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.

Rick Monzon: Yellow Pears

The unusual arrangement of the pears, which resemble two pieces of a puzzle, sets the tone for this still life. I will avoid dichotomous Yin/Yang preludes, and will simply try to figure out what is going on here. Following the puzzle comparison, the artist tries to achieve a kind of completeness, or perfection, when all the pieces fit in and form a new image. The difference here is that there is no image to be formed, which prompts to look for a meaning instead. Although, there is a basic image involved: an ellipse. I remember reading in William Hogarth' "The Analysis of Beauty," that in order for a perfect face to shine even more, it needs the contrast of a small defect. Here, (though the perfection is of a geometrical kind) we see the defect in the form a the black spot at the back of the higher positioned pear. Clearly, the artist knows what he is doing.

This is an even composition: two fruits and two tails; almost a perfect symmetry between them. It is known that straightforward symmetry (which entails monotony) may appear tiresome to the eye. This painting can be straining despite the beauty spot; Hogarth also claimed that the artist should avoid monotony at all costs (odd compositions are often considered more beautiful). Rick defies hogarthian dogmas, and chooses the more difficult path, but offering a compensation along the way: the circular movement forms something I already mentioned as characteristic to Rick's oeuvre -- a hypnotic pattern that aims at the subconscious. In fact, a degree of monotony is essential for effective hypnosis. Hence the composition assumes an underlying purpose that justifies the repetition -- a purpose that becomes the meaning mentioned above.

This painting mesmerizes. As often happens, when more parts of the mind become involved, following a simple logic, the viewing experience becomes more difficult and intense. This is a heavily loaded piece that asks the viewer's brain to work, offering in return what may be tentatively described as "aesthetic pleasure." Personally, I like complex ideas and paintings that express such ideas. This piece generates friction between itself and the viewer. Interestingly, friction was the first step to the discovery of electricity and, in turn, mesmerism and hypnosis. If you think I just threw a few more unrelated terms into the bag, just think Edgar Poe's "The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar," or Marie Shelly's "Frankenstein." The artist does not ask for this piece to endear itself immediately, maybe even trying to repel the casual observer. But, it often happens that things we like right away bore us quickly, while things we don't understand, and are indifferent about, reveal their depth only later on.

Carol Marine: Bulby Dots

The artist plays with colors -- the pink hides behind the blue and the white, winking occasionally at the individual viewer -- provoking a hide and seek game between the audience and the dots. The game progresses, transforming into a kind of a dialogue between the artist and her audience: she hides the paint, and they seek, as the rules become reversed, when many look for a single meaning. Every painting may be viewed as a pictorial transposition of this game, but it is here that the comparison becomes particularly obvious and relevant. This piece becomes a communicative junction between the artist and the audience -- an object that unites and connects the two parties, similarly to the home base in the game.

However, while playing, one tries to outdo the other. When the seeker and the hider arrive to home base simultaneously (I am only familiar with the variant where the former must touch home base after finding the latter), a conflict ensues. Here, on the other hand, both openly steer towards the destination of understanding. An undesirable situation in the game, it is desirable in art -- the rules, once more, become reversed. Still, the common feature of fun remains intact, though I assume that while viewing a painting it can evolve into something more sophisticated. Fun here turns into subtle humor, carefully orchestrated by the painter's brush.

The colors of these bulbs may not seem so exotic if we consider the taste of garlic. The toxic, mischievous pink wonderfully correlates with the bitter taste. Occasional spots that peep out may be warning about the overuse of this vegetable, reminding to put small amounts -- a painterly culinary guide. I think that the polka dots can also imply on garlic's true nature: a leopard cannot change its spots; garlic, even when consumed in small cooked amounts, may cause a foul breath. There is only one way to avoid it: if everybody eats garlic, nobody will notice it. Possibly, garlic is the most democratic of all vegetables. Viva!..

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.

Carol Marine: Four Eights

These orange segments appear to be closer to the mental image, that of the memory and imaginative reconstruction, than to the original, realistic one. We do not see the natural segmentation, or almost any signs of fiber, which should be visible from that distance. Instead, there is the emphasis on strong lines, straight or arched, which enclose overruling any details areas of orange of varying value -- features that denote a geometrical schematic representation -- the first step towards abstraction. The artist's delivery shifts from accurate visual representation of objects towards their mentally processed counterparts. Perhaps, this tendency merely reflects how the artificial cutting into sections overrides the natural division of the fruit. The artist balances on the line that demarcates genres. This painting becomes a generic fusion, with overtones of cubism, fauvism and expressionism.

