listening to nothing while driving / oil on canvas / 54" x 48"

While commuting to work I noticed the bright sunlight reflecting on my dashboard through a blue gradient from the windshield.  A red metal bottle opener that I had forgot to take out of my truck casted a reflected light from below.  I thought this was very picturesque as I snapped a photo at a stop sign, saving the idea for later.  My radio had yet to start up fully, it always takes a minute, so it had accurately told me I was listening to nothing.

view of my studio / 2022 / Oil on Panel / 60" x 66"

Inspired by Matisse's "The Red Studio" I decided to do my own studio painting, looking out the window onto a beautiful array of air conditioning vents.  I've never really liked "The Red Studio" it always looked a bit garish and crude, with an ugly color of red. It seemed to be important enough to be taught in school, and features a lot in art history text books, so some people must like it.  I hope some people like mine too.

looking at the sun through the clouds on the love below / oil on canvas/ 48" x 48"

I typically have a hard time making a title for a painting.  The act of painting often is one without words so to assign a string of words after the fact seems absurd.  But paintings can’t all be called “untitled” so I typically call them the simplest thing I can.  This painting was the opposite, I had come up with the title before the painting happened.  I was examining the cd case of the double album Speakerboxxx/ The Love Below by Outkast, a favorite of mine since middle school.  The case was perfect, reflective, and radiant and it was a nostalgic moment looking at the cover art, something I had cherished when I was twelve or thirteen.  I saw myself in the reflection on the case but I also saw the sky behind me with the sun peeking out behind some cirrus clouds.  

This case was a memory, something that had been around most of my life, and through this memory, I could see the sun and clouds.  There was me, caught in between Andre 3000 and the sun.  This album was released in 2003, just about twenty years ago, and the sun’s reflection is the aftermath of light rays traveling from the sun, about seven light minutes away.  Past and future exist on one plane, which now is translated onto the conceptual picture plane.  While trying to balance my phone taking the photo and my other hand holding the cd case I dropped it and shattered it on the asphalt of the parking lot.

I was using the bike lane in Remington last summer and always enjoyed the dividers. Their shapes of big, unusual, and repeating.  The sun was descending in the late afternoon and was peeking between each divider, creating a nice rhythm on the road.  I snapped a pic while sweating and breathing heavily while drivers zoomed past.