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.

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.

Dee Sanchez: New Mexico Evening

Introduction
Dee Sanchez translates an element of painting, the line, into an element of style. This most basic component of the art becomes a leading force in her artwork, endowing it with primeval energy and sensibility. If usually it is the colors that speak to the viewer (other elements echoing in assent), here it is the lines -- and they sing, in a chorus, sometimes performing a piece on the scale of a Bach's cantata. But perhaps even a more distant comparison is due, that to the rhythmic African drums, as when the lines permeate a painting, they fill it with a repetitive rhythm, which as if arises from the cradle of the civilization rather than from its refined temples. Regardless of one's musical, or painterly tastes, pure rhythm communicates a compelling sensation of initiation and belonging. Dee cultivates that sensation, in what turns out to be an anthropological study as much as works of art.

The lines, though added after color application, form the skeleton of the painting. They construct a foundation, in a reverse process -- something that becomes possible only due to their innate aesthetic supremacy. No matter where the viewer's eyes land, in each painting they will arrive somewhere, as each line will lead to the object it delineates. These lines form a multitude of quasi-labyrinths, from which there is always a way out, as the artist also assumes the ancient role of Ariadne, offering a safe exit in the form of said objects. Similarly to the mythical love story between the princess and Theseus, the artist forges a relationship with the viewer, except it is not of the romantic kind, carrying more of an aesthetic mutual value.

Dee notes when describing her working process that "after each piece is painted, every single shape, color, and shadow is isolated and outlined." A fascinating contrast arises: the most fundamental effects are achieved by the most sophisticated technique. This contrast, as well as the retroactive ink application, denotes stylization as the guiding factor in Dee's artwork; in turn, the latter serves to reaffirm advanced civilization, marking her paintings, though indirectly, as historically and sociologically conscious. But perhaps it is more relevant to focus on what sort of change the mentioned device produces: seemingly "harmless," soft and impressionistic pieces transform into sharp and deliberate paintings, which nevertheless retain the original mildness. Moreover, they attain a unique illustrative quality -- a true generic reincarnation. On top of that, Dee often leaves the decision on whether to incorporate the lines in a piece open for a democratic vote.

Dee Sanchez lives and works in Alameda, New Mexico, USA. She keeps a website and a blog where she publishes her work. You are also invited to visit her page on the Daily Painters Art Gallery.



The lines in this landscape produce a surprising effect: laid on the hills in the background, they reveal their geological stratification in a simulation of a cross section. I think that this feature corresponds with the mythical allusions mentioned in the introduction, though, on a more concrete, scientific level. This is the power of the line: it enables the artist to uncover the history and the process of creation, and the viewer to examine and study it. By making a scientific reference, the painter enriches and diversifies this piece. Interestingly, the vegetation also enjoys this development -- or should I say evolution -- as the lines may be depicting the fibres of the numerous leaves in this painting.

There is a pure visual accordance with the multitude of various interpretative levels and scales. The lines indeed divide everything here, but also connect: Dee appropriately named her technique as "Connected Isolationism." Looking at this painting I imagine a clew; what would happen if I pull the thread and untangle the clew? The artist answers this question at least partially, as every piece is a complete work of art before the lines are drawn. I think it amazing that a true artistic problem can be solved by technological interactive means. All one needs to do is follow the artist's blog and examine the initial painting. However, once the lines are there, the question assumes poignancy again, this time for eternity.

From a painterly viewpoint, the lines emphasize the perspective and join the colors to make this piece an effective landscape. Colors coordinate with each other in a harmony that reaches a peak in the depiction of the sky, where lines were given a rest. Soft, even playful gradation defines the atmosphere. This is a particularly notable characteristic, as the black of the lines quietly dominates this piece; it does not impose itself, however, appropriately delineating the evening mood. And on a final, more humorous note, the observer may indulge in spotting various animals or objects that the lines describe. I found at least three. This painting has a way with children, or with inner children -- depending upon the viewer.