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.

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.

Neil Hollingsworth: Pool Balls no. 3

I lost the last game of pool I played -- it must have been all that beer. You could say, I am not such a good player, but why would you want to say that?! This piece manages to squeeze the most out of a fairly mono-typical theme: a pool ball. Variety is achieved through colors, complimenting, such as the yellow and the black, and neighboring (regarding the color wheel), such as the green and the blue. The multitude of white dots, sprinkled throughout the canvas, reminds of a starry night (not the van Gogh), the black ball aptly contributing color. Despite the simplicity, this piece harbors some sort of magic. Indeed, crystal balls and fortune telling come to mind when looking at it.

The viewing angle is somewhat disorienting: it is difficult to determine the optimal position for the observer, no beer this time. I think that this peculiarity has a purpose. When playing pool, one can become so absorbed in the game, as to become totally unaware of the surroundings and of time. This irregular composition achieves just that; it sucks the viewers in, by painterly means -- by prompting them to find a stable axis. This, in turn, appears impossible to accomplish, as the painting can be turned by ninety degrees and remain similarly viewable. Thus, one becomes lost in a seemingly futile exercise; only seemingly, as looking at a painting is never futile, though often addictive. Additionally, this turning effect reflects the physical reality of the game, as the pool table consists of a rectangular frame, and every wall can be used as the springing point for the next shot.

It is the spherical form of the balls that makes this multilateralism possible. I think it is quite difficult to find new ways of examining such a basic geometrical form, but the artist achieves it, in what I see as a true original method. He uses the power of artistic manipulation to an actual, physical effect, forcing the viewers to tilt their heads, or rotate the painting itself. And then, there are the six and the nine balls, with those markers that never made sense to me... No matter how you turn the ball, it remains incomprehensible which number it is supposed to be. But then, I was never good with numbers too. Damn, what am I good at?.. Enough about me though. Eventually, a pool table can be a gold vein for a painter: all the colors, the shapes, the tension. In a way, it is the perfect still-life scenery, and Neil proves this hypothesis without reservations.

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.