Review by John Goodrich, guest contributor

Jason Harvey, Peace Tree, 1972 ink on paper 14h x 17w in,
images courtesy of Steven Harvey Fine Art Projects

Artists are seekers. Some search for insights into cultural habits and circumstances; often they end up finding something else — a deeper sense of their own social role. Other artists concentrate on faithfully drawing and painting the objects around them. They’re liable to eventually arrive at a more elemental and solitary realization: what it means to exist in light and space. Judging from the drawings and paintings in the quietly luminous exhibition “Peace Tree,” Jason Harvey (1919-1982) belongs to this second group of seekers.

Harvey came from a family of painters that included his sister Anne and son Steven (curator of “Peace Tree”). Jason’s work has seldom been on view; it was last exhibited in 2002, in the New York Studio School’s show “Family Line,” which featured the work of all three family members. During a peripatetic childhood, Jason lived in Chicago, New York, Sante Fe and France. Though duly noted by his parents, his artistic gifts were overshadowed by the precociously talented Anne. In his early adulthood Jason worked as an art director at advertising agencies, later turning to furniture design and to fabricating custom lamps. But in his early 40s, he made the leap to fine art, and began drawing the objects and scenes around him. By his next decade, he was painting as well.

Jason Harvey, Studio with Wood Stove, compressed charcoal on paper 13 1/2h x 11w in

The 14 drawings and four paintings in the exhibition mostly depict the interior of his studio loft on Cooper Square. Small in scale, they feel exceptionally intimate, capturing his surroundings with a spirited but disciplined lyricism. Built up from rapid cross-hatchings of ink or compressed charcoal, their tones create richly atmospheric effects — not just an all-purpose depth, but particular scenarios of light. Subtle shadings in the pen-and-ink drawing “Peace Tree” adroitly delineate its spaces: a sunlit tree viewed through a doorway, its leaves eloquently summarized; the lightly limned details of wall and door on either side. Hanging next to it, a portrait of a refrigerator, centering a kitchen wall, recalls James Castle in its mute personableness — though Harvey possesses a considerably more agile touch. In several views of studio corners, the artist’s robust sense of design steers the evocative tones, animating the rise of a wood burning stove’s stack, and the visual stutter of bags, cans, and boxes arrayed about the floor.

Elsewhere in the exhibition, in a 1979 self-portrait, the artist eyes himself with soulful intensity. The mysteries of the visual, implicit in all these drawings, turns explicit in “Dream,” in which dense ink cross-hatchings hint at figures emerging from the swirl of sky/trees above a nascent landscape. A night scene of the Manhattan skyline somehow extracts a delicate dusk light from a densely textured charcoal sky.

Jason Harvey, Self Portrait, 1979 Pencil On Paper 13 3/4h x 10 3/4w in

Jason Harvey, Refrigerator, nd ink on paper

Among the paintings, an image of a plate of apples on a chair stands out, as does a second roof-top view. Both use the luscious dimensionality of color to conjure the workings of light.

Jason Harvey, Night Scape Cooper Square, Dec 1962 compressed charcoal on paper 14h x 17w in

Jason Harvey, 5 apples on a blue plate on a red chair, Undated Oil On Panel 12h x 14 1/2w in

“The pictures have told me today that my home is in the making,” reads an entry in the artist’s personal journal. Are some of these very same “pictures” hanging in the exhibition? In any event, one senses throughout these works an elemental, mutual affirmation between artist and subject: a sheltering home, repaying the artist’s devotion to its particularities of light and space.

Jason Harvey: Peace Tree at Steven Harvey Fine Art Projects, NYC, NY February 8–March 8, 2025

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Christopher Benson, whom I interviewed a couple of years ago, recently sent me a link to his Substack, Slayer of Windmills. His most recent post was an insightful review of a retrospective exhibition of drawings and paintings by Anthony Terenzio, an important Connecticut artist I was previously unfamiliar with. It’s a great read, and I highly recommend it.

A retrospective exhibition of drawings and paintings by Anthony Terenzio opened yesterday, February 8th, 2025, at the Nancy Devine Gallery in Warren, Rhode Island.

While exploring his Substack, one essay stood out to me: his December 2024 piece, The Devil at the Crossroads. In it, Benson offers a candid and deeply personal meditation on the tension between artistic integrity and commercial viability. His experience of being let go by a gallery is not framed as an act of betrayal but rather as an inevitable consequence of a system where the needs of the market often run counter to an artist’s pursuit of growth and depth. He acknowledges that galleries seek consistency—a recognizable, marketable brand that keeps collectors engaged and sales flowing. Yet, as an artist, he finds that the very act of catering to these expectations can sometimes inhibit his ability to push his work to a higher level.

Benson’s reflections point to a contradiction that many artists face: the more one aligns their work with commercial success, the harder it becomes to break through to something more profound. He describes this as a “Faustian bargain,” where the immediate rewards of producing work that sells may come at the cost of artistic evolution. His essay does not offer easy answers but instead poses the larger question: is there a way to sustain oneself as an artist without allowing market forces to dictate the creative process? In stepping away from the gallery model, he is taking a risk, but it is one rooted in a desire to reclaim the freedom to explore—to make paintings that challenge both himself and his audience. Whether this path leads to greater artistic fulfillment or a precarious uncertainty remains unknown, but for Benson, it is a risk worth taking.

Read the essay here.

Christopher Benson, November 5th, 2024, oil on linen, 36 by 58 inches

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Review by Sutton Allen, guest contributor

The Street at Gagosian, 980 Madison Ave. On view until December 18.

There stands a eulogy uptown at 980 Madison Ave, between 76th and 77th Street. Gagosian is slated to permanently close the doors of its Madison Avenue location within the coming months, and The Street is an excellent send-off. Originally conceived for the Musee d’Orsay, painter-turned-curator Peter Doig brought together painters across time and geographies to explore the urban landscape.

Doig, the Edinburgh-born painter of international renown, has set auction records and been established in major collections for decades, takes his title, The Street, from the pièce de résistance in the show, Balthus’ 1933 painting. This early work of the French Master is a triumph and, though owned by the MoMA, has not been on display since 2000. Doig correctly repositions this painting, taking its implications as a unique curatorial endeavor.

Balthus (Baltusz Klossowski de Rola) The Street, 1933. Collection of MOMA (https://www.moma.org/collection/works/80582)

Hanging to the left of Balthus is Frank Auerbach’s (1931–2024) Rimbaud of 1976, on loan from the Tate. Auerbach, the preeminent painter of the School of London, died within ten days of the Gagosian opening. The painting is now doubly a haunting specter, as it depicts an effigy to the 19th-century poet, a scene Auerbach scrutinously observed in the streets of London. It is a challenging picture, as all Auerbach’s are. Paint is gushed on with lines ferociously pasted here and there. Rimbaud himself is like a meme in a world of viscous paint.

Frank Auerbach, Rimbaud
1975–6, Collection of the Tate Gallery
https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/auerbach-rimbaud-t06688

Besides The Street to the right is an early, uncharacteristic Mark Rothko, Untitled, 1936. This picture does not foretell his late, heroic color field paintings. Rather, we see a young artist looking to the city streets, attempting to put into design his visual world. The urban landscape is treated in flat, tonal passages. There is what looks like an elevated line, a statue in the foreground, and, unmistakably, the moon overhead. Here, as the exhibition’s premise suggests, we see the urban experience as lived by three vital painters in Paris, London, and New York.

These three pictures are key to the show: urban painters bring fresh observations to their world and indulge a consequential painter’s aesthetic preferences. Be reintroduced to de Chirico, Hélion, and Francis Bacon. Or discover Prunella Clough (as I did), Satoshi Kojima, or Lotte Maiwald. Both Kojima (b. 1979) and Maiwald (b. 1988) are active in Düsseldorf where Doig has taught.

Prunella Clough British, 1919–1999,
Mesh with Glove I,
1980, oil on canvas, 91 x 71 cm,
https://www.annelyjudafineart.co.uk/artists/35-prunella-clough/works/9511-prunella-clough-mesh-with-glove-i-1980/

Of the many relationships to discover here, one of particular interest is Max Beckman, represented by two paintings, and Denzil Forrester (b. 1956). Beckmann’s Film Studio, 1933, on loan from St. Louis, depicts the dark, crowded interior of the burgeoning world of cinema. Its jagged divisions and cryptic spaces speak to Forrester’s Tribute to Winston Rose, 1982. Here, we see a dense, obscure interior with vistas of the city beyond. These are works by two artists we will not see together again, so enjoy the dialogue.

Denzil Forrester, Tribute to Winston Rose, 1982.
https://www.stephenfriedman.com/artists/35-denzil-forrester/

Doig brought together important works from public collections that would not be placed together without his novel eye. See the show: wonder over Auerbach, be puzzled by de Chirico, beleaguered by Bacon, and charmed by Doig himself; indeed he curated two of his own paintings into the exhibition. Alas, of the many foolhardy attempts to assimilate the art of the early and middle 20th century with the art of our time, The Street rises above the clatter.

