How would describe your work to somebody who doesn’t have an art background or reference point for understanding what abstract expressionism is all about?
Well, I think that the material and the medium is what it is. You know, it’s not trying to represent a landscape, for example, or a picture of something in particular. My work — it’s meant to be paint and surface and texture and color.
And I try to let the actions and marks on my canvas reflect my state of mind so you can sense what I’m feeling or expressing. But I’m not trying to make a “thing” or represent something else. I’m trying to make something that is its own thing that comes from either within me or from outside of me, into me and then back on to the surface. And it’s very process oriented – I use the basic elements like texture color, line shape, form, gesture, scale to convey an experience rather than an object.
Then the viewer becomes part of the process after I’m done with a piece. They start a relationship with it, and if they buy it they connect with it then it becomes something new again. The interpretations that follow become the viewers’, not mine. I don’t create work that says “this is a bridge, and this is a romantic feeling of a sunset, and here’s how you’re supposed to experience this.” It’s far more open-ended. I’m allowing you to define whatever you see and feel when you engage with it. The more you explore, the more you’ll get out of it.
So what do you hope your viewer takes away from your work when they interact with it?
I hope it gives them something beautiful and wonderful and that it feeds them over a lifetime or even generations. I hope to give them something that they can keep enjoying, like re-reading a good book. I work very hard to put a lot of content into my work, and that content isn’t always given to you at first glance. But spend some time with my work, place it in a spot where you can see it every day, and over time it comes. You’ll see nuances that you didn’t see before. A good painting reveals itself slowly, which can be very calming to experience on a daily basis, and they offer new insights to you all the time.
I am curious too about how you choose titles for your work. Do you begin with a title or does the painting reveal its name to you along the way? Does it ever surprise you?
Sometimes I’ll write a few words on the painting to start things off – could be a few words from a song or a conversation I’ve had – but it doesn’t necessarily end up being the title of the piece. I often struggle with titles because my work aims to be experiential and ultimately nonverbal.
And I think it’s important to be open to where the work will lead you. Over the years, I’ve come to be more honest with myself and realize that sometimes I don’t really know where my paintings are headed. I’ll have an idea that itches at me, so I’ll read and write and study — and I can’t sleep for three days because I’m thinking about this idea constantly and I’m determined to go in a certain direction. And then I go into the studio and realize that something else is happening and I have to let go of my earlier ideas. All of a sudden I’m doing something completely different in order to move forward. It might sound crazy, but trust me this is awesome when it happens.
And there’s something, too, about seeing the work as part of your own personal journey. I was telling my friend recently a famous story I’d heard about this master painter in Venice long ago who had two young apprentices. He was constantly working, and every time the apprentices would go to his studio, they would marvel at his dedication as he’d be working on the same painting so intensely.
So 20 years later, long after the apprentices had left to go out in the world to become painters themselves, they come back to visit the old master, and he’s got a painting covered up in the studio that they’re curious to see. So he takes the cover off with great flourish … and they’re pretty surprised to see it’s the same painting he’d been working on before, but now it’s even richer with lines and marks and new details. And in that moment the apprentices realize that the act of painting isn’t necessarily about the object on the canvas. It’s also a reflection of the creative journey, which can span a lifetime. And what that story means to me with that it shows how different styles of art can still reflect a similar truth – in this case, it’s not about recreating a particular image, but rather refining an idea as it travels with you and letting things flow with you over time.
So what inspires you? Is it life experiences that you’ve had? Or do you aim to stick to raw emotions?
Well, so there’s something that’s maybe wired a little differently for me, right? Like at my most basic level there’s this thing where for some reason I need to create things visually. I like to paint. I like to draw. I like to make things. It’s something inside that drives me to create, but I have been studying other painters my whole life – not just their work, because that’s technical, but I like to learn about their lives and the way they lived, their ideas and how they responded to the world around them. When you understand some context, then the art that’s made becomes more of a conversation than a product.
And of course I’m inspired by living artists, too, which is why I’m excited to see a place like JuxtaHub in the Lehigh Valley. When artists have a place to get together and create alongside each other, they naturally start talking about so many different things – because we all come from something, right? But it’s like we start feeding each other, and at the end of the day that inspires me a lot.
Let’s talk about creative challenges. Do you experience them? Do you ever experience anything akin to writer’s block?
There are so many challenges – some technical and some purely up in my head. So, for example, when it comes to technical challenges I am very much focused on the integrity of the piece itself. When I make a painting, I want it to be made well so that it should last a couple hundred years, but that requires using good materials. You need to build a good structure and surface, and you need to buy paint with good pigment. So that requires money, right? It’s a constant investment (I just bought a tube of paint yesterday – that one tube of paint was $56). So you have to invest in your work if you want good results. And then there’s the cost of renting a workspace and meeting your other life obligations, so those types of challenges are just a part of life.
But in terms of the real creative challenges, the kind that live in my head, the biggest thing that I’ve been working on is my insecurities. I’m human, so it’s easy to get jealous or start feeling competitive, and those kinds of stumbles aren’t good. Sometimes I’ll just say stuff without listening. Those are challenges that I’m always trying to work on because those types of emotions can be roadblocks.
