It’s coming apart
This one is about things coming apart.
It began as an image that stuck with me from a 1960s Time Life Book called All About Switzerland where a little village is tucked into a cliff so massive that even from a far away shot you can’t see the sky— just the rock, leaning into it. The lean was too much, so I conjured a circle to help us instead.
We’re in a hard place, and I can’t keep the blood out of the paintings.
Also, it’s about Beethoven’s 7th and some quartets— it was good to see a piece of his skull in Vienna last year— and the looming, and the landscape changing every day under our feet.
Spring this year is hot and bright and dusty— we’re breathing it all in.
Everything is too fast, and painting is the stillest place I know.
36” x 36”, oil on canvas.
This one is about things coming apart.
It began as an image that stuck with me from a 1960s Time Life Book called All About Switzerland where a little village is tucked into a cliff so massive that even from a far away shot you can’t see the sky— just the rock, leaning into it. The lean was too much, so I conjured a circle to help us instead.
We’re in a hard place, and I can’t keep the blood out of the paintings.
Also, it’s about Beethoven’s 7th and some quartets— it was good to see a piece of his skull in Vienna last year— and the looming, and the landscape changing every day under our feet.
Spring this year is hot and bright and dusty— we’re breathing it all in.
Everything is too fast, and painting is the stillest place I know.
36” x 36”, oil on canvas.
This one is about things coming apart.
It began as an image that stuck with me from a 1960s Time Life Book called All About Switzerland where a little village is tucked into a cliff so massive that even from a far away shot you can’t see the sky— just the rock, leaning into it. The lean was too much, so I conjured a circle to help us instead.
We’re in a hard place, and I can’t keep the blood out of the paintings.
Also, it’s about Beethoven’s 7th and some quartets— it was good to see a piece of his skull in Vienna last year— and the looming, and the landscape changing every day under our feet.
Spring this year is hot and bright and dusty— we’re breathing it all in.
Everything is too fast, and painting is the stillest place I know.
36” x 36”, oil on canvas.