The colors are a visual feast. They are bright, and even flashy. Yet the artist avoids loudness; I think that the radical viewing angle adds symbolic humility to this piece -- the colors are very self-indulgent, or even self-absorbed, but the viewers are compensated by their lofty position, the literal ability "to look down" upon the scene. On a similar note, the colors may appear to be hiding something, but the aerial view does not let them, providing maximal exposure. If there ever was a need for justification of such angles, this could be it. There is a complex equilibrium between the rich palette and the ascetic perspective, as radical foreshortening tames the colors. This effect contributes the the inner unity that this luminous work projects. Interestingly, the composition plays only a minor role, as if trying not to get in the way of the other players.

A comparison comes to mind: the orange is not far from the color of gold and, considering the title of this painting, the fruit parts may appear to replicate golden pieces of eight. Now that may not seem such a far fetched hypothesis if you recall how coins were checked for authenticity. By teeth -- practically, by taste. However, when you are sailing into a months long pirate campaign, your teeth may all fall out because of scurvy. And the best way to treat it is to consume fresh fruit, especially vitamin C rich citrus fruits, such as oranges. You see, it is all connected... Conclusion: don't sail unprepared. You may end up exchanging all your pieces of eight for a piece of orange. Just like the one depicted here.

Carol Marine: Pitcher & Apple #2

Introduction
During my writing in this blog, I have learned that there are three main groups of still life painters: those who prefer minimal compositions, of one or two items, those who aim for complexity, including as much as ten various objects, and those who are comfortable with any arrangement, a trait that makes them universal and all-round artists. Carol Marine clearly belongs to the third category. Moreover, she is similarly at ease with various known painting styles: her exotic and intense palette echoes expressionism, her loose brushwork pays tribute to impressionism, and the final results often carry a suggestion of fauvism. And yet, what fascinates me the most in her work, is the overwhelming sense of personality. It saturates her paintings and inevitably affects the viewer. All of the influences do not impose themselves upon the artist's expression; Marine absorbed techniques and peculiarities from various traditions and schools, and gives them her own individual interpretation, filtering them through the prism of her own vision. Eventually, her style is very definitive and focused, revealing that the artist knows where she is headed -- even when she tries something new. This may sound strange, but I find something masculine in her work. Again, a universal artist, who can transcend femininity and enrich her paintings with the air of the opposite sex.
Marine often experiments, creating a series of works on a single theme, reminiscent of Monet, albeit on a smaller scale. Objects are frequently depicted directly from above, or from another unusual angle. Another characteristic that distinguishes her style, is the creative approach to backgrounds. These are often painted with an unexpected color, or decorated by a piece of cloth. She is similarly inventive when it comes to ornamental finish, covering entire canvases with polka-dots or other unusual patterns. Additionally, it often seems that a filter covers her pieces: it produces a certain fuzziness, as if the paintings suffer from megascopic pixelization. All of these features add a dimension of surprise to her artwork. It may be an acquired taste, but I find it certainly worth acquiring. In spite of so many subjective qualities, or maybe because of them, the final result turns out to be most objective: fresh and enticing paintings.
Carol Marine lives in Austin, Texas, USA. Besides painting, she also teaches in various workshops. She publishes her work on this website and this blog.

This is a luscious piece, with generously distributed paint. It is not realistic, and it was not intended as such. Looking at these colors, vast oriental palaces, tended by innumerable servants and slaves, come to mind -- the behind the scenes of a tale from One Thousand and One Nights. I have recently read a few tales from the collection, and was surprised about the unruly debauchery described in this medieval Islamic book. The apple can certainly represent the temptation and imply on what is happening onstage.

It is interesting to see how the drapery (or the curtain) starts at the background and gradually flows out to the foreground, capturing a considerable part of it. It becomes both a secondary and a primary actor, providing contrast for the pitcher and the apple -- supporting them, both physically and visually -- and simultaneously exposing wide areas in a somewhat flaunting, playful manner. Initially a device, it has earned the right to be an active member of this still life: "Pitcher & Apple on Cloth." It occupies the whole center of the painting, and its azure tint indeed lets the composition breathe, just as the color implies.