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Review by Elana Hagler, guest contributor

Elise Schweitzer, Caelian Hill, gouache on paper 12 x 9 inches

Laura Vahlberg, Playground Hut, oil on linen on board, 5.5 x 3.5 inches

Motherhood, especially in those very early years, has a way of paring life down to its essentials. Those first years are notoriously difficult for parents, and mothers in particular (who historically have borne the brunt of childcare and domestic life), who are also trying to pursue their life’s work. Life becomes about feeding, cleaning, sleeping when/if possible, and gazing at the miraculous mundane. Babies the world over have fingers, eyes, sweet folds of chub, downy bits of hair, and yet each in a unique and theretofore unseen combination. So, too, do the artworks, the creative offspring of these two young mothers, the painters Elise Schweitzer and Laura Vahlberg, distill the visual world into its most basic elements in a joyful but serious perceptual game.

Just as their five-year-old children play together, Schweitzer and Vahlberg’s paintings have a playful dialogue with one another across the gallery walls. There is a kinship to the work, resulting from mutual influences such as Joseph Albers, Charles Hawthorne, and Edwin Dickinson. There is the tension between depicting air and depth and the assertion of the flatness of the picture plane. There is the simplification of forms into their essential color spots and the sophisticated tuning of delicate color relationships.

Elise Schweitzer,Isola Tiberina, gouache on paper, 12 x 9 inches

Laura Vahlberg, Rainy Day, oil on linen on board, 6.5 x 3.75 inches

The poetry of painting inhabits the tensions between these contradictions: flat versus spatial, simplified shapes versus sophisticated colors, rooted in the historical language of painting and in these works perceived afresh. Vahlberg’s work echoes the simplified forms, muted colors, and tangible surfaces of the landscapes of Giorgio Morandi, Albert York, and E. M. Saniga. Likewise, Schweitzer’s paintings evoke the angular, stylized architecture of early Renaissance painters like Piero della Francesca, and the simplified but always atmospheric landscapes of Diana Horowitz.

Elise Schweitzer, Ter Borch Green, gouache on canvas, 8 x 10 inches

Laura Vahlberg, Mall, oil on linen on board, 9.25 x 14.5 inches

As children grow, the intimate world of milky breath and soft peach fuzz expands to carefully sliced grapes, clumsy first attempts at socializing, and rooms that are slowly swallowed by the ever-growing clutter of toys. Schweitzer’s landscapes bring to mind the simplified forms of early building blocks, drawing a juxtaposition between the common, close, and small with ancient, massive architectural forms. Valhberg’s work is reminiscent of board books for toddlers, with simplified shapes and essentialized colors. At the same time, her paintings are a result of internalizing all that deep painterly knowledge and of attempting to view the visible world with a fresh and innocent eye. Even as we nurture and teach our children, the more sensitive we are, the more we also learn from them: we learn to cast off that which is unessential; we learn to embrace the moment; we learn to delight in the ordinary. And we learn that life, as heavy as it can be, is elevated when approached with a sense of curiosity and earnest appreciation.

Elise Schweitzer, Venice Underwater, gouache on paper, the collection of 4 together is 16 x 20 inches

Laura Vahlberg, Mid-Morning Sun, canvas on board, 19 x 17.25 inches

Elise Schweitzer and Laura Vahlberg’s paintings will be exhibited at Steven Francis Fine Arts in Lynchburg, VA, from October 6, 2024 to November 16, 2024.

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A video about the recent Euan Uglow exhibition:

In 1974, Catherine Lampert organized the first major retrospective of Euan Uglow’s work for the Arts Council of Great Britain. Fifty years later, she curates another exhibition highlighting Uglow’s pivotal pieces, marking the joint representation of his estate by Hazlitt Holland-Hibbert and Frankie Rossi Art.

Uglow’s paintings are known for their meticulous construction and grand simplicity, achieved through rigorous methods of close observation, controlled lighting, and the use of plumb lines that remain visible in the final work. This exhibition features exceptional masterpieces from both public and private collections, including the notable “Root Five Nude” (1974-75), “The Diagonal” (1971-77), and “Curled Nude on a Stool” (1982-83) from the Ferens Art Gallery, showcasing Uglow’s skillful approach to the nude as a formal challenge.

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Guest Review by Glen Cebulash

Stanley Lewis, 12th Street and 4th Avenue, Brooklyn, Oil on Canvas, 35 x 40 inches, 2006

In his seminal essay of 1921, Tradition and the Individual Talent, T.S. Eliot provides the reader with, if not a proper definition of art, a rather stark choice.  The work, whether it be a poem, a painting, or a piece of music, will inevitably fall into one of three categories: the traditional, the repetitive, or the novel.  At the top of this hierarchy lies the traditional.  Elliot’s explanation of what constitutes traditional is multifaceted, but in part: 

“It involves, in the first place, the historical sense….and the historical sense involves a perception, not only of the pastness of the past, but of its presence…. This historical sense, which is a sense of the timeless as well as of the temporal and of the timeless and of the temporal together, is what makes [an artist] traditional. And it is at the same time what makes [an artist]  most acutely conscious of his place in time, of his contemporaneity.”

Suffice it to say it is not what we commonly mean when we use the word.  A genuinely traditional work of art, which is also a genuinely new work of art, has an organic connection to the past, but not by merely resembling it or repeating its strategies.  Nor can it succeed beyond the fleeting thrill of some slick exoticism. This necessary linkage with the past allows the new work to take its place among its predecessors, inevitably being judged by them, but its introduction into that existing order is also disruptive.  In forcing those earlier works to make room for it, the new work of art modifies and, even if only slightly, changes its meaning.  Thus, it can be said that the really radical thing a truly new work of art does is not so much alter the future but the past. 

The Stanley Lewis Exhibition, Persistent Vision, currently on view at the Swope Art Museum in Terre Haute, IN, clearly embodies the spirit of Eliot’s thesis. Lewis, a prolific painter and beloved teacher, possessed of tremendous energy, enthusiasm and inventiveness, has been mining the American landscape for over five decades.  And, while it is fair to say that he is intensely committed to his subject, the work consistently transcends it.  His paintings, somewhat incongruously, build an almost granular realism on top of a highly personalized cubist substrate. The paintings and drawings that constitute the mature phase of his career, many of which are on display in this exhibition, are deep investigations into the nature of seeing and the nature of image-making.  The largest and most involved examples, as pocked and riven as World War I battlefields, take months and sometimes years to complete.  Brimming with an almost child-like awe at the plentifulness of the observable world and scrupulously democratic in their attentions, the paintings are nonetheless rigorously intellectual and self-conscious explorations, deeply grounded in the rich history of the genre. Lewis is a deserving heir to that history precisely because he refuses to slavishly submit to it.  The result is a tour-de-force, and despite its remote venue, this dense and comprehensive gathering of drawings, paintings, and sculptures is a must-see. 

Stanley Lewis, Northhampton Parking Lot, 2007, oil on canvas, 31 1/2 x 38 1/2 inches

Lewis’s paintings, simultaneously familiar and other-worldly, conform to and confound our expectations. Their subject and their means, much like their realism and their modernity, are at times odd but always energetic bedfellows.  In Northampton Parking Lot, for example, Lewis situates us in a rather mundane circumstance, hundreds of yards behind what appears to be the town’s business district.  The lower half of the painting is busy with the stuff of such places: parked cars, signposts, telephone wires, garbage cans, road repair, etc., etc.  In the upper half, a subdued sky of blue-violets and pinks provides the backdrop for an almost decorative passage of leaves and branches that undoubtedly belong to the tree canopied above us.  Barely perceptible at first, a subtle accordion-like structure emerges across the frieze of forms, creating a counter-rhythm that both contains and scrambles the scene before us.  The viewer struggles to get a firm grasp on this elusive volume but, as is so often the case in Lewis’ work, agrees finally to simply play hide-and-seek with it.  Equally difficult to grasp is the life cycle of its rippling and undulant surface – an agglomeration of globs and pustules and the not-so-hidden pentimenti of torn and reconstituted canvas. These paintings are not easy to look at.  They argue, they doubt, they insist, they overwhelm, and finally, they take their pound of flesh. 

In View from the Porch, East Side of House, Lewis plants us on a second-story deck looking down the length of his house and toward a distant, if obscured, horizon.  The color, fully realized, is weighty and light-filled. The image is replete with detail, from the garden rake at our feet to the smallest branches of a faraway tree, and we are once again, at times quite literally, in the weeds. The breadth of the space described is rivaled only by the severity of its cinematic plunge, but this roller coaster ride is constantly interrupted by the superabundance of information, the impossible geometry, and the raucous materiality of the surface itself.  The abstract structure of the painting is in a tense standoff with its insistent descriptiveness, and it is a tension that does not and cannot fully resolve.  Rather, it persists infinitely and in all directions, and the picture plane crackles under this relentless strain of oppositions.  The ground won’t lie down; the paint won’t play nicely with its chosen targets, and the geometry won’t fully acquiesce to the image, and yet, despite this consistent mayhem, Lewis renders a dependable world. 

Stanley Lewis, View from the Porch, East Side of House, 2003-2006, Acrylic on canvas 38 3/4 x
48 inches

Looking hard and long at the exhibition, I was repeatedly reminded of Eliot’s program. Lewis, unlike most if not all of his best contemporaries, isn’t simply a spirited and engaging landscape painter.  Nor is he a clever pyrotechnician. He is, as Leland Bell once said of Andre Derain, attempting something far more demanding.  He is “risking liberty within tradition.”  So here, among the weeds and chain link fences and all the bricks and branches, we find Sassetta and Breughel, Claude and Constable, Cezanne and Derain, to say nothing of the Egyptians, the medieval painters, and the cubists. They are deeply embedded in the paintings themselves, and one hears them whispering across the surface of every work. There is an abiding love here for all these artists, but again, Lewis isn’t merely an adoring suitor.  His ardor tears them apart.

