is being followed by a darker, and eventually by a nearly orange one. I think that this is how the artist reflects the nightly atmosphere, without showing a single star or the moon. Dee creates a somewhat ideal environment in this painting -- somehow, the last thing I notice (in a deliberate way) is that the two farthest hills are actually blue and red. Perhaps this is what "ideal" really means, when odd and unusual things effortlessly seep into one's mind as ordinary and habitual.

Carol Marine: Red Rose

What is the lifespan of a cut flower? A week, possibly two, with the addition of sugar or some other nourishment. During that time, the flower slowly disintegrates -- and this is what this painting shows, in the making, or the unmaking, to be more accurate. And it does so with a harsh rhythm: I have recently watched an action movie, The Bourne Ultimatum, -- this piece could be aptly categorized as an "action painting;" the interchange of black, red and the shadows between, along with piling up of sharp diagonals, produces effects similar to those created by the shaky camera movements in the film. The petals of this rose project innate continuity and instability and, akin to the seventh art form, they evoke suspense, though of a different kind.

But perhaps there is a more appropriate cinematic comparison -- I keep returning to the camera simply because of how alive and active the flower appears on the canvas. This one is from the Discovery Channel: a sequence of a few seconds, showing in fast forward the blooming and subsequent fading of a single flower. The piece in front of us could be a pictorial representation of frame edited out of the sequence. Impressionism is known to strive to portray motion and transition, but here the result subjects the genre to fast forwarding -- "turbo-impressionism." Once again, it is the injection of features from another style that accelerates this painting: the triangular petals and rectangular brushstrokes strongly allude to cubism.

The rosebud is symmetrical to the jar, a peculiarity that may induce a false sense of harmony. Usually, the vase is much bigger than the flower, so the container in front of us turns out to be surprisingly small. The balance is deceptive here and the blossom conceals a threat -- of tipping over and destroying the composition. Still, there are two features that somehow support it: the first is the wall and the second is the general atmosphere of a quiet room with a single light source, calmly but confidently reflected by the jar -- just a few brushstrokes of white. Perhaps, while pointing these features out, I am merely trying to define that extraordinary suspense, in a hope to resolve it. But the paradox is that it is predestined to remain constant, trapped inside the frame, being the most stable attribute of this piece.

Craig Stephens: Star Thistles #5

This painting is overpowered by the ambiguous background. It is unclear whether it represents a wall somewhere inside an apartment or the darkness of a starless night outside. Not entirely starless: the two flowers may conveniently replace the absent astronomical bodies, as their name aptly implies. Though the milky surface upon which the bottle stands reflects the soft moonlight, the yellow blossoms are the two brightest objects in this piece, emphasized by the contrasting black behind them. Indeed, they are the stars of this piece.

Which leads me to a furore of another kind: the slender flowers remind me of a ballerina performing a solo dance. If we focus on the events inside the glass, the two stems appear to be walking, taking a step after a graceful step, and perhaps carrying the container with them. The bottle refracts the light, breaking their straight lines; several floating yellow petals denote the presence of water, which further distorts the original image. On top of that, the structure of the stems allows for segmentation and the emergence of knees -- all of these modifications add up to produce an illusion of movement, performed by the elegant legs trapped inside the green bottle.

Out of the glass, the flowers remain static until, if we follow from the bottom and upward, we find the blossoms, two bursts of energy. Actually, such violent outcome would seem unfitting for a ballerina dance. Perhaps a cheerleader should take over: the pompons are already there. After all, there is a prima donna in every dancer, be it on stage or on the grass of a football field. And in this associational spirit, it is impossible to ignore the victorious "V" formed by the stems.

I think that every viewer can find something for themselves in this painting: there is a point of strong tension in the center of the piece, where the bottle and the two flowers meet. It is so distorted, it may even be difficult to make out where each stem goes. On the other hand, there are the two vivacious yellow spots, laying on beds of perky white thorns. And yet still, the bottle green and the black background offer a stolid, calming distraction. Perhaps the artist intended for the viewer to alternate momentum and focus on a different theme with each viewing, or during a single session. It is either that, or you have to be performing an entrechat while observing it -- just like I did.

Mick McGinty: Woodpile With Wildflowers

An idyllic scene is captured on the canvas. It tempts the viewer with the magical bright light and the colorful unconstrained growth. Or so it seems: the logs certainly indicate a constraint imposed on the forest flora. The artist does not judge; he seems to keep to the role of the observer, and consequently offers his observation to the people. However, by avoiding judgment himself, he elicits it from the viewer -- possibly a conscious downplaying strategy that schemes to make the viewer (an urban homo sapiens) ponder a future ecological disaster, if only by juxtaposing the painted luxuriance with the rarity of occasions of actually witnessing it.

But there are more evident ambiguities to consider, and to interpret. The disposition of the logs near a growing tree may imply deforestation on the one hand, but, a moderate, controlled cutting that would benefit the forest on the other. This dichotomy is emphasized by the erection the logs construct: it is unclear whether it is a stable or a shaky structure. Perhaps a single slight push will start a rolling chain reaction -- causing uncontrollable destruction, -- or, the wood will remain immovable, -- rendering the cutting a contained micro damage, done for the greater good.

Perhaps, this is not an idyll. This painting may serve better as a warning, of either a utopia, or a dystopia. The problem is that humans can hardly deal with both. Considering the dynamics of the composition, with the flowers populating the foreground, and the neatly stacked logs delineating a smooth slope, I imagine that the artist tends towards the more optimistic outcome, if only tentatively. The light breaks the black hues in the background, generously washing the forest: if only things were more simple, and we could just relish nature without any politics involved! And so, we are at the outset again -- the artist doesn't judge. But it is too easy to forget that this is not his prerogative. Sometimes, it is nice to waiver that important right, if only for a few minutes, and simply enjoy the scenery.

J Matt Miller: Buttercups

This still life differs significantly from the close-ups Miller usually employs. In a way, it is a more conventional endeavor, though the unusually low viewing angle may serve to challenge that impression.

The transparent container reveals the less attractive stems that engender the flowers; by placing a single blossom near the jar's bottom, the artist recapitulates the theme of origin: the flower beside the stem reminds the viewer, in a more symbolic fashion, that one comes from the other. The artistic act of placing the top near the bottom displays a conscious reflection upon themes that eventually reincarnate as human, and humanistic: life, death and rebirth. This representation becomes a statement on these issues, rather than another visual rendering of nature's processes and peoples' taste for decoration.

The two buttercups closer to the right edge rhythmically gravitate towards the ground -- and the stems, -- describing an imaginary arc; as if in a slow motion simulation of a single flower's degradation, their movement reaffirms the circularity of their existence. The flower eventually returns to the ground and later becomes the basis for yet another cycle of growth. Of course, there is the possibility that the lying one fell off by itself, but it is hard for me to believe in such a turn of events: the whole arrangement appears too deliberate. Besides, there is no visible stem lacking a blossom.

Since most depictions of flowers (that I have seen) do not reveal entire stems, this one here may be perceived as defying the tradition.The yellow and the black play off each other, always an effective color combination. The detail where the light falls on the glass is realistic: it almost hurts my eyes, as if by a real flash. Despite the calculated composition, the sense of spontaneity is retained. All in all, because this painting is suggestive of the human condition, it projects an appropriate mood. It is sad and it is brooding. It is mournful. And, it is memorable.