In tune with my previous remarks, I would say that the brushwork here is no less than bohemian. As a result, objects appear to be growing, or expanding. The sense of movement is not compositional, but more particular: the pitch and the apple appear to strive for independence, trying to push each other away. Again, the drapery plays a conciliating role, but I can still tell that the other two don't like each other. Ironically, they generate magnetic tension, which in turn adds a comic element to the painting. The apple indeed replicates the lower part of the pitcher, but in such minute proportions as to further elaborate the comic theme. However, all of these separate meanings do not undermine the general impression; eventually, this canvas is more than the sum of its parts.

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: 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.

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.

Mick McGinty: Citrus on Tile

This, in a way, is a tamed version of the Sliced Tomato. The fruits are intact, the droplets are of water, and the surface consists of clean, sterile kitchen tiles. Being so different by way of contrast, this painting also sheds the symbolism: it radiates spontaneity. As often happens in such cases, the effect is disarming and endearing. I have often wondered how artists make their still life so -- well, simply put, -- how they make it so cute, triggering human affection, which usually is directed towards the animate, for instance, pets.

I think that every interpreter harbors a subconscious drive to personify and assign human activities to depicted still objects. In this case, the two lemons snuggle up together: for comfort, or fear of the proceedings, or to gossip on that lonely orange, all bright and stuck-up. This is one of the strengths of the visual arts, to enliven a fruit or a vegetable and raise it to the level of a soul possessing object. The genre speaks for itself: there is the "still," but then, there is also the "life." Perhaps the goal of every painter is to understate the former and to bring out the latter.

By placing the fruit in the kitchen, while leaving out any tools or containers, the artist once again evades a clear sub-generic categorization. This is neither a decorative, nor an obvious practical setting. Possibly, the lemons and the orange have been washed to be further transferred to a living room crystal bowl -- but, possibly, they are to be eaten right away. By keeping the viewer guessing, the artist reminds us that individual objects can be enjoyed visually regardless of the scenery. He invests into mobility within the genre, and thus reflects real world dynamics and its infinite possibilities. It is always interesting to know what happens just before of whatever happens. In a way, the artist manipulates time just as he manipulates space.

This piece speaks geometry. The surface is divided into squares, while the oval citruses form a triangle. Realistic delivery and simple, but effective composition, in the traditional pyramid form, allow for a calm first impression. But, as in other McGinty's paintings, the initial reaction might not be the most revealing. And it is the basic pictorial device of varying geometrical forms that secures meaningful consequent viewings. Ultimately, the artist targets the audience's artistic and imaginative faculties, requiring active viewing. I admire this kind of talent: the one that brings out the talents of other people.

Mick McGinty: Sliced Tomato

This is a sinister painting. Being all cut up and bleeding, that tomato somehow conjures up the cinematic horror genre. The cavities filled with juice echo the cut pumpkins during Halloween celebration. The green leaves also look menacing, like a Gorgon, or perhaps a spider, an octopus or simply a mutated feral chicken's foot. They appear moving, in a grabbing motion. The fact that the leaves were not removed prompts to question for the reason, because usually, all green parts are disposed of before the slicing begins. Why not here? Maybe, because the purpose of this tomato is not to be eaten; possibly the cutter needs the seeds, or the juice. The seeds, in turn, could be used for something other than planting (if this is the way to harvest seeds at all -- I have to admit my total ignorance in this sphere). Keeping with the mysterious spirit, I tend to think in the direction of one of Sir Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes stories -- "The Five Orange Pips." In any case, the impracticality of such slicing makes it a symbolical act, and perhaps demonstrates a certain ritual.

The darker tones of the table further reinforce these generic impressions; as do the cuts, in the form of an X and prison cell bars. The colors appear to shimmer and constantly modulate. The gritty orange alternates with cold diluted blue, gray, black and white. The bright red of the vegetable clashes with such an "unhealthy" combination, in a way in which a sickly ruddiness flushes the ghastly face of a tubercular patient. There is something sardonic about this painting: it is, after all, only a vegetable -- but I can't shake off the feeling of lurking violence, and threat.

The composition of two tomato halves creates a mirroring balance, which, however, is disturbed by their placement on the higher part of the canvas. This is an intentional instability: as a result, the two parts appear to fall, or roll down; instability, which leads to uncertainty, emotional shakiness and eventually fear. Additionally, the artist avoids the acceptable norm of the genre. Instead of depicting whole vegetables, he chooses to deviate and break the pattern, exploring a different approach. And, by slicing up the routine subject, he parodies the norm. This piece may inspire a lugubrious mood but, it does it with such style, as to make me embrace it with a smile.

