Paintings on Acrylic Sheets

Silver dust rose from a chromium green sage. It crumbled to the studio floor, scattering broken stems, small bugs and a smell… camphor, bitters, the comforting aroma of rain on the desert floor.

His skin was burnt sienna with a little raw umber and flake white. There was the hint of alizron crimson arising from blood pumping just below the surface, an unbroken conduit to his heart and his imagination.

His large hands folded a soft truth around the dried plant, coaxing it into a cylindrical shape … binding it just tightly enough to hold its form but free enough to permit his quiet breath to penetrate the bundle.
There were no flames…. only the smoke and the prayer. They burned our eyes and our hearts, unexpectedly leaking into the painting where they surely left a mark.

At the core of the painting we find evidence of a highly charged element, a kernel, a particle of what can only be described as passion.

Whether the result of an intentional artistic effort or just a fortuitous appearance, its remains are permanently embedded, although cleverly concealed, within the purported boundaries of the piece.

The particle may be a manifestation of some outside visual encounter or a more indirect experience resulting from imagination, visions, vague impressions, emotional revelations, sexual encounters or political fervor. The documentation is unclear on the subject of inspiration but leads us to believe its arrival was expected, or at least hoped for.

Shamelessly self-indulgent, its presence oscillates somewhere between contemplation, celebration and obsession.

One can only assume it attests to the peculiar sensibilities of the artist.

The label on the tube read Liquirizia Nero, a less than subtle reference to its exotic origins. As soon as the cap was removed and enough force was applied to squeeze the thick black paste onto the marble white surface, an illusion of the unmistakable coppery sweet flavor of Licorice found its way to the back of the throat. Masquerading as star anise or fennel, it takes a surprising effort to evict it from its container.

Unlike its cousin Lamp Black, Liquirizia Nero is not composed of smoky particles suspended in a viscous medium, lamp soot afloat in mineral oil base. Instead, the Liquirizia seems more like sugary flakes of obsidian crystal, bathed in a water clear nectar and possessed of a slightly metallic odor and flavor.

There was certainly a concern that it would revert to a swirl, its classical form. He knew that once liberated from the tube, the Liquirizia needed to be quickly contained; lovingly directed to an acceptable artistic and culinary purpose. In the end, the painting is evidence he must have felt up to the task.

There was certainly a potential connection. He had to be aware the painting exhibited a kind of synaptic gap, an obvious and well understood cleaving of the physical world, only bridgeable by a combination of electro-chemical and painterly processes. The information and the colors could have easily been glimpsed within the axonal sheath and their presence would have been obvious to amateur artists and neurologists alike.
And yet the gulf remains, leaving us waiting impatiently for that ”all or nothing” leap we hunger for. It’s not clear why he was unable or unwilling to span the divide but it’s possible that the failure to do so may have been, in this piece, a salvation.