One emerges from this show convinced that the best pieces, alá Eliot, are indeed new and genuine works of art. They possess, as the great French artist Jean Helion once said of Poussin’s paintings, “all the infinity that can be got in a picture.” They say something about the landscape, about looking, and about painting itself that has never quite been said before.  In so doing, they invite us to reconsider, even if only slightly, everything.

Glen Cebulash teaches painting and drawing at Wright State University in Dayton, OH. He served as Chair of the Art Department from 2009 to 2022 and is currently a member of Bowery Gallery in NYC. 

Video from the Swope Art Museum, Stanley Lewis: Persistent Vision, with Stanley Lewis

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“CONVERSATIONS: 23 Interviews with Still Life Artists” (link to the books information on the Zeuxis website) unveils a vibrant tapestry of perspectives surrounding the still life genre. This 316-page volume, produced by Zeuxis—an association founded in 1994 by Phyllis Floyd and fellow still life artists—celebrates and seeks to reinvigorate this venerable art form. Named after the ancient Greek painter famed for his lifelike depictions, Zeuxis bridges the past and present by showcasing artists who blend time-honored techniques with contemporary themes and styles, breathing new life into the tradition of still life painting.

Zeuxis has held exhibitions in over 50 nationwide venues —including commercial galleries, museums, and college exhibition spaces—and has been reviewed in The New York Times, The New York Observer, and The New York Sun, among others. Zeuxis’s traveling exhibitions, such as the widely acclaimed ‘The Common Object’ from 2010-12, have sparked considerable interest in still life art, a topic I previously explored in an article at Painting Perceptions “THE COMMON OBJECT”.”

This book presents a rich tapestry of the still life genre through 23 insightful interviews conducted from 2020 to 2023, lavishly illustrated with both large and small color reproductions from the portfolios of 60 artists. Many interviews reveal a shared stylistic or thematic affinity, providing a focused exploration of specific issues relevant to each artist’s practice. This ranges from fluid, expressive techniques to meticulously detailed realism. The visual poetics and aesthetic integrity form a solid foundation that unites all the contributors. Among the more recognized artists are Tim Kennedy, Catherine Kehoe, Elenor Ray, Ken Kewley, Emil Robinson, Daniel Dallman, and Stanley Bielen.

Many of the interviews were conducted during the pandemic, utilizing Zoom, Google Docs, and email to bridge the distance. These conversations spanned a broad spectrum of topics—from the intricacies of studio practices to the roles of observation and memory in the creative process. They also delved into how external forces like the pandemic, family responsibilities, and societal pressures have influenced their art. Particularly fascinating were the insights into what draws each artist to their chosen subjects and the pivotal decisions that guide them toward creating visually impactful work. Reading these discussions from the perspective of the painters themselves—rather than through the lens of critics or reviewers—offers a refreshing and intimate glimpse into the foundational elements of their craft, articulated in the language of paint.

Imogen Sara Smith wrote in her essay, A Writer Looks at Still Life, for this book.

“Still life has always been quietly radical, and today it offers a much-needed antidote to the haste and waste of our ‘attention economy,’ a model of sustained engagement with the overlooked stuff of life.”

The slow looking involved during the painting process and when the finished painting hangs on the wall is neurological nutrition that satiates both the painter and viewer alike.

Building on Imogen Sara Smith’s theme of ‘slow looking’, the interview Unfolding conducted by Joe Morzuch with artists Andrew Marcus and Christina Renfer Vogel further underscores the value of patience and observation in the artistic process. As Marcus and Vogel discuss their methodical approach to developing their paintings, each brushstroke and session builds cumulatively on the last, allowing the artwork to evolve organically. This gradual layering not only unveils new dimensions of meaning but also facilitates moments of unexpected clarity and profound shifts in perception. Such extended, contemplative engagement exemplifies how deep, sustained attention can transform our understanding of a subject, echoing Smith’s insight into the radical potential of still life to enrich both the creator and the observer in our fast-paced world.

Andrew Marcus, Still life Drawing No. 4, graphite on arches 300lb, 32×34 in.

Andrew Marcus is characterized by his dedication to prolonged artistic processes, often dedicating several months to a single drawing. This slow pace is a method and a medium through which he deeply engages with his subjects, allowing the composition to evolve and unfold gradually, leading to highly detailed works. He uniquely does not rely on a physical setup but uses the drawing itself as a dynamic setup, enhancing the fluidity of his work. He describes this process in the interview,

“My still lifes are not based on any set up. There is no arrangement of objects on a tabletop. The drawing paper itself is my tabletop. I use a collage technique throughout the whole process, using individual studies of objects, each cut out separately. This enables me to move them about on the paper, sometimes in dozens of different configurations and finally taping them where they will eventually be drawn on the paper.”

Christina Renfer Vogel, Houseguest, 2020, oil on canvas, 48×40 in.

Christina Renfer Vogel, in contrast, employs a more flexible approach to time, engaging in both rapid sketches and extended painting projects. Her work serves as a form of “marking time,” capturing the essence of personal life events and relationships through her art.
Vogel states

“I find working from life to be full of potential. It offers me so much discovery and surprise, and it forces me to get into a zone of focus, deep looking and slowness, that feels somewhat radical these days.”

This state of mind resembles the meditative state sought by medieval monastic scribes, who viewed their work as a reproduction and a form of devotion and contemplation.

In Unexpected Connections, the late Lynette Lombard (1953-2023) interviews Ying Li and Deborah Kirklin. These three artists share a faster, gestural, and expressionistic handling, directly painted from observation. They respond to light and space by their unique, personal orchestration of the surface, marks, and color feeling. Ying Li and Deborah Kirklin agree that color usage is deeply personal and reflects individual memories and experiences, often aiming to capture an “inner light.”

Lombard recalls what Nick Carone once said about this inner light, ‘The inner light can vary–it speaks to something within you, a certain kind of light you are attracted to. Color can be where the internal memories meet the external perceptions, and you arrive at a sense of light.’

I also loved what Ying Li says here

“Nature sets the bar so high. Complexity, chaos and the structure hidden in nature. Painting for me is about how I make sense of what I see and how I find what holds everything together”

Deborah Kirklin, Two Bouquets, oil on linen 32 x 32 in.

Ying Li, The Election Day, 2020, oil on linen, 60 x 48 in.

In the interview The Quiet Work of Looking, Gaela Erwin facilitates a conversation between Sheldon Tapley and Emil Robinson. Tapley, who taught Robinson at Centre College in Danville, KY, continues to be a significant mentor and friend to him. Many of Tapley’s still lifes, particularly his remarkable luminous gourd paintings, reflect the influence of 17th-century Spanish still-life masters Zurbarán and Cotán. Throughout the interview, Tapley and Robinson extensively discuss and contrast these painters, which leads them to explore deeper discussions about the essential elements they strive to express in their art.

Emil Robinson, Dust Pan and Yellow Curtain, 2020, oil on panel, 36 x 39 in.

Sheldon Tapley Two Gourds 2016 pastel on paper 23 x 17 in.

Tapley states,

“I also think of the transformation of subjects as an ordinary responsibility of the artist: to paint something so that it is worth a second look; so that it might be affecting and memorable. Otherwise, we could look at the object and not bother with the painting.”

Emil Robinson extends this by saying,

“I am drawn to objects which mingle with an interior experience I am having. I trust my interior experience and have built it with respect and patience over my time as a painter. I notice elements of my surroundings and invite them to embody my intangible experience. Maybe that could be called “daydreaming”. Painting is my bridge between an internal world and the external world of objects.” This might be called vision. Whatever it’s called, it’s the place where I put my effort in hoping to become a better artist. I choose objects as a temporary home—a foil of sorts. Something seemingly sturdy but only useful to me if it can open into a painted world. My studio is a place of non-utilitarian logic—I like the paradox of looking right at an object but painting something totally different.”

Emil Robinson’s still life paintings blend realism with abstraction, transforming everyday objects into conduits of a more profound significance. These objects serve not just as visual elements but also as expressions of complex emotions and internal experiences. In his studio, Robinson delves into the creative possibilities of these objects, often resulting in works that depart markedly from their original appearances. His paintings achieve a delicate balance between meticulous, illusionistic details and broad swaths of vivid color, creating a visual link between tangible reality and abstract personal experiences. Robinson uses color as more than just a visual tool; it’s a medium for conveying psychological subtleties, with his painting process reflecting an ongoing dialogue between his studio environment and the external world.

In the Painting Choices discussion, moderated by Matthew Lopas, artists Edmond Praybe, Eleanor Ray, and Joe Morzuch offer deep insights into their personal artistic journeys, each facing unique challenges and uncertainties.

