“Far Shore” :: 26 x 26 :: oil on canvas :: 2011


“A Clearing” :: oil on canvas :: 26 x 26 :: 2011
At Woodstock Fine Art, Woodstock, VT

I’ve always loved Edward Hopper. Much of the beauty and mystery of his paintings comes from what he didn’t paint, as much as what he did. When I was younger, the process of drawing was fueled by a love of detail. I’d labor over weathered clapboards, the trickiness of windows, often consumed with individual blades of grass. Many artists do just fine with that level of detail. But for many, including me, there is a general feeling behind a scene that needs to be captured, not the literal scene itself. The trick, I have learned, is to be brave enough to leave stuff out, or to keep things in.

Yale University Art Gallery recently purchased a collection of Hopper drawings…studies he did for paintings we all now recognize. Studies are great for understanding process. In Hopper’s Western Motel (left, above) he made the wise decision to leave out the motel sign, to simplify the distant hills, and to get rid of the woman’s companion. What he saw that day was a mundane event (a couple sitting in a hotel lobby). What he painted is something more mysterious, and more universal.

When I’m on the Cape I always poke around Hopper’s old haunts (Truro, Wellfleet, Eastham), as the light and architecture that captured his attention captures mine. Near Wellfleet’s Mayo Beach, sits a stately white house you can’t miss, as it abruptly interrupts the view of the bay as you enter the beach parking lot.  A thin line of scraggly pines attempts to provide privacy between the beach lot and the house. I was immediately struck (as I often am) by the blast of late afternoon light on the white of the house. But in drawing the scene, I became equally interested in that line of trees and the role they played. Though I only did this one preparatory sketch for Treeline it involved decisions on what to leave out, and what to keep in. The decorative finials were beautiful, but distracting. The addition to the right of the house is unnecessary (an artist mentor once barked at me in critique, “just because some carpenter built a damn porch doesn’t mean you have to paint the damn porch!”) I even considered leaving out the trees, to put more emphasis on the house and the light. Instead, I left them in as they are  (I think) the real subject of the painting.

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“Side Door” ::  48 x 40 :: oil on canvas :: 2011

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An artist I admire, Bo Bartlett, recently tweeted the phrase ”You see what you look for.”

This resonated with me, as it both represents my approach to painting, but also applies to how the viewer responds to a piece.

Though my subject matter is often structures—barns, old houses, buildings that have withstood time—there is something else I’m looking to convey beyond the beauty of the subject itself. The process of editing the scene, to take out what I don’t want in the composition, and to put in what I do, is done with little other consideration other than to achieve the feeling the piece will have.

I’ve found it interesting over the years how collectors, gallery owners and visitors comment that my work is peaceful and calming, while others take from the image a sense of solitude, and even loneliness.

Because the subjects of my paintings are not intended to be literal representations of a certain structure in a certain location, they are often viewed as images that remind viewers of a time in their life, or a place they’ve been, or even of people. And though I do not put people in my paintings, I’ve been told viewers and collectors project people into the paintings and it forms the basis of how they see the emotional context of a building. Each viewer may choose to project different people – or lack of people – therein influencing their opinion as to whether a piece resonates as peaceful or lonely.

A piece titled “East Chop”—a larger oil of an old  house in Oak Bluffs—recently sold to a buyer who instantly connected with the piece upon seeing it in the gallery. The gallery shared with me that this woman had commented at the time that at first view, she knew it was the same house she had admired, years ago, while living on the Vineyard with her husband, who had passed away recently. She put the painting in her home in Falmouth, and sent me several emails recounting how she sees something new each time she looks at it.

Making a connection to a viewer through a painting isn’t something you can plan to do. There’s no guarantee it will happen, but when it does, there is great satisfaction when what the artist looks to be seen in a composition connects with what a viewer looks to see. order research paper

The Cape is known for it’s scraggly scrub oak and scrub pine. Dwarfed and gnarled by gales and sea  breezes, these trees seem to never grow old. Even in places I’ve known as a kid, the trees standing there now look no different than they did then. This particular stand caught my eye as I drove off-Cape, through Yarmouth.


“Scrub Pine” :: 24 x 30 :: 2010


“Hay Barn” :: 56 x 56 :: o/c :: 2010

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