Showing posts with label How We See It. Show all posts
Showing posts with label How We See It. Show all posts

Tuesday, July 31, 2012

art therapy


Fay Shutzer's paintings fill us with longing to be in the places she paints. Lights twinkle on the wharf, towels hang on the line, a family stops to tie a shoe or fix a swimsuit.

A visitor to the gallery recently stopped in front of a wall of Fay's paintings and said to her friend, "I just find these so soothing."

We overheard the comment because the paintings were near one of our desks - where we also found them soothing.

We have a bit of a travel bug, and are huge fans of travel photography (like Don Krohn's). Images of Provence, Tuscany and eastern Europe make us yearn for plane tickets, wondering what the places must be like to visit. (We also get hungry for olives and figs, but that's another story).

Paintings do it, too. Not all paintings, but certainly Fay's. The thing is, we are already here - in the place she makes us long to be. Fay takes the scenes we live in, and captures them in their best moments. She paints what we see and feel when we stop to really look. It's the trip, with none of the baggage.

Fay makes us stop and remember that moments can be effortless - right where we are. Isn't that a breath of fresh air?

May your August be full of Fay Shutzer moments.

May you remember to breathe.


Monday, October 17, 2011

Is it lunchtime yet?


You wouldn't think an art gallery would make you hungry, but here we are.

Alison Evans has created a garlic and oil bowl in her oyster series. Believe us when we say you can only type "garlic and oil" so many times before you're checking your watch (and being vaguely disappointed at what you brought for lunch).

There are small spikes in the bottom of the bowl at the tip (hinge-end). Rub a peeled clove of garlic over the spikes, add oil, et voila.

Where is a crusty baguette when you need one?

Monday, April 4, 2011

Linda Cordner

"Tinyscape 28" 5"x5" encaustic


Blinking into sunlight, squinting into dusk.

Lately I've been drawn to art that looks the way I see the world - or more accurately, how I perceive it. I don't think this is completely a result of aging eyesight, but one can't discount the possibility completely.

There are things I perceive in technicolor brightness: Birthday parties, strawberry shortcake and Airstream trailers, for instance. Other things I see through lengthening shadows. There's the single light traveling off-shore at dusk, under a purple-blue sky that's exactly the color my daughter wants her room painted if only we could take a slice of the sky to the paint store to match. You could strain to see detail, but that's not the point now is it?

"Tinyscape 32" 6"x6" encaustic

Encaustic is perfect for this kind of scene. The wax diffuses the image, camouflaging some parts and giving depth to others. In her encaustic paintings, Linda Cordner fits an entire experience into a 6" x 6" block.

Fireflies, a neighbor's porchlight, the sound of spring's first frogs.

Yes, I hear frogs in paintings. Doesn't everyone? This is the way I see the world - captured in time and wax.


Thursday, March 24, 2011

Mary Bourke

Do you remember how a place looked the first time you saw it? Places we visit stay that way in our minds, while the places we live morph into something a little grittier, more every-day and utilitarian. I moved to Cape Cod 20 years ago and I love to think back to how it looked when I first moved here. The shape of salt pines, my favorite bike path to the beach, the checkered tablecloths at the Land Ho. These are things that stick in my mind.

While Mary Bourke doesn't paint scenes from Cape Cod, her paintings have the same essence as my early impressions of life here.


"Staying at the Cabin" acrylic 18" x 18"

Different paintings make people think different things - from "that would look great in the guest room" to "will you just look at that light?!?" Mary Bourke's paintings make me think I am the girl in the red bathing suit.

I look at the painting and feel the water on my feet. I can hear the voice of my first Cape Cod cottage-mate - who talked me into buying a large, inflatable raft instead of getting my brakes fixed our first summer here.

My memories are not painted in egg tempera with a squirrel-hair brush. They are patches of color surrounding and creating the barest of essentials.

"In a Moment" acrylic 24" x 24"

Mary's paintings are cool and open. Depending on your starting point, they're either a jumping off place or a landing place. Like visual writing cues, they launch waves of memories and stories. They are a flicker of deja vu

"I know that we cannot foresee or choose our future," Mary says, "but we can search through our past and collect our treasures. These are mine."