Edmond Praybe, studio with composition of Remembering

Edmond Praybe speaks candidly about the periodic crises he experiences, questioning his artistic direction and the purpose of his work. He reveals how these moments of doubt are not only triggered by unsuccessful attempts but can also arise during successful phases, making them particularly perplexing and emotionally taxing. To manage these crises, Praybe engages in non-artistic activities such as hiking and reading, which help him gain perspective and remind him that individual failures do not define his overall artistic merit.

Joe Morzuch, studio with composition Milk Carton

Joe Morzuch embraces the challenges of painting as essential to his growth, viewing each piece as a conversation that evolves and surprises him.

“Painting is hard.” he declares, “That’s why I like doing it. I used to be an athlete, and continued half way through college until an injury forced me to quit. Today, I lift weights and run long distance. I think it’s about reaching for goals I set for myself, each one a bit farther than the last. And coming to things consistently, with effort. I approach painting the same way. I feel defined by the goals I’m moving towards. They give me purpose. Even if, as with painting, those goals are sometimes abstract or less than concrete. I also just like being busy.”

Eleanor Ray, Scrovegni Chapel, Padua, 2018, oil on panel, 8 ½ x 6 ½ in.

Eleanor Ray states,

“I think I’m an outlier in this group here, in not working on single paintings for so long. If a painting doesn’t work out, I’ll abandon it, and often try a few more approaches to a similar idea or image. But I’m not always deciding whether something worked right away. The painting process itself is more self-contained for me, and I don’t want it to reflect a sense of struggle exactly.”

Ray highlights the importance of painting from personal experience, which brings authenticity and emotional depth to her work. She also discusses her shift from observational painting to using photographic references, driven by a desire to capture broader landscapes and memories. Together, these painters underscore the importance of resilience and self-reflection in navigating the complexities of the creative process, emphasizing that doubt and difficulty are integral to personal and artistic development.

It’s impossible to review every one of the book’s interviews and artists, they all merit detailed exploration and recognition. Several of the interviews feature artists who have also contributed to Painting Perceptions. John Goodrich, the designer of the Conversations book, along with Xico Greenwald and Neil Plotkin, have all written reviews and conducted interviews for the site. I’ve had the privilege of interviewing Tim Kennedy, Matt Klos, Matthew Lopas, Emil Robinson, Elizabeth Higgins, Paula Heisen, Edmond Praybe, Ken Kewley, Sydney Licht, and Nicole Santiago, all included in this book. My hope is to eventually have the opportunity to engage with many more of these remarkable painters, delving deeper into their artistic journeys.

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A Gorky Dream, 20×20 in, Acrylic on paper on canvas, 2021

I’m pleased to present an interview with Cathy Diamond, an NYC-based painter whose abstract paintings have evolved from a long involvement in responding to nature. Her work offers a unique narrative that draws from the fluidity and interconnectedness of shapes and sensations found in nature. “The sounds of wind and birds have always utterly entranced me.” Diamond shares in this interview, “Add to this the almost cellular feeling that the scene is all in a state of growth. These connective tissues open up the space for me to become a part of this through automatic and rhythmic drawing. The machinations of the trees, insects, and birds lend themselves to metaphors for aliveness, movement, fragility, endurance, and connectivity.”

Jorge S. Arango wrote in a review in The Portland Press Herald,

Diamond’s works “are really a hybrid of drawing and painting, and their surfaces buzz, sizzle and quiver with a feverish energy. They are clearly landscapes, but abstracted in ways that capture nature’s ability to constantly morph and evolve. In this way, they viscerally convey a kind of aggressive fecundity of nature…Diamond’s works are breathtakingly gorgeous and just a little scary in their suggestion of nature’s uncontrollable, untamable power.”

Cathy Diamond’s prolific career spans three decades exhibiting primarily in New York City. Recent highlights include exhibitions at Lockwood Gallery in Kingston, NY, Radiator Arts, NYC, Alice Gauvin Gallery in Portland, Maine, and curated shows at Green Door Gallery in Brooklyn. Her work has been featured in solo and two-person shows at Sideshow Gallery, Andre Zarre, Farrell Pollock Fine Art, Valentine Gallery, and The Painting Center, among others. Diamond’s works on paper have been showcased at international print fairs including Miami Basel, Cleveland Museum of Art, Park Avenue Armory, and Boston Print Fair, represented by Van-Straaten Gallery and Oehme Graphics. She has curated exhibitions at Joyce Goldstein Gallery and Supermoon Art Space and has been featured in publications such as Artspiel, Two Coats of Paint, and more. Diamond teaches Painting and Drawing at Borough of Manhattan Community College and received her art education at The University of Michigan and The New York Studio School.

Cacophony, 12 x 9 inches, Acrylic on paper on panel, 2022

Larry Groff: What were your early years like, and when did you decide to become a painter?

Cathy Diamond: I started making crafts in middle school at after-school art lessons in the basement studio of a local teacher whom I liked. The various projects, from firing glass bead jewelry to copying national geographic covers in watercolor to building and painting papier-mache animals, kept us busy and fired up our imaginations. In high school, I had a strong artistic outlet in the art department, with a dedicated teacher encouraging us to aim high. It was a natural decision to apply to colleges for fine arts.

Rainy Afternoon, 14 x 14 in. on 19 x 19 in paper,
Ink, acrylic 2016-2024

Nightlight, 19 x 19 in.,
Pigment dispersion and acrylic on paper, 2016-2024

Cathy Diamond: At The University of Michigan, I gained three years of practice in building abstract paintings from relationships of color areas while experimenting with various brushwork approaches. Artists looked at were Diebenkorn, Karel Appel, Nicolas de Staal, Cezanne, and the Post-Impressionists. I continued my studies a few years later at the New York Studio School, where I attacked figure drawing. This was a challenge, but it paid off. I started there by painting figure compositions influenced by Vuillard and Lautrec, working from oil pastels made in bars, cafes, and coffee shops. While working with Nick Carone, this evolved into a more muscular, rhythmic drawing and painting from Michelangelo to De Kooning. I was also introduced to the abstract surrealist drawings of Gorky as well as Matta, who was a close friend of Nick’s. There was an immediate history of modernism there, and so many alumni stayed in NYC, so there’s a strong connection there. I think influences from the University of Michigan and New York Studio School worked on me throughout my twenties and early thirties. I continued studying independently by returning to figuration for a while – I loved portrait drawing and painting and did commissions professionally for years. Later, I spent summers working directly from nature in oils (out in pastures with a French easel). This led to residencies and to a deeper and deeper connection to nature. Ultimately, going from plein-air to invention and back is an essential duality.

City Weight, 30×24 in, O-C, 1998

The Bridge is a Stalk, 35×30 in, O-C, 1999

LG: Did your identical twin, Carol Diamond, influence your artistic journey?

Cathy Diamond: Carol and I were willing duos for these early lessons and continued to be so in a natural flow into the arts. She always encouraged, and in many cases led the way toward, art-making as a way of life. Where we’ve come from and how we relate now has allowed us to share our aesthetic growth—our sensibilities connect while being utterly specific to our own paths.

LG: Did you navigate this journey together with your twin sister?

Cathy Diamond: In the earlier years after school, we dove into developing these separate paths; my works centered around larger figurative and abstract compositions, while Carol’s work homed in on highly personal portraits, still lifes, and cityscapes. After moving to Williamsburg, my paintings started to reflect my urban city view, so I took a break from line and figuration to work on color and geometry. Interestingly, though, Carol and I finally made a cross-over in our late 30s and early 40s when she evolved away from perceptual work toward abstraction, and I moved toward more directly perceptual works from city views (the Williamsburg Bridge over the East River) and from nature scenes at rural retreats. I worked this way and then moved back toward abstraction. Carol and I have organically settled into the connection to nature (me) vs the urban world (her), which has been a focus in our works for years.

Morning Bridge, 36×48 in, oil on canvas, 2003-04

Orange Steel Bridge, 36×48 in, 2003-04

LG: Nature is pivotal in your abstract works, serving as inspiration and subject matter. How do you translate something unseen into something visual? When you think about the ‘unseen energies’ or ‘erratic flight trails’ of birds and insects that you discussed previously, how does that enter the visual language of your paintings?

Cathy Diamond: The sounds of wind and birds have always utterly entranced me. Add to this the almost cellular feeling that the scene is all in a state of growth. These connective tissues open up the space for me to become a part of this through automatic and rhythmic drawing. The machinations of the trees, insects, and birds lend themselves to metaphors for aliveness, movement, fragility, endurance, and connectivity. There’s some metaphor in the tiny unseen sparrow’s throat amplifying an enormous Sycamore. I paint small works on paper in nature with the goal of capturing as many bits of these multiple movements as I can. I bring these studies back to NYC, and it is through reliving these ‘woods encounters’ that they evolve or morph into private animations. I’m trying to weave together pieces of it to make a picture that can come alive on its own terms.

Pinewood, 16×20 in Framed, O-C, 2002

Tree at Summit, 24×30 in, O-C, 2003

LG: Memory seems important to your creative process, especially regarding landscapes. What kind of memories best translate into abstract forms for you?

Cathy Diamond: The more I feel inside the woods, the more all the overlapping elements tend toward abstract space and form. The times I’ve spent in the deeper woods live in my imagination as these embracing, soaring, ominous, yet entrancing places that I can only capture a tiny piece of. I also naturally see abstractly; that is, I’m more interested in creating new tree-bird hybrids than in depicting recognizable, identifiable, known forms.

