48" x 60" . Acrylic Painting on Canvas
ARTIST COMMENTS: Often, most often, the painting will show me what I need to express. I usually don't have much of a clue. This is really frustrating when, like with 'The Wall,' I started out intending to paint and enjoy a large floral abstract; light and airy. Well, the Painting Gods had a far different idea.
This painting came about during the presidential election of 2016.
My skies always come in first. They usually provide a clue as to where I'm going. This one was bold and big and powerful. My first thought, "Oh shit - what's in store for me on this one?" I painted on. What choice did I have.
A landscape of sorts appeared, but a distant, hillside? For some unknown reason, I was drawn to create these beautiful, odd sharp lines which I was really enjoying on the left side of the canvas, something I have not done in the past. They seemed to be taking the shape of little stackable houses? I didn't understand what they were, but I did love the design and composition as they seemed to cascade onto each other - it felt like a tight community?
I continued to paint (I never sketch, I just paint, as I find it more intuitive if I don't plan). I felt it odd as I noticed the color palette I was using for these little houses was completely different than the usual bright, bold primary colors that I’m normally drawn to.
These were calming, earthy colors; pleasing. Still, I didn't understand where my painting was leading me? I had to keep painting ...
I was online and stumbled across an image of a slum in Rio de Janeiro. My painting started making sense. These little stackable houses were a community; they were slums.
I googled many pictures and printed them. At first I felt so guilty, in awe of the beauty of the color and shapes of these buildings, forgetting for the moment the ‘lack’ associated with them. But they were beautiful.
A funny thing happened as I painted that hillside slum community. I felt the community, family, the close connection of the people; I ‘felt’ happiness in spite of the lack within, and then I ‘felt’ loneliness, the kind of loneliness of the fortunate, always longing for more. It was me.
I kept painting, having faith now that more would be revealed - and it would be, soon. I was not enjoying this process, but what choice did I have? The painting was now in charge.
There was another side of this hill - and once again I felt compelled to paint shapes, yet these shapes were completely different. These shapes were tall and straight and rose to the clouds, sterile and cold.
They were grand buildings - a city! This city was tight and crowded, yet I felt there were no people around. Where were they? They were trapped within those buildings, behind those dark windows. I felt no sense of community, no family, no happiness, just a deep, empty loneliness.
Odd, but I felt at home there, or at least it felt familiar in a very sad way. It hurt, so I kept painting.
Soon, I started painting these odd buildings between the city and slums - not sure why? Later I would find out. These were, as the rest of this painting would be, a horrible, time-consuming, meticulous project of minute details; something I despised. Once I start down that road, my OCD demands that I finish. This painting was one of those.
So these three twisted towers rose from the ground (with all those damned windows).
Now I had a city on one side and a slum on the other and these three strange, creepy buildings in between. WTF? Somebody better help me out here!
I felt, (that's the best way to figure out the direction, just relax and feel it), the ground on the slum side, the flowers - there were so many flowers - and they were abundant, so I got busy painting flowers - hundreds and hundreds of flowers - and then fireworks showed up.
This made sense. These people had nothing, but they had everything. They appreciated color and beauty and family and took the time, precious time, to do so. This is what I felt.
But then, what about the other side?
I tried feeling the ground, the flowers. I felt nothing. I mean nothing! I went over to that side of the painting and looked up at the buildings, trying to have some compassion and understanding for these people, for I was one of these people for most of my life.
Could I not see these flowers? Did I not take the time to even look?
NO, I did not.
I decided to give them flowers anyway. Roses, but they were all alike - beautiful, dark red roses, but they were, as I finished painting them, I realized, funeral roses. It was so depressing being on that side of the tracks. I couldn’t wait to get back to the slums.
Now, how did the wall get there? And those three buildings?
The buildings were subsidized tenement housing, to try and get these people from the slums, closer to the city. But then, why can't they get to the city?
The next day it became clear: because they were not allowed, and they never would be. There was a wall to keep them separated.
This was exactly the same time 'THE WALL' was being pushed by our new dictator, as well as an unconstitutional ban.
A wall to keep the undesirable people away from the privileged.
Same old story, only now they are trying to build a real wall.
That political wall - it's just fence and brick - it's the hate and ignorance, racism hidden behind it that is the real wall, that separates us from each other, from being human, beings.
This is an example of why I cannot try and reproduce anything I’ve done, because even if I try, the Painting Gods may have different ideas.
My job is to show up, to paint and obey. Painting can be fun of course, but it can be hell.
There will only be one WALL.
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