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Entering John's studio I am overwhelmed with the quantity of
information. There are large raw sculptural studies surrounded
by masses of repetitive folded papers, drawings that seem more
like diagrams, piles of books and computer printouts. At the center
of his investigation and his space, stand large clean paintings.
I am reminded of the male bower bird, who builds an elaborate
nest as part of a seduction dance. Despite it's extensive construction
and ornamental decoration the nest is not intended to house the
bird - it is only part of a courting ritual intended to build
confidence, show skill, attract attention. The elaborate support
structure that surrounds John's painting recalls the fervent activity
of this bird. John was painting before he was researching. The
research is the subject of the paintings but I don't believe it
is the cause. And, at the point when the paintings leave the studio
to exist on their own, the motivations of the artist become secondary
to the facts of the paintings.
We are given simple works that are beautifully crafted, details
precise, surfaces specific. The globular, intestine-like organic
forms are clean and separated by comic outlines that echo the
canvas edges. The color, because it is not descriptive of form
acts as a code. The pinks and greens determine the blues and oranges.
The outside shade of buff white determines the inner color values.
This off-white encases the organic forms and buffers them from
the outside world; small protrusions reach into that space. The
paintings are diagrammatic and creature-like at the same time,
descriptive and active.
I asked John why he no longer paints representational or recognizable
forms, and he answered saying 'This project is about making something
as opposed to depicting something. But not the modernist kind
of thing. This thing is rooted in a network of meaning. I want
these paintings to be more like trees. A tree is there all the
time. It's a thing in the world. You can walk right by it, you
can get up close and be mesmerized by it, it's an integral part
of the environment, and it's presence provides a sense of mysterious
comfort. Somehow, in the pit of your instincts you just know it's
a good thing.' Still, I believe that it is not the stability of
the tree that John strives for, but it's mutability. It is only
because a tree is continually changing that we are comforted by
it. It responds to the environment and time, slowly adapting to
climate, age, and resources, and I believe, that this mutability
is not unlike the alchemistic urge that resides in so many artists.
So, perhaps these paintings communicate to me that they are about
creation, through tracing history and using it anew, connections
completing circles and each element propelling the next, contributing
to an evolution of sorts.
Laura
Greengold is an artist and writer living and working in New York
City. |