Some recurring themes make up my internal pictures, most of which involve a slightly dangerous swath of woods, either caught up in the undergrowth or on a borderline looking in. Another is that quintessential feeling of being on a path narrowing into the woods, this metaphor for time, movement, choices, and self. The works are meant to draw you into a mysterious place yet also have a sense of safe return, finding an opening to the light. Another early source for this relates to childhood experiences at overnight camp, including mythical bonfires surrounded by dark trees and also the strips of woods in the neighborhood where I grew up that had their way of beckoning us from our landscaped lawns to meet within their small topographies. Childhood was not without a darker side, though, as I had recurring nightmares about hiding in those woods from a bogeyman and Little Red Riding Hood’s wolf attacking my best friend!

Path from tree-house, 11×14 in,
pastel, pencil, 2023

Sunny borderline with verso, 11×14 in, 2023

Front yard sketch, 9×12 in.
pastel and medium, 2023

LG: Your artist statement mentions being inspired by ‘forms and sensations derived in Nature.’ Could you share how non-visual sensations, such as smells, textures, or emotions evoked by the natural environment, influence your work’s color, texture, and form choice? Could you provide examples of how a specific sensation or emotional response to nature has directly inspired a piece or series of your art?

Cathy Diamond: I came to ‘texture’ later in life – I think I felt it was this extraneous effect. To think that the grandness of nature is created by a seemingly infinite number of very small occurrences layered on top of each other is like life in society or any complex system of relationships. The repeating rhythms allow for these musical riffs of lines and forms, as well as dance rhythms/arabesques. Texture can also create the enveloping feeling of air itself, which I try to achieve through many layers of transparent paint. As for sound, when it’s supremely quiet in nature, it’s the wind tunneling through paths that speaks for all of it, the whole breadth of it all, or a rainstorm pattering through the night that allows all of the woods as one to bathe and receive it. For me, being in nature is so much more than depicting light and dark forms; it is about depth, continuity, and belonging.

Constellation 20 x 20 inches,
Pigment dispersion and acrylic on paper on panel, 2020

Flight Pattern, 19 x 19 inches,
Ink, pigment dispersion and acrylic on paper, 2016

LG: What other painters have you looked to for inspiration about painting the non-visual?

Cathy Diamond: Abstraction connected to Kandinsky, Andre Masson, Miro, and Gorky is my wheelhouse. In each case, traditional form painting led to more weightlessness while retaining a real specificity of the drawing elements. The space between their forms, which holds them at bay while simultaneously drawing them together, usually composed without a horizon, gives the linear forms a rhythmic connectivity. There’s a lyrical animation and imagery that draws from the subconscious that speaks to me. I also came to Burchfield later in life – he comes from my home state of Ohio- and brings that spiritual echoing around his trees that I respond to, as well as his expansive use of watercolor. Picasso, on the more figurative side, has been an influence from the beginning. I also love all the great landscape painters – Constable, Theodore Rousseau, George Inness, Thomas Cole, Brueghel, and many others give me deep pleasure.

Rain Garden I, 24 x 30, Acrylic and oil on panel, 2024

Wild Ending, 30 x 30 in, acrylic and oil on canvas, 2023

LG: The transformation of botanical into biomorphic and abstract forms seems important to your work. What attracts you to this concern?

Cathy Diamond: In college, I minored in textile design and worked in this field for a while in my twenties. Flat, quirky shapes that were part insect/plant became a referential abstraction I pursued even then when making patterns. Later, after I moved away from the figure, I saw trees and bushes as figurative stand-ins. I find them as animated as people are – upright and proud, frail and hunched, reaching out, starting simple and becoming increasingly complex. While it’s important to create ‘middle-ground’ space in a more traditional landscape space, I came from a tradition of seeing the picture plane as a kind of up-close lattice against a suspended background, skipping the space of the middle-ground, or coming to it, anyway, via a kind of ‘metaphysical’ suspended plane. I also worked to combine the two approaches, that is to suggest a middle-ground while also maintaining a compressed frontality.

Missing Persons, 30 x 30 inches, Acrylic on canvas, 2022

On the Outskirts of Town, 40 x 40 in,
acrylic on paper on canvas, 2022

LG: You’ve described the line as ‘the essential ingredient that inhabits my imagination,’ leading to the creation of branch-like figures, crazy-figurative hybrids, and representations of unseen energy. Considering this pivotal role of the line, could you walk us through your process of drawing these lines? Since you’re not ‘mapping’ a seen place or thing, how do you decide the veracity of your line?

Cathy Diamond: I often work in the landscape, so it is those interactions in the drawings or paintings on paper that I get inspiration from for larger paintings. They do feel like a kind of map of these places, which get transposed further by working from memory into a new arena. As for the line, works done from winter’s bare trees, for instance, comprise this moody study of linear gestures of incredible structures in contrast to the repetitive, smaller mark-making of summer textures. Later in the studio, I paint into the negative areas to push forward, creating new shapes while developing the atmosphere. It goes back and forth from what the line is becoming to how the layers of paint are suggesting or becoming an atmospheric place. I do feel that line, by which I mean drawing, is such a personal means of inventing forms and is such a carrier of rhythm that I’ve been guided for years to weave it more primally into painting.

Fantasia, 12 x 18 inches Mixed media on paper on panel 2022

Trees in Queens Diptych, each 16 x 12 inches, Acrylic and oil on canvas, 2022

LG: Given your exploration of non-visual sensations and the abstract representation of nature’s forms and emotions, how do you feel about viewers who approach your work with a focus on identifying specific forms and judge the painting based on how well these forms align with their own perceptions of reality?

Cathy Diamond: I want my works to suggest a place – any place – that a viewer can move through and see more and more paths to take. Some people see the abstract elements and are less interested in finding a narrative or figure to place. Either way, I’m very happy for multiple readings as my works are suggestive and open to various associations. I’m part abstract surrealist and part nature-based – readings of my paintings can span either territory. But, everyone has SOME connection to nature, so they associate through that raw connection to living animation.

Red Pinwheel, 24 x 24 in,
Acrylic on paper mounted on canvas, 2021

Toward the Light, 40x40in, Acrylic on paper on canvas, 2022

LG: Please say something about how you start a painting and what is generally involved in your process.

Cathy Diamond: I generally start by looking through my works on paper, plus many photos I take of places I’ve been, as well as details of plants and flowers on my local walks in Queens. I use them as references, jumping off points. Often, when starting paintings, I tone the white canvas or panel a color, then start drawing with paint in an open calligraphic way. As we all do, we have brushes that do different things, and for me, the quality of the gesture is important and intuitive. I’m working with water-based paints, so sometimes, after I’ve got an active drawing, I’ll mix a negative space color, either lighter or darker, and start cutting in shapes. Then I sit with it, as what the ‘story’ is about is something I will see over time.

Untitled Daytime, 18×24 in, acrylic on canvas

Untitled Nightime, 22x28in acrylic on panel

LG: You enjoy experimenting with new methods, materials, pigments, and collages. What do these experiments do for you, and how do they affect your work?

Cathy Diamond: One of the biggest bonuses of switching from oil paint to water-based paint (though I have since returned to oils) was that my works on paper and canvas were becoming intertwined – I started mounting my paper works to panels to become paintings in their own right. Paper is ultimately my favorite surface. When you spray water into the paper and to the marks themselves, the paint and line do wonderful things. I use Guerra pigments with gel mediums, Golden and Lukas acrylics, and different modeling pastes.
I do make some collages from ripped pieces of past paintings on paper – I work on the collages during different transitional periods – they let me focus on shape, composition and chance.

LG: What books have you read recently that significantly impacted you?

Cathy Diamond: I’ve mostly been reading and listening to journalism related to the war in Israel-Gaza, as I’m Jewish, and this has been quite a reckoning. There are so many voices and interpretations about history that it’s been a deep learning curve and entirely overtook my ‘reading’ time. This said, I’m starting 9th St. Women, which I’m already savoring.

Displaced II, 30x30in, Acrylic on canvas

Falling Away, 30x30in, Acrylic on canvas, 2023

Falling, Rising, 30x30in acrylic on canvas

LG: We’re all living in very crazy, unstable times. How does this impact your artmaking process and the themes you explore? How do you balance personal expression and artistic sensibilities with the urge to respond to or reflect on these global concerns?

The Border, 22×28 acrylic on panel

Cathy Diamond: The crisis in Israel impacted my work in a way I never would have expected, as generally, my internal imaginative world is connected to changing seasons more than changing events. Immediately after 10/7, I began a series of figurative works for several months, with no trees or botanicals and no autumn palette, just gold tones and black. I needed to feel what was going on regarding loss and displacement in this pictorial way. In part, I revisited earlier figurative works while inventing new spaces and figures. I concluded this group around April, having segued back to the landscape, but I hope I’m not done with these.

On the Frontlines, 19 x 20 in, Ink and Acrylic on paper, 2021

During the pandemic, my work changed too – I worked on paintings on paper that seemed to be expressions of our societal and personal fragility. They were concerned just with linear movements of brushwork, somewhat figurative, and all about fragility and time, as they were slow and involved. They came from a grouping of unfinished paintings on paper, where I kept editing down dark forms with a light, mutable ground color until the forms got thinner and frailer, then added other gestural marks. In both cases, the communal loss strongly filtered into my works. It’s hard to say how future events might affect me creatively, but I suspect they will. In the short term, I’ve already enjoyed two visits this summer to rural locations to paint and plan on more to come. I’m actually in the midst of a project of working in to several unresolved works on paper and canvas to find their deeper voices. This has been a beneficial and interesting process.