And then there’s the challenge of maintaining all your other relationships – living your life with the people you love and being constantly distracted by whatever project you’re immersed in. I call it being in “the zone,” and it’s like I’m in this virtual space in my head while I find myself still going through the motions of daily life — I get up, I eat my breakfast, go do whatever the day demands—but I’m not completely present. A part of my mind is always in this other space, and all I want to do is go back to the studio and work—and sometimes in life there are times when you can’t simply run off and do just that.
But it’s not like I can control that urge. It’s an energy calling you, and the momentum’s there and you gotta ride that wave as often as you can because it when it stops, then you know, it’s not like you can say to yourself, “oh I’ll wait till later” because when you go back later that that wave of energy may have passed.
So given these insights about creative challenges, what advice do you offer other artists, especially those who are just starting out?
I really love it when I’m invited to give talks with young artists, and I make a point to attend student gallery shows whenever I can. I like to get a sense of what’s going on, and I’m always looking for a unique voice in the crowd. It’s only natural that student work can be derivative because they’re so deep into learning about everyone else who came before them. Other times it seems like their own ego is too much present in the work. If there’s one thing I’ve learned the hard way it’s that there’s great value in being humble. It takes a lot of emotional work to find your own style and a lifetime to perfect it.
For example, I saw these paintings the other day at a student gallery and there was one portrait that stood out — it was all this red paint on paper that conveyed a lot of motion, and I could tell the person who made the paintings probably didn’t have a lot of money for material, but they were using what they had and it was like the best work I saw because it was unique and true. And so I left wishing I could have talked to the person who made that work because I really felt like they were holding something back. I wanted to tell them, “Go more with the red. You’re really on to something here, so go with it!” But I think fear and insecurity and ego—as well as the practicality of buying supplies–those are things that we all struggle to overcome.
That said, I think there’s also value in not getting hung up on your own achievements. There’s a celebrity culture that’s easy to aspire to, and it’s all too easy to envision a specific path where your goal is to be signed by a big gallery and all the steps seem to be neatly laid out in front of you. But when your studio time is guided by those objectives, it’s all too easy to tune out the creative ideas that make your work truly your own.
I’m really fond of that quote about studio ghosts by Philip Guston: “When you’re in the studio painting, there are a lot of people in there with you – your teachers, friends, painters from history, critics… and one by one if you’re really painting, they walk out. And if you’re really painting YOU walk out.” It’s like that third hand comes out and paints the painting, right? How beautiful is that?
So in the context of your life, did you have a moment when you realized that this was your path and what you needed to be doing? How did you know that?
Well, I always knew from an early age that I was creative, that I seemed to approach ordinary things a little differently than what might be expected. It’s always been natural for me to express my ideas visually. But it took some time for me to realize this was the direction I was meant to pursue.
Over 20 years ago, I had another career as a restaurant bar owner, which is a very creative occupation, too. But as I got into painting, I made friends with a few other artists who encouraged me to go to Brooklyn where we started a gallery together. As I started surrounding myself with all these painters, I found the more I got into it, the more it clicked. And then I just made a conscious decision that I didn’t care what else I could do with my life because if I’m not making art I feel like I can’t breathe. It’s like I can’t take an air. It’s like I’m in a room with no oxygen. You know what I mean?
So when I paint, I’m in balance with myself. It took me a long time to come to that realization, and there were some people in my life who couldn’t accept that decision. They kept asking “why are you doing this? Why don’t you buy a beach house?” Needless to say, I didn’t buy a beach house. Sometimes I think to go forward you have to let go of that stuff because otherwise it’s like holding on to a toxic relationship.
I just had to commit to my art and say “this is where I’m headed. This is how I’m going to live my life because it’s important to me.” Having that insight about myself makes it a lot easier to handle criticism because I know my truth. You can’t be an artist and internalize other peoples’ doubts – how can you make something when you’re feeling bad about yourself? You can’t give something creative to somebody else if you’re not in a good place.
Why do you think people should care about art?
Well there are a lot of reasons — because art serves a higher purpose, it adds value to the world and can change lives by leading us to new ideas. But you know what it’s NOT about? While it’s true that art is highly collectible and can increase in monetary value, at the end of the day It’s not really about like money and all that stuff.
Good art puts us in touch with powerful emotions and becomes a reference point in our lives. Some people may think they don’t really care about art that much, but then when there’s a funeral and they need a poem to read at the service will any poem do? Not at all. They need to find a good poem, one that moves everybody. That’s how art works its way into our everyday lives. Or when you’re feeling in a mood, driving around and then a certain song comes on the radio and it just lifts you? I think you can experience the same thing when you’re in front of a painting. Art helps crystallize a moment or a feeling for you, and that’s when art becomes a primal experience.
So last question, what’s next? What are you working on, what’s on the horizon for you?
I want to put a show together with some other abstract painters. I envision an event where people can walk through and experience a series of non-representational paintings like chapters in a book. But for right now I also want to really focus on my next pieces.
I’m enjoying getting into my studio and I’m putting a lot of energy and focus into making larger paintings. And I’m allowing the work to just happen, you know what I mean? I think there’s a lot of talent here at JuxtaHub, and it’s impossible to put a lid on that. There’s so much potential. At the end of the day, I’m just happy to be on board to see where this all goes.
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