Umbrellas mushroom in the summer sun at the stretch of tawny sand where everyone is lost in paradise and the city’s broken dreams wait for another day.
The ease and the tension of lace and posture are your invitation, your possibility.
18”h x 14”w, acrylic on canvas
SOLD
Goldtree
Out of the blue-grey shadows of dense forest a tawny-leaved tree declares itself. The imperfect mirror of the dark water shows bright traces of gold amid its own reflective brilliance of aquamarine dappling.
Purples – orchid, jam, violet, amethyst – pull with mystery. Continuation of “Lips” series.
16”h x 16”w, acrylic on canvas
SOLD
Dark Mirror
A reflection glimmers, half-formed, barely holding shape. Copper-gold like ancient treasure adorns her, and is her, life statue-still for a bare moment.
There is a dogwood tree in my front yard And every May it turns me into The envy of my street. Thirty feet high of brilliant white flowers Like clusters of butterflies glowing at nightfall. The neighbours say to me – in reverent tones For I am the Keeper of the Dogwood – That it has never bloomed so much as this year. Every May they say that. The other eleven months, my dogwood looks unremarkable, And the neighbours only frown as they walk past my yard, Tugging at their children and husbands who linger too long.
30”h x 15”w, acrylic on canvas
Dance Moves
White light flashes along the rippling lines of a dancer lost in motion, caught by music, and released to the wilds of her darkness.
The firm planes of a back and sweet contrast of a shy foot. A woman’s face angled in beautiful pride, a tension of secretive poise and the possibility of a slow turn to reveal.
Low light glances off rockpiles along a serene riverbank, rich hits of burnt umber and gold. Across the water, eerie columns and smoky sky suggest a dark urban embrace, chilling yet beautiful nonetheless.
Lost in the ease of the body, lost in the swell of a feeling, lost in an idea wandering in vague patterns like markings on the floor. While she may appear whole and wholly there, she is in fact, quite lost.
A complex interplay of qualities. I see strength in ribbons of ink around biceps and sweetness in a relaxed belly and elegance in open legs. Power at rest.
Green idyll is rocked by mauve-fingered mischief. It protests innocence – it’s the wind’s fault. I think green idyll is confused, but glorious sky laughs and begins to turn mischief the mild colour of honey.
To paint a figure is to try to capture; and I liked the idea that this woman was eluding the grasp of both artist and viewer. A form of subversive rebellion. Swipes of paint erase detail, she threatens to disappear. And in losing her form, her agency is revealed – she is the thief at work here.
Underpainting of azo gold is a brilliant stretch of sand coloured by the lazy warm light. Dazzling gemstone water grazes the shoreline and stretches off to a hazy horizon line. Impossibly burnished clouds frame the sky above whispers of boats.
One day, the beautiful and blasé female I’d painted suggested she was not so serene after all. And that perhaps instead of being rendered, being represented, being marked, she might like to render and represent and mark. And so this is what happened.
The sun sets, boats seem to come to rest. Almost-black paint renders charred edges, framing a moment of calm, an attempt to still. Yet long lineations suggest a haze, a shimmer, things not quite fixed.
Fingertip slashes of paint create distortion, like seeing flesh through clear water. A woman dangles her legs at the edge of the pool, but ripples creep up, beyond the water limit. Perhaps she is dissolving, becoming water…perhaps water is becoming woman.
A setting sun streaks and glitters white-gold on ocean water, as silver-blue dusk lowers herself. A single boat glides its way, whether home to rest or off for an intrepid evening sail left ambiguous.
Layers of looks look back at you. A curse, a suggestion, a vow. In revolutionary stance, all her softness becomes a power source, and you don’t dare turn away.