I would like to thank you, Larry, for this terrific opportunity to reflect and take stock of threads and themes over my career from its very beginnings. I’m thankful for your interest in my work.

Daybreak, 20 x 20 inches, Acrylic,
Ink and Pigment Dispersion on Paper mounted on Panel, 2022

The post Interview with Cathy Diamond appeared first on Painting Perceptions.

Highland Light, Truro, oil/panel, 10×10 inches

I am pleased to present a new interview with Kathleen Dunn Jacobs, a distinguished artist whose multifaceted career has greatly enriched the art community. I first became acquainted with Kathleen through my helping make a website for her foundational work with the Blueway Art Alliance in Western Massachusetts and with her roles as the Marketing Director for the Concord Center for the Visual Arts and the former Director of the Currier Museum Art School in New Hampshire. Kathleen resides in central New Hampshire with her family. She holds a BFA in painting and art history from the University of Massachusetts and an MFA in Painting and Visual Studies from Lesley College of Art and Design. Her paintings and drawings focus primarily on working from life, especially the landscape but also she also creates studio inventions and experimentation. Her brilliant, lusciously rich palettes and expressive paint application explore the landscape through abstraction, challenging traditional academic frameworks to craft a unique and rich visual narrative of poetic expression. Kathleen also teaches painting and drawing workshops across the United States and abroad, including in Ireland and Italy.

Larry Groff: What led you to want to become a painter?

Kathleen Dunn Jacobs: My first drawing class in college strengthened my desire to be an artist. Drawing opened a floodgate of emotion and drive to express myself with art. I was raised in a family that honored creativity and art, and I feel fortunate to have been able to easily follow my passion.

LG: What was art school like for you?

Kathleen Dunn Jacobs: I loved both my undergrad and graduate school experience, having found my tribe and support system. I developed meaningful, lifelong friendships from that time in my life. I was encouraged and treated with great consideration to help find my artistic way. My first drawing teachers pointed out what was interesting about each student’s work, but with a sense of excitement that motivated all of us to work hard and look forward to each assignment.

Marconi, Wellfleet, oil/linen 36×36 inches

High Head, Truro, oil/panel, 28×36 inches

LG: What were some of your most important lessons from that time?

Kathleen Dunn Jacobs: To this day, I model my teaching after my first drawing teacher’s method; that is to give thoughtful, honest and constructive critiques with a very kind, yet serious tone of encouragement. The most important thing I learned was to stay true to myself, and to see and draw by getting deeply involved with what I was looking at, no matter what the subject.

I learned to draw from piles of junk piled in the middle of the room and as I made marks with charcoal on big pieces of paper, not as a slave to replication but to understanding space, form, and structure within a composition. Drawing became a way for me to be involved in the world around me and a way to stay honest with my work and live in the moment. I learned not to intellectualize the act of drawing but just draw what I was seeing. I learned to get lost in seeing and let go of my expectations. The ordinary, everyday world became an interesting place for me, and I believed that careful consideration given to seeing can make a drawing or a painting exciting, no matter what you are looking at. I learned how to remove the chance of making work that is preconceived and let my process take over to see what will happen. It was and still is an exhilarating practice for me.

Towards Race Point, oil on linen, 24 x 24 inches

Herring River, oil on linen, 48 x 48 inches

LG: Can you say something about how the transitioning from work done outside life to indoor work from memory or outdoor studies impacted your relationship with the landscape you’re portraying? Would you say that you also bring the studio’s sensibilities back to your work outdoors?

Kathleen Dunn Jacobs: To begin my painting process, it is necessary for me to look at nature directly, keep one foot on the ground, and remain connected to the source of what I believe is real and what is precious. My paintings, process, and perception of my artistic practice have evolved. and lead to many questions driving my entire body of work. I love working outdoors since it helps me express my feelings about a place. Nature is a great teacher, and being outdoors keeps me out of my own head since I love to get lost in what I see and feel. And I love being outside. To this day, the work I’ve made directly from life outdoors—whether on Cape Cod, Italy, Ireland, or New Hampshire—are the most exciting paintings for me, they seem the freshest, and feel the most honest and the least self-conscious.

My studio work is more a reflection of my internal landscape, but it always starts with work that I’ve done outdoors. And I never replicate paintings. My studio work can sometimes be compilations of places, made-up places, and sometimes very specific, real places that I know well. I will often just use the colors and shapes in a different configuration that feels like a landscape but is not a literal depiction. I love working from memory now—something I thought I’d never be able to do when I was younger—and I incorporate a memory that is based on how I felt in a specific place.

I am deeply interested in how space and place affect us and how the variation or the simplification of space or shapes within a painting changes how we feel. A slight change can shift how it makes us anxious or calm. My constant preoccupation is deciphering and trying to understand what I’m looking at and why a space or place makes us calm. I try to just work and analyze after. That feeling of calm, both in my direct outdoor observational work and in my more distilled studio work, seems to just happen without trying. I credit that to getting lost and not analyzing until I finish a work.

Both painting practices, whether working from life or working from those paintings I’ve made outdoors, inform one another. I specifically love that about painting: that there are infinite ways to make a painting because of the infinite combinations and relationships that can be made. I like the idea of knowing that everything is related and that the colors and shapes depict relationships on a canvas and, in the end, can result in an interpretation of many human feelings that we all experience.

Municipal bird bath, Contoocook, NH, 2024 oil/cotton, 36×36 inches

Cruese, France, 2024 oil/linen, 30×36 inches

LG: I understand you worked with Maureen Gallace for a time. What piece of advice did she offer that made a difference for you?

Kathleen Dunn Jacobs: I worked with Maureen Gallace in graduate school. I wanted to work with her because I saw her small, buttery, postmodern landscape paintings at the 1998 Whitney Biennial. I loved that she was upholding the tradition of small landscape painting, as I was trying to do. Her work is highly influenced by the work of Alex Katz, and I loved the way she physically placed paint on the surface that resulted in a buttery appearance, like thin frosting with minimal information from minimal compositional elements. She helped me develop my studio practice—my work that is removed from the natural landscape and, hence, work that is more internally derived. I have a love of American post-WWII modernism that she relates to, as well, so I was thrilled to work with her. She is completely committed to her vision, which I respect.

I also worked with Barry Schwabsky, an advisor for a semester in graduate school. He is the art editor for The Nation and a brilliant poet who thinks like a painter. He writes about contemporary art and all the most relevant artists in the world today. His observation of my work became pivotal for me. He confirmed that my ambition to make work about the landscape/nature was relevant when few noted contemporary artists were painting the landscape from life or in person. He pushed me to dig deeper into understanding the work of Corot, Cezanne, and other more contemporary artists like Gerhardt Richter, Peter Doig, David Hockney, and many others—so as to understand how I fit in with my work in the context of our time. He confirmed my belief that art should be for others and is not a selfish act. That was a concept I have always tried to live by. I strongly believe that art is necessary and important for everyone in our society.

sea nap with lust paper, fabric, gouache, 9×11.5 inches

those buildings again, gouache, paper bags, 8×8 inches

Monomania Landscape

LG: Your work includes both large and small-scale paintings. How do you see these differing scales talking to each other when seen together as a whole body of work? Or are they separate activities? 

Kathleen Dunn Jacobs: It’s all the same body of work, and I face the same issues, no matter the size of the painting. I love composition and have studied the compositions of paintings by many of the masters of painting: Rembrandt, Cezanne, Morandi. Mostly because their love of composition and structure interests me in the same way. Composition became the underpinning for my painting mantra. Looking to nature helps me to compose naturally and keeps me from making contrived compositions and creating original work.

LG: You describe your works as ‘reconstructed landscapes.’ Can you elaborate on how this concept guides your creative process, particularly in what you’ve called “balancing the elements of tranquility and chaos”?

Kathleen Dunn Jacobs: My reconstructed landscape paintings are just one body of work of mine that is informed by my observational body of work. I started making reconstructed works without knowing what I was doing. I began rearranging the formal elements of color, forming space into completely different compositions while keeping the same tonal color relationships. I randomly rearrange elements, pushing and pulling them into something that I hope is graceful and calm while thinking of the space I was painting from life for my other representational paintings. My process can sometimes seem chaotic, but somehow, I eventually land so they feel more tranquil than chaotic.

My reconstructed landscapes reference the outdoor spaces I’ve painted, and they rely on my memory of the feeling there. Feeling from color started to come to the forefront instead of a specific place as the subject. My paintings became abstracted spaces as I pushed toward a greater point of distillation of the elements within my compositions.

LG: Your painting process involves ‘layering, editing, deciphering, and rebuilding.’ Could you walk us through a specific example of how this process unfolded in one of your recent works?

