Inverted Dislocation, 2003, acryilc on canvas, 60" x 60" (framed). Seen on my studio wall. 

I can't believe that this painting is 22 years old and still in good shape after all of the moves it's been on from one studio to the next. This painting was the title piece of my first solo exhibition at the Bridgette Mayer Gallery back in 2003. It's one of the few paintings left that's  representative of my somewhat minimal phase that mostly consisted of stripes, squares, rectangles and lines of color used in various ways on surfaces.

Just prior to this work in the late 90s, I was making paintings that were very organic in terms of forms. The main images seemed to look like simplified cell structures. I often panted them in groups of three or more, some with lines around them and others without. The same kind of layering techniques I use now were present then, also.

I'd long been something of a fan of minimalist painting, but my approach was to accent the human presence in the making of the work. I let brush marks show and allowed undercoats of color to show through top layers. 

To begin making the stirped forms, I used a long ruler, but I didn't hold myself hostage to the integrity of the line once I started painting. I allowed the brush to go up to and over lines all of the time. Most of the time, I dialed it back a bit because I did want disctinct areas, but up close, you can see how the line between each colored section undulates down the canvas. 

Another rule I set up for myself was to not let my paitnings look too much like Sean Scully's striped paintings. That was the more difficult problem to solve, but I found ways of composing my paintings that made sense for me to make. I did'nt want to copy Scully, just take a bit of his strategy and make it mine. I feel like I learned a lot during the two to three years I focused on this work. 

Interstingly, I recently had a conversation with Jon Poblador, whose first solo show at BMG closes this coming Saturday, which is tomorrow, actually. Jon's work is made up of mostly variously sized stripes painted with 11-12 layers for each stripe. Anyway, I first met Jon back during the time I was making my stripe paintings and we've had an ongoing artist friendship ever since.

Jon asked if I think I could be interested in making similar work again. I had to think about it, but no, I'm not in that mindspace anymore. My love of densly layered paintings keeps me on a path that I'm not reallly ready to let go of. I don't feel enough of a pull to revisit those ideas right now at all. I'm too invested in the mess of life to go minimal again right now. There are different ways of making minimal work, but it's not in me right now.

The reason for me writing about Inverted Dislocation now is that it's found a new home after all of this time. Designer Eileen Tognini has been working on an office building to condo building conversion in center city Philadelphia and has brought some of my work into that project and as of today, it's installed, has a new life beyond the studio for the first time since 2003 and looks great. It's exciting to know that some of my older work still resonates with people after all of this time and my thanks to Eileen and framer, Breck Brunson. 

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There's been a lot of work circulating in and out of the studio lately, a good thing for the most part. This latest round of cycling out works ended with a wimper this past week. A consultant was looking for work for clients, so I sent some works over to the gallery, but the consultant's clients passed on my works. They'll be returning soon. It was nice looking at the painting rack and seeing areas that were more open, but all good things come to an end. I was slightly bummed, but not everything is for everyone. With other things to concentrate on, it's been pretty easy to let that go. 

••••••

A couple of days ago, I read a short-ish essay about the attitudes of new generations of art collectors and how there seem to be distinct differences between, say Gen Z people in their late 20s, early 30s than older generations. One observation in the essay, Soft Toys, Hard Truth,  Blackbird Rook talks about some of the reasons younger people might not engage with contemporary art: "I met a 28-year-old the other day who told me that they love painting but “find galleries intimidating.” Intimidating! This person had an MA and an income that would outstrip most gallerists I know, but art still felt like a club, like a place you had to unlock, or be given permission to enter. That isn’t their failure. That’s ours, because somewhere along the way, the art world - for all its performative openness - decided it preferred the status quo" and later added, "I’ve seen people change their minds in real time. A friend once wandered around a gallery with me on holiday, rolling his eyes, arms folded, full of good-natured scepticism. But when I explained what the artist was doing - not the theory, just the basic idea - he lit up, because it wasn’t nonsense. It was just unfamiliar. And his instinctive reaction wasn’t invalid, it was part of the conversation". 

First, why are we still having this conversation about galleries being intimidating in 2025? Yes, I know most of the standard answers to that question, but it still annoys me that it seems nothing has changed that would seem to make galleries more welcoming.

On the second point above, I completely agreed with the writer that most people, when engaging with a lot of contemporary art for the first time, won't have any reference points for what's going on and why. To allay some of their skepticism, we (meaning artists, galleries, art writers, museums, etc...) need to be more open to helping viewers understand what they're seeing. It doesn't have to be spoon feeding them, but it helps if we try to explain and write about contemporary in a less academic manner. It also helps to not treat your audience as if they're the ones with the problem when they don't "get it".

In a response to a comment I made about their essay, the auther also brough up the fact that a lof of new audiences for contemporary art might not have the capacity to sit and deal with complexities in new art that often leave a lot unresolved. It can take time to digest what's going on with new modes of expression and for people with seemingly little time for sustained engagement with art, that may mean moving towards things that are more familiar and seemingly less intimidating. 

The essay itself and the accompanying comments are worth your while to read, so check it out when you can: Soft Toys, Hard Truth