Mick McGinty: Spice Caddy

Introduction
Mick McGinty focuses on two different genres, one being landscapes, some of which depict the artist's surroundings, the other still life, including fruit and vegetables, as well as kitchen utensils. A common thread passes through many of McGinty's paintings: splashes of the brightest light, dominating particular areas of a given piece. This feature radically vivifies his work, but in a contrasting way. While the landscapes assume a magical, untouched quality, the kitchen utensils appear hackneyed, as if oiled by countless human fingerprints. In the latter case,McGinty manages to instill a certain look, which will be best defined as one of a modern era: personally, I get a strong fifties vibe (early Coca-Cola posters). This notable characteristic is furthermore forwarded by the glossy palette.
McGinty scales his landscapes monumentally; he respects space and doesn't flinch from wide perspectives. I admire how the artist intuits the ideal scenery and, he practically imbues his renderings of it with a tourist appeal. However, I prefer the more intimate representations of forests and creeks. I think they allow for more individual expression and interpretation, which in turn make the artist's endeavors in that particular sub-genre appropriately absorbing. Mick McGinty lives in Dakota Dunes, South Dakota, USA. He is a member of the Daily Painters Guild and keeps a website and a blog.

P.S. I have just read Charley Parker's review on Mick McGinty, and was pleased to find some similarities between my interpretation and preferences and those of the author of the esteemed blog (Lines and Colors). Considering Parker's reputation, I imagine that these similarities somehow enhance mine. Well, at least I hope they do. In any case, I would like to stress that I have become familiar with that review only after finishing writing this one.


This small object manages to pass on a sensation of a big space, presumably a restaurant. The multiple white dots on the metal and the glass represent reflections of light, coming either from several sources, or from a single one, positioned high above -- all of which implies industrial premises. In a way, the sheer number of reflections creates a visual noise that echoes numerous conversations mixed with a background music -- the usual restaurant buzz.

Considering the position of the menu, the caddy seems to stand off the table's center. In other words, it has been moved: such is the purpose of this implement, to be constantly shifted, pushed around, placed and replaced. It is a supplement to the table's usual setting. It is worth mentioning, thus, that this is still (along with the menu) perhaps the most steady of all other involved objects and subjects -- the food and the people come and go, and only the spices remain constant. This depiction offers a rare close up on a secondary character, which despite its supportive role, or perhaps because of it, provides an insight into the process, and eventually the aesthetics, of dining outside.

There is a possible humorous interpretation. The salt and the pepper are so close, as if to suggest intimacy. Indeed, if the metal ring above them would be of a wedding kind, the two spices could be viewed as a couple about to be married. Perhaps they can, if only symbolically (even more symbolically, that is), in a well spiced up dish. The rest is up to the viewer's imagination: since the two are bound together in a metallic frame that resembles a cage, one might draw unfavorable conclusions about such married life.

The detail with which the white jar is depicted is gripping: a stroke of orange, followed by a stroke of gray, followed by a stroke of white; in a way, since there is no gradation, the painter reveals how he works to produce a visual effect. This is a map of colors, with each territory reflecting a respective hue: that of the table, the metal and the light. A fascinating study in iridescence, it keeps me almost hypnotized. If, when eating out, you ever experienced the urge to play with the utensils, but felt uneasy to follow the impulse, -- here the artist provides you with a fine substitute. Just be careful not to eat with your eyes...

J Matt Miller: Apple #3

Miller understands color: within a very simple palette framework of three major color areas, he generates both tension and relief, through complementary and opposing hues respectively. The red of the apple is countered by the blue of the wall, which includes sprinkles of the said red in what becomes a trademark of the painter's style. This blending, as I already mentioned, endows the background with dynamics, and eventually an active role in the composition.

Choosing a round object also brings Miller's style to a sort of a logical conclusion. His minimalism eventually devolves into a geometrical simplification, or abstracting of style -- perhaps a sublimation of sorts. The apple itself serves only as a vehicle for that kind of understanding and interpretation. It is not coincidental that schematically this piece resembles a Malevich, containing wide plains of color and reference to geometrical forms.

Thick brush strokes on the wall occasionally develop into impasto, as in Head Lock, for instance.
The zoom on the apple is so close, the edges appear smudged. If I am not mistaken, in the past, such distortions were the result of using a camera obscura. Perhaps Miller uses a different instrument, or simply pays tribute to the earlier practice. This painting has a fundamental appeal: utilizing bright contrasting colors, and a primeval theme (apple implies the original sin), it is an effective decorative piece.

*This article has been re-edited.

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.

