STATION TO STATION
About a year ago, I inexplicably felt compelled to paint train tracks, stations, terminals, depots and other transport hubs. Then my mind got busy, and I began to question why. Perhaps it was because my studio is flanked by a rail yard, or because I’d spent countless hours in and around such places in my daily life, in my travels, and as a result of unfortunate summer employment when I was a student. Then again, maybe I was intrigued by the allegorical implications inherent in train tracks converging and vanishing on a horizon line, or by the pictorial allusions to the transitory nature of existence: always arriving and departing at the same time, and never in a state of permanence. And what about the mystical connotations implied by…
Shut up and paint, I reproached myself, my mantra when in doubt about the worthiness or significance of a particular subject matter.
Each work generally began with reference to a photo or memory, but then, as usual, intuitive aesthetic impulses took over. I recalled the words of Hans Hoffman who said, “Eliminate the unnecessary so that the necessary may speak.” Each painting consequently evolved into something not so much about a particular place, but represented, rather, more of an essence or archetype of such places, in varying degrees of representation and abstraction.
There are an abundance of valid interpretations for this series—and of course I have a few of my own—but I would never be so arrogant as to suggest what the viewer should see, feel or understand. It’s up for discussion, and that is the enigmatic character of art that has sustained my curiosity and passion for over 40 years. Have at it.
The exhibition title itself is a humble tribute to the late David Bowie, whose album and track of the same name haunted my thoughts during the painting of this series, as it has done periodically since its release in 1976. To you, Mr. Bowie.
My artistic lineage goes directly back to the roots of abstract expressionism. My instructor, Gordon Smith, was taught by important San Francisco Bay area painter Elmer Bischoff, who was on faculty at the University of California Berkeley with the likes of Richard Diebenkorn and Clyfford Still in the 1940s.
Still, of course, was an important if reluctant member of the so-called “New York School” in the 1940s and 50s, along with Jackson Pollock, Willem deKooning, Mark Rothko, Franz Kline and many others of note.
Diebenkorn and Bischoff headed up the Bay Area painters, who alternated between figurative and abstract expressionism.
This lineage has deeply affected my artistic sensibility and my approach to painting, and I feel fortunate and honoured to be a product, to some degree, of such an esteemed group.
My work is inspired and informed by locations ranging from lava flows and glaciers, to grass and sage covered prairies, to manicured seaside parks, to urban sprawl. The natural or built environments are used as starting points from which each painting evolves and transforms, until representational elements are often subdued by aesthetic impulses and considerations. My goal is to create an image filled with vitality and stated in as few brush strokes as necessary. I’ve found that once the inexplicably “correct” strokes have been executed, petting or tidying the paintings only detracts from their vigor. Paint inherently runs, drips and bleeds, and I find much of the expressive potential and beauty in this very fact.
My newer paintings explore the physical, formal and/or psychological elements of cities. The works range from what could be interpreted as very positive, brightly-coloured renderings filled with optimistic vitality and a hint of nostalgia, to darker and more sombre depictions of sterile, deserted concrete canyons and a ominous sense of isolation and alienation. For me, the intriguing aspect of cities is the coexistence and duality of these seemingly disparate characteristics: the yin and yang of urban existence, so to speak.