Great Island Brush Woods, Oil on birch panel, 5×9 inches

Kathleen Dunn Jacobs: In Great Island Brush Woods (see figure 13), I layered, distilled, and reconstructed the organic shapes from my original painted sketch to create a new composite image of the natural landscape. I’ve spent many years outside on Great Island in Wellfleet and have many memories and painted records of its muted green woodland. I used a vertical format—in contrast to the usual horizontal format found most often in landscape paintings—to help indicate that I am looking to nature anew, since we can no longer take its vitality (nor its very presence) for granted.

When I look at a landscape, that perceptual moment is when I gather information, not only about what I see, but my own emotion that can come only from looking … from witnessing my subject in person.

Cahoon’s Edge, 2011. Oil on panel, 10×10 inches

As I progressed, I pushed my paintings to an even greater point of distillation, as in Cahoon’s Edge , reducing my compositions to eliminate any obvious signs of a tree, field, or conventional horizon line.

LG: Your work reflects a response to the rapidly changing landscape due to factors like climate change and development. How much does portraying the beauty of nature stand up to the urgency of these environmental issues?

Kathleen Dunn Jacobs: It’s fair to say that my paintings contain layered meaning. Minimally, my paintings are a reaction to the Western culture of my time—my rejection of our society’s penchant for excess and indifference that threatens our planet’s ecosystems. I do not paint pictures of polluted rivers or littered fields. My work represents my own attempts in these chaotic times to reconnect and to decipher the natural world, and to come to grips with the exigencies of today’s stark environmental situation.

Violence and destruction exist in nature, yet when I paint, I choose to ignore these traits. In nature’s predictable rhythmic patterns, I see the sublime. To me, nature represents the ultimate example of gracious acceptance of change, even death; winter’s repose inevitably yields to spring’s rebirth. For these reasons, my paintings, at least, are simplified, idealized attempts that speak to nature’s persistence, vulnerability, and beauty, which I paint if for no other reason than this: within the natural world exists the promise of rejuvenation.

Back Garden with Umbrella, watercolor, gouache, 4 x 6 inches

Air, Land, Sea, watercolor, gouache, 3 x 3 inches

LG: You mention being influenced by the play of saturated colors with tonally mixed neutrals. How do you decide on the color palette for a particular piece, and what role does it play in your work?

Kathleen Dunn Jacobs: Nature is where I find my color palette and is what inspires me to keep looking and deciphering color. I use a very limited painting color palette, sticking to a warm and cool of red, yellow, and blue, and make any color I see with those three colors. I must keep it simple since it is such a very complicated endeavor to untangle what is in front of me. I am interested in making the colors I see, which, in the end, makes the paintings feel calm, which is why I am in that landscape. It all circles around, it seems and is all hindsight now; after years of just making paintings because I love to be outside, I realize that it calls me to be there to record. I fear losing our natural world, so I record it as best I can through my personal lens.

LG: Can you say something about how Giorgio Morandi might influence your work? What other painters have been most central to you?

Kathleen Dunn Jacobs: In formal matters of painting, Georgio Morandi would come to influence me largely because of his emphasis on close tonal colors and compositional structure. Morandi’s Landscapes are all about the structure of the landscape and his own honest, observational interpretation.

Tree/Bush Study, 2010. Oil on birch panel, 5.75×9 inches

Reconstructed Landscape Memory, Oil/linen, 30 x 40 inches

Fools Paradise, 8×10 inches, oil/panel (after deStael)

Kathleen Dunn Jacobs: Like Morandi, I see a combination of randomness and pattern in the landscape, and I seek to portray both. In Tree/Bush Study, my intent was to divide and interpret space. I established simple shapes of flattened mass. Deep space was not my concern, but space within the flat picture plane was, with the positive shapes filled in with closely related tones of color to portray serenity and structure. Tree/Bush Study combines abstracted form with the natural pattern, sequence, and order I see. This is what Morandi accentuated in his paintings, and why I relate to his work.

LG: You’ve expressed a lack of interest in replicating reality as a camera would see it. What grabs you instead? What aspect of reality is the most interesting thing to try to get at in a motif?

Kathleen Dunn Jacobs: Nothing can be replicated, and paintings are one personal take on the world. Art represents optimism for me since it is a synthesis of a personal vision and experience that creates another experience for the viewer. The idea of the unknown is what is thrilling every time I make a painting, no matter what I paint. I like the unpredictability of what will be made, that becomes new reality. I don’t think about a motif; I just search for a place I like and try to paint it.

LG: Having taught painting and drawing in various settings, how has your teaching experience influenced your own artistic practice?

Kathleen Dunn Jacobs: Teaching has made me realize how thirsty people are for an authentic experience, and painting provides that authenticity, as well as an authentic expression of a moment. Teaching has made me want to keep painting —especially from the natural world that is consistently challenging. I’ve seen painting transform people into artists after spending one week outdoors. It’s a magical and wonderful privilege to travel, teach painting, and especially to paint for others to enjoy.

Westhampton, 8×8 inches, oil

LG: Looking back at your artistic journey, how do you feel your work has evolved, and what future directions or explorations are you excited about pursuing?

Kathleen Dunn Jacobs: I never tire of painting the landscape. I recently moved to New Hampshire, away from a lifetime of painting on Cape Cod. The challenge of embracing a new, lushly vegetated landscape without having lived very long there, is a new and great challenge. I’m interested in seeing how my work will continue to change now, and I believe it’s only through the process that I’ll discover that. Lately, I’ve been interested in trees, in dense forests. I am also interested in how water has been a consistent player in my landscapes, from looking at the ocean to now looking at meandering rivers. I am excited about pursuing that thread for now. Certain themes seem to stay within my work, specifically depicting natural space, and specifically depicting water. I try not to think about it too much, knowing I need to just paint and see where it goes after looking at them.

LG: Can you say something about the workshops you lead here and abroad? What might a potential student expect to learn and experience from your teachings?

Kathleen Dunn Jacobs: I have landscape painting workshops at my farm in Contoocook, New Hampshire, and travel to Ireland and Italy each year to teach 10-day workshops. This fall, I’ll teach a workshop to Vinalhaven, Maine, a rare “step back in time” place that is an island off the coast of Rockland, Maine.

LG: My workshops emphasize the idea of sinking into a place. I teach my process of painting, which includes how to decipher complex natural settings, but my students and I also visit galleries, art museums, and cultural sites.

Kathleen Dunn Jacobs: An important question I like to pose to my students early on is to ask why they are painting. I don’t expect answers, but I talk about how important the intention is behind their work, since it is perhaps one of the most important components for making a painting. I like to focus on the bigger picture of intention so that each student will grow. I believe that intention will inherently come out as they work, and they will learn to make more interesting paintings for others to look at.

I also teach my method of simplifying the landscape. I don’t teach formulaic compositions or ideas and, in fact, purposely stay away from that when I teach. It’s often not what students expect, but, in the end, they develop their own way of seeing and, therefore, create paintings that are less contrived and more exciting.

LG: What art book do you treasure most?

Kathleen Dunn Jacobs: Oddly enough, I treasure most books by the Irish philosopher and writer John O’Donohue I read his work repeatedly to develop my relationship with nature and life and to develop my personal intention of painting landscapes. His books have helped me understand my painting in a way that feels authentic and keeps me positive and appreciative of the natural world that, seems to me, is becoming more and more angry these days.

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Red Geraniums, 2022-23, 56×50 inches,oil on linen

I am pleased to share this email interview with the painter Barbara Grossman. Last fall she gave me her delightful catalog, “Patterning Women”, from her July 2023 show at the Bowery Gallery. I wanted to find out more about her background, process and thoughts about artmaking so I asked her for this interview. I would like to thank her for her thoughtful answers to my questions. Since the 1980’s she has been making broadly painted artworks with a subject of invented interiors decorated with richly patterned floors and walls that flatten the space and harmonize with the groupings of women wearing patterned outfits. Andrew Forge has written of Grossman’s work, “It is what happens between the figures and the patterns that matters.”

Barbara Grossman is an American artist living & working in New York who has won several Awards: Fulbright Hayes Grant, Ingram Merrill Foundation, Connecticut Commission on the Arts, Ranger Prize (Nat’l Academy), Member National Academy of Design. Grossman has taught at Yale School of Art, Univ. of Pennsylvania, New York Studio School, Chautauqua Institution, Mt. Gretna School of Art, and more. She is represented by the Bowery Gallery in NYC and has exhibited widely.

Women Reading, 2022-23, 42×32 inches,oil on linen

Blue Shoes, 2019, 65×52 inches, oil on linen

Larry Groff: What inspired you to become a painter?

Barbara Grossman: It was not a matter of being ‘inspired’ but a way of being. As an only child with limited means much of my time was spent drawing with crayons or pencil. Fortunately, I went to the High School of Music and Art in NYC and that pretty much confirmed it for me. It came to me naturally that I was going to make art one way or another.

LG: What was your experience like as an art student? Could you share an important lesson from that time that remains crucial to your work today?

Barbara Grossman: Going to Cooper Union was another path toward my life as a working artist. Cooper was pretty straightforward; you took many classes in the visual art disciplines and worked hard, very hard. Many lessons were absorbed, but being rigorous in one’s field and not expecting rewards in the foreseeable future seemed to be at the forefront of what to expect.

Celadon Floor,, 2023, 26×19 inches, oil stick on paper

Gray Cat, 2021-22, 54×46 inches, oil on linen

LG: As a founding member of the Bowery Gallery since 1969, could you describe the early years? How did it come about? Who were some of the notable painters exhibiting there at the time, and what has sustained the gallery’s success for so long?