Christopher Stott: Bananas

Another photographic work, this fruit-piece consists of two main patches of color, each developed gradually, through gradation of value. The already familiar wall in the background is gray; darkest on the edges, it brightens towards the center, where it meets the yellow bananas in the focal point. Correspondingly, the bunch's color at this place of contact is at its brightest -- in fact, it is almost white, being lit directly. The yellow then grows darker towards the edges. The radial treatment of value consistently alludes to the source of light. This is not accidental: light, and its side effect, warmth, allow growth; bananas would not sprout or burgeon if it were not for the sun. In fact, there would not be any life at all. Hence, this painting is heliocentric, and as such, it assumes a life affirming meaning.

The interplay in the yellow's value, along with the additions of white and black, gives the fruit an "inner life," as if telling about the edible contents. Drawing and color collaborate. The drawing brings out the form -- "the skin" -- whereas the color -- the soft, sweet meat(what's inside the form). I find particularly notable the detail where the bananas accrete: a small area where there's still some green, the black recedes into the lighter brown, and the wall's gray is visible between the individual fruit. It seems that the artist explores the possibilities and the range of the yellow color in various micro settings. He approaches color carefully and meticulously, aware of its primal force; he cultivates it, translating an agricultural feat into artistic terms -- the black in the lower part of the painting may refer to the soil used in the actual growing process. Without a shade of a cliche, art here imitates life in the most direct way.

Christopher Stott: Black Leather Shoe

Stott treats his subjects with care that transcends to something more sensuous; one could say he approaches them with love, which they duly reflect back. Still life becomes a fetish burdened with emotional investment. Technique make such evolutions possible: solid drawing with calculated color application combine to convey an aesthetic illusion. Yet sometimes the two work against each other. The artist applies colors carefully and very economically, and the brushwork is not intended to be visible. There is a methodical resemblance to 19th century French academic painting. Sometimes the layers of color seem so thin and even (particularly in the lighter tones) as to induce an aerial and detached effect, of which I spoke in the previous review. When the drawing is nearly perfect, the overall result is mesmerizing but, when it is not, the defects become accentuated after the paint is put on the canvas. Again, it is as if when they aren't together -- they are against each other.


I remember reading that Bouguereau could take up to six months to complete one work. The fact that these artists choose to complete one almost every day, alleviates responsibility -- though how much, is for the artist to decide. Fortunately, as a critic, I do not have to deal with such dilemmas. But I find Stott's insistence on using this particular technique as risk taking and bold; particularly so, considering that unlike in matters of style, these are generally conscious choices.

That shoe falls under the category where the drawing and the painting complement each other. Precision of delivery, subtle work on the shadows, especially where the sole touches the surface, somehow marble in my vision. The shoe projects affluence, but also understates it, turning timidly from the viewer, exposing its side. It is self contained on the one hand, yet evinces a communicative streak on the other. I imagine that the lighter tones elicit the latter characteristic, while the composition -- the viewer's angle and the placement -- the former. It is an aristocratic piece of footwear (in fact, that epithet would serve rightly many other Stott's model subjects). Examine Vincent van Gogh's boots:

A complete opposite. These expose themselves with a naturalistic frankness, as if taken out of a Zola novel. Battered, worn out, old and repulsive; I could almost sense the unsavory odor rise from their black innards. The one on the left displays its "ribs", the laces resembling the white bones of a skeleton. These boots pulse with allusion. Stott's shoe does not pulse: it breathes coolly and quietly. And all that remains to say is that we wear out many pairs during our lives.

Karin Jurick: Sumsumsummatime

I am not familiar with the climate in Atlanta, Georgia, but, according to the palette in this decorative piece, I would have to say - it is pretty hot and humid in the American south. The red and the green of the strawberries is significantly toned down by shades of black and dark orange, as if the berries are being literally weighed down by condensed heat. Though these black areas are only shadows, it is they that define the atmosphere. The reflection of the sunlight on the white plate and the fruit (I gather the light source is natural, because of the extremely sharp white/black contrast) is almost blinding, evoking summer haze. Thick, sumptuous brush strokes also contribute to a sense of a difficult hot weather.

Yet the subject of this still life also suggests a way of relief from the blazing summer heat. Half a strawberry positioned near the lower edge of the board absorbs most of the light, while repelling most of the darker hues: finish this fruit, and you will feel better. For me, this painting projects the struggle people lead with extreme weather conditions. There are moments when the heat is almost unbearable but, there is always something delicious to make one pass through the day.

Karin Jurick is a working artist from Atlanta, Georgia.