In his early twenties, a young man from Switzerland arrives on the Greek Aegean island of Sifnos one May, trying, at once, to discover the colors of nature and, at the same time, his own personal colors.
I was up for the sunrise and climbed the Inca ruins with my paints. Words cannot adequately capture how truly spectacular this site is, and how amazing that they could build these structures in this inaccessible place.
Imagine being seen for who you really are, inhabiting space as a central figure in the narration. In this powerful interview American artist Kerry James Marshall talks about how he explores the presence and absence of the black figure in art history.
The staring dog, his beloved passed-on pet, whom he painted into one of his Cajun Bayou scenes to explosive popularity, is part of sixteen other museum and permanent collections, and currently four feature collections.
Between the striking image and just the sheer oddity of finding a fully completed canvas left above a water meter on the side of a house, it was eventful. There was a note attached: "For you, if you want it. Love, Allison."
Veteran artist Wayne Thiebaud -- who will turn 93 on November 15th -- isn't slowing down a bit. His current one-man show at the Paul Thiebaud Gallery, Memory Mountains, consists of 31 paintings and 17 works on paper and fills both floors of the gallery.
Jennifer Pochinski is a Sacramento based painter who paints in a big, generous style. Although she is a representational artist, Jennifer works like an Abstract Expressionist, often covering an entire canvas in a single day.
Furr's grandmother introduced him to oil paints when he was 12 years old. He would set up a still life with fruit and paint it. He was obsessed -- he loved and still loves oil paint and the distinct smell of pure turpentine. "I was lucky. I found my dharma at age 12 years," he says.
The human brain itself has dedicated hardware for seeing the face and the body. When this hardware is consistently not put to use in a culture's art, the art and the culture engage in a battle. The art loses first, and the culture second.
I've got a horse but I still think of him as a pony. He certainly acts like it. Red, named for his sorrel color, is no longer young and he's far from old. That's part of the problem. He's getting too old to train, but he's too young to saddle.
As a member of the National Council on the Arts, the advisory board to the National Endowment for the Arts, I was pleased to read about the recent unveiling of the Rosa Parks statue in the U.S. Capitol Building's National Statuary Hall.
In the Internet age, everyone is a critic -- often an unhinged critic who hides in the "comment" sections of an article. With fine art, it is easy to say that art critics do not count for much, because fine art is subjective by its nature, so the only opinion that really counts is your own.
Although I grew up in New York and have lived there for many years, I have a summer studio in Maine. Every summer I pack up and go to paint following the tradition of so many of America's painters from Winslow Homer to Alex Katz.