Barbara Grossman: The Bowery Gallery was a rag-tag group of young artists committed to their work. For us, missing was the opportunity to exhibit, so we provided ourselves with a venue, a derelict storefront on the Bowery. That allowed us to be a community and share our work with other artists. We were passionate, and sometimes we got pretty aggravated with each other, arguing about the better kind of painting/sculpture and who exemplified that ideal. We were all basically unknown, except to one another, and only got some recognition after years of exhibiting. The ethics and respect for each other, as well as the opportunity to exhibit, has been a thread that has held the gallery together for 54 years.

Chris, 1976, 27 x 27 inches, Oil on Linen

LG: Did your studies traditionally focus on figurative painting, working from models and observation? How has this influenced your current work?

Barbara Grossman: I worked directly from models, thus observation, from the time I graduated from Cooper until about 1980. However, figuration was not always my primary focus. There was a public drawing group on 14th St. & 6th Ave. that I went to several nights a week. I met a lot of artists there, including a few of the original Bowery members. My interest in the figure was steadfast, but it always included the environment in which the model resided. I would say that my current work is an evolution of my early work. The urgency of the human figure is still present, plus many other concepts and visual components that I now feel compelled to include.

Green Field, 2020, 44,x44 inches, oil on linen

LG: Matisse’s paintings seem to have had a significant influence on your work. Who are other painters who have greatly inspired you?

Barbara Grossman: Yes, Matisse has been a large influence throughout my career, but I spent almost a year copying Piero della Francesco, which I am sure was profound at the time. Others who have influenced me are Bonnard, John Graham, DeKooning, Soutine, Giacometti, Cezanne, Indian and Persian miniatures and often installation art. In more recent times Mondrian and contemporaries such as, Pat Pasloff, Brice Marden, Ruth Miller, Harriet Korman, Juane Quick to See Smith, and artists like Dana Schutz and Amy Sillman whose journeys and inventions are not predictable. Thus, the worlds they make are intriguing to me.

Mirrored Melody, 2002-2004, 30×24 inches, oil on linen

Red Stockings, 2019, 54×54 inches, oil on linen

LG: You’ve mentioned, “I think in color. Color and light are one.” Could you explain how this philosophy shapes your artistic process and compositions?

Barbara Grossman: That is a hard question to answer simply because the experience of color and light is inherent in my vision. It is not necessarily a philosophy alone but the way I believe I perceive the world. So, in my process, I try to incorporate light and color simultaneously as I make a picture. It is part knowledge, part visual, and part feeling that one is experiencing at any moment. Synergy might be a way to summarize the apprehension.

LG: In John Goodrich’s essay, Lightfall, Location, Gravity, for your latest exhibition catalog, he notes your view of naturalistic rendering as a “trap.” Could you elaborate on this perspective?

Barbara Grossman: It seems that ‘naturalistic rendering’ is distant from direct or imagined perception. It is purely conceptual and limited to an idea. When making a space that contains many things, one has to be open to any and all possibilities that will form the invented image. I want to bring it to life to the viewer so it becomes believable and ‘real’. Preconceived methods are not personal or formative.

Sisters Singing, 2002, 46×40 inches, oil on linen

LG: Your work emphasizes the flat picture plane, avoiding traditional perspective and tonal gradations. How do modernist notions of flatness and respecting the picture plane’s integrity benefit your work compared to conventional spatial illusions?

Barbara Grossman: That is true; the picture plane is skewed. I believe it is another way to present ‘near and far’ without the conventions of perspective, which is a concept and not at all how we human beings see. Tonal gradations are also a preconceived notion about how light falls on objects, planes or figures. Each painting is a new event. It is my experience that viewing a painting that offers this way of seeing is as convincing, if not more, than the traditional ‘spatial illusions.’ I believe that the known ways of describing are predictable and lifeless for the most part. Perception is more complicated because the eye and the mind are never at rest, so apprehending a space takes the constant motion of the eye. It is the interstices that brings a painting to life. When putting those moments of vision on a flat surface, one has to be in tune with that physical time-based experience. Everything is in flux until one ‘nails it’ to the canvas or paper.

Islamic Tiles, 2016, 20×30 inches, oil on linen

LG: Your recent travels in Morocco and Turkey seem to have influenced your work. What prompted these journeys, and could you describe any impactful moments that inspired your paintings?

Barbara Grossman: I have been fascinated by the artifacts and designs in tiles and architecture in the Near East and how they compress space, for a long time. I think it may have started with an interest in textiles. So, my recent trips to Morocco and Turkey were on my mind for some time. Being in such places was a thrill as it confirmed my sense that these were unique constructions for people to inhabit. In Istanbul, I discovered a modest-sized but spectacular Mosque hidden behind the Egyptian bazaar, which captivated all I had been feeling and dreaming about for years. Hours of drawing and being immersed in that space have given me a lifetime of ideas. It makes me want to paint images that viewers might want to enter.

Yellow Screen, 2004, 17×14 inches, monotype

LG: It appears that patterns in your paintings are less about defining perspective or precise geometry and more about creating a decorative repetition of color shapes. How does this approach facilitate movement through the painting and accentuate color harmony and design?

Barbara Grossman: Patterns are there to define the space and to figure out how it works in each particular situation. The geometry and repetition express and/or exaggerate that for me. This is a kind of all-over visual stimulation that I believe carries the eye throughout the painting. The color, figures, and accoutrements participate in the movement as they become one. The decorative is the harmony; it is never about perspective. That is the sensory and the tension that I want to achieve.

Rehearsal Trio, 2022, 24×18 inches, oil stick on paper

LG: Could you share more about your painting process? What factors influence your choice between using a brush or an oil stick? Do you use R&F Oil Pigment Sticks?

Barbara Grossman: Yes, they are R&F Oil Pigment Sticks. They are thick drawing tools that happen to have color as well. But because it is mostly linear, I think of them more as a drawing. There is no conscious choice between painting or drawing per se; it is about the immediacy and scale of what I feel like doing at the moment. For example, if I am testing an idea, I might start with a paper. Or, I might start a painting and, in trying to figure out what I am doing, go to oil stick for a quicker outcome. Paintings are started in a very direct manner. I mix up a few colors, maybe 5 or 6, using thinnish paint on the brush, and draw what I want in the color that it could be. I continue to paint with a kind of openness that may or may not stay on the canvas. I erase a lot with solvent. There are many layers over time. I redraw as I paint. I scrape and wash down paint so I can re-see the whole. So I keep going for as long as it takes, sometimes a year or more. The painting usually tells me when to stop, usually.

LG:  Do you predominantly work from invention and memory, or do you utilize drawings or photos in your process?

Barbara Grossman: Almost all of my work is invented. I will use drawing notations that I have done along the way for ideas and for an understanding of how something works in ‘real life’. I think of combinations of things that will end up as part of my compositions all the time. Nature and perception are my sources, even though they may not always appear that way. I rarely use or even consider using photos; it’s just not in my toolbox.

LG: Has there been an artistic idea or belief that you once held strongly but now reject?

Barbara Grossman: Artistic belief? Do you mean something I thought about philosophically rather than practically? I cannot think of something in my actual practice, in the making of paintings, since it has evolved over a long time, but I can think of something that I still ponder. That is Merleau-Ponty’s theory about ‘Cezanne’s Doubt’. Briefly, the notion that his mind was a blank slate receiving impulses from his actual perception seems impossible to me now. From an idealistic point of view, I loved that idea, but it does not seem credible to me, particularly since I did work directly from life for a long time. Transitioning from that experience to working from invention and sometimes memory has convinced me that it is not how humans apprehend their worlds, especially if they want to reproduce their experience on a flat surface, an abstraction.

A Cappella Trio, 2022,24×18 inches, oil stick on paper

LG: What are some artistic truths that you believe can only be expressed through painting, and how do you explore these in your work?

Barbara Grossman: I am interested in many visual arts disciplines. Great art goes right to one’s heart and soul. I am also curious about the meaning found in other ways of expression, like music, theatre, film, dance, literature, and even science. I think because painting is inherent in my being, it can affect me in the deepest way, as it is both visual and kinesthetic at once. I think I steal from other forms as they touch my sensibility. It flows when It happens.

LG: Could you name an art book in your collection that you could never part with?

Barbara Grossman: I own a copy of the first book about Matisse in which he chose the work that was printed. Cinquante Dessins, 1921. It was given to my husband, Charles Cajori, as a gift. He took it around to his classes and shared it with his students. Over time, it got worn, so I became concerned since it is not only a visual treasure, it has some monetary value. I had it conserved, and it lives in an archival shell, which I take out periodically and savor with friends. It is a true treasure.

LG: What book are you currently reading?

Barbara Grossman: I just finished Michael Brenson’s biography of David Smith. It is a terrific journey through Smith’s life and work and also a view of the time and other artists he consorted with. It is beautifully written as well. Often, when reading a long nonfiction book, I indulge in a story. The two I read were “Heat and Dust” by Ruth Prawer Jhabvala and “Simple Passion” by Annie Ernaux.

Blue Rug, 2010, 48×42 inches, oil on linen

Golden Dog, 2016, 36×30 inches, oil on linen

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