 |
| I couldn't believe the colors that happened to be nearby on my dresser... |
I was honored to contribute a writing to my friend and Philadelphia painter Bill Scott's catalog for his show opening at Hollis Taggart next week. In all honesty I was a bit terrified. I like to write but it can be a difficult task for me, especially in the context of it being for another painter. I hope I did justice in writing, my pictures especially don't do justice here. But the catalog gets close, the reproductions are beautiful. And the paintings in person are a delight. Below is my essay and info on the exhibit...
Bill Scott: Reinventing His Rose
On my most recent visit to Bill Scott’s studio, a
reproduction of Matisse’s 1942 painting, The
Idol, came into view as he moved a large canvas propped against the wall
onto the easel for better viewing. His paintings often strike me twice. First comes
a flood of pure sensation, as Bonnard once described, “the appearance of things
in the exact moment of entering a room.” Colors and air whip up a positively
frenzied delight. And then as I settle back into my chair, shaking my head to
clear my eyes of the unrelenting beauty of the thing, I can start to really
see. Under the bounty lies something much more precarious and daring, hidden in
plain sight. The beauty Scott presents rests on an infrastructure that is of
our world and of the rules of painting. There is space that expertly opens and
closes, foreground spilling forward only to be held up by a dainty violet line,
tiny slices of open windows offering a glimpse of cascading shape gardens
beyond.
As I sat there reveling in that distinct
post-looking-at-good-painting glow that any painter can attest to, I thought
harder about why these paintings work while others fail. I have seen previous
students and contemporaries try to emulate his expression to no avail. Scott’s
work is seductive and relatable and makes painters want to paint, so that is
understandable. But it is inimitable; other attempts feel shallow and sugary,
somehow simultaneously lacking the search and sophistication. Perhaps it was
seeing the Matisse print in such close proximity that night, but I felt as if
Matisse had reached into my internal conversation. In a 1953 essay he talks about
how a painter must look at the world as if seeing for the first time, not jaded
or bleary eyed, but full of wonder, if he ever wants to express a true and
original vision. He goes on to say, “I think that nothing is more difficult for
a true painter than to paint a rose, since before he can do so, he has first to
forget all the roses that were ever painted.”
Scott seems to be constantly studying other painters’ roses,
real roses blooming on Philadelphia fences, his own previous versions of those
roses, thinking about them and then reinventing them. He does this not in a
haphazard, casual way or in a dramatic, upending way, but by looking out at the
world and absorbing its matter and then deliberately attempting to express its
grace.
That first striking sensation I feel when I look at his work
is this, his pure feeling, that humble, stark acknowledgment of being human and
staring directly at the glory of nature, which necessitates a first-person
response to be emotive. But for that sensation and invention to maintain power
it must be held up by a serious and disciplined understanding of formal
consideration. This is the thing that is so masterful, understood by Scott and
Matisse alike. The degree of invention is sustained only by the difficult and
unyielding parameters of form. Compositional decisions of shape and color are
completely devoid of excess, each touch to the surface purposeful and felt.
This synthesis of rigorous structure and abundant generosity allow for a world
where a circle knocking at the window or a squiggle pausing to catch its breath
may be a little whimsical but by no means unbelievable. The familiar is
otherworldly, in a kind and forgiving way, positing a place we haven’t really
been but hope to visit one day.
1 comments:
Fantastic essay.
Post a Comment