In the forefront we witness a clash of the elements: seawater trying to eat away pieces of the shore, or hitting violently at the rocks that obstruct its clear flow and passage. These are the most exciting and energetic parts; they contain notable color variety and a straightforward conflict — the water boils, as if angry, the rocks glare with reflected light, as if baring their teeth in response. It pleases me that I am able to feel the vibrant atmosphere and almost smell the salty air –  the observer is being made a part of the scene by the latter’s sheer force. I would also suggest browsing the artist’s website for the river pieces, where the quiet and calm premise counteracts with glacial softness.

There is some restrained irony in how the bustle recedes as we enter the open sea. Strangely enough, the transition does not reduce the tension but only anchors it by waves of unpredictability, imparted by the dirty blue-grays. Moreover, the spray and foam that carried the light in the foreground descend, disappear and eventually transform into fog in the back. As a consequence, the vivacity and swirling is lost, and the audience is left with an unexpected cold visual application, as if a pictorial “wake up and back to reality” call. I think that this transition may bear the metaphorical connotation of the loss of innocence and the shift from adolescence to adulthood — two inherently romantic notions.

So if I were to try and categorize these paintings stylistically, I would careen strongly towards romanticism. Surely they are all-rounder than that, otherwise the artist’s intent mentioned at the outset would not bear a single sea cucumber. But there is something over the top — romantic — in these scenes that is difficult to ignore, the whole elemental struggle scenario that works its way from exposition to epilogue with admirable perseverance. And, it is as refreshing as a breath of Mediterranean sea breeze in a warm May morning.

Read More Reviews:

• Sandra Flood: Still Life with Grand Piano
• Casey Klahn: How to Make Your Audience Weep
• Casey Klahn: Trees and Clouds, Transient Monuments
• Edvard Munch: Madonna
• Todd Ford: Broken Glass
• Raphael: Madonna of the Meadow
• Caravaggio: Deposition (The Entombment of Christ)
• Jean-Francois Millet: The Gleaners
• El Greco: The Holy Family (with Saint Anne)
• Jean-Francois Millet: Angelus

I think that the first problem is being effectively dealt with with the assistance of rhythms created by objects rising above the surface. This is a lateral solution: the initial surprise from seeing the white is still there, but the audience is not given the time to process this first impression into a negative connotation (for instance of cold, or alienation), as the artist draws us into the view by a series of rhythmic diversions, generated by bushes and trees. The paths, originating from the lowest part of the canvas, invite narrational cooperation, and quite forcefully — we are to take the path, either by foot or skis. Consisting of several parallel lines, they also create a rhythmical net (not unlike a tennis net, cutting the court in half) that diverts from the general “coldness.”

Color solves the second problem — “treat the malady with its cause”. The scanty growth around the paths boasts some color, however pale. Moreover, a closer inspection reveals that the snow is far from white: it is covered in thin layers of gray, blue, and even orange, reflecting the sky and the light. But yes, it takes an effort to notice these; perhaps it resembles the one made to adjust to a season change. It is possible that people who rarely encounter snow would have some advantage, being less optically desensitized. I personally haven’t seen real snow in 18 years — which may just give me the needed edge.

Finally, I would like to bring to your attention the abstract quotes on the mountains in the background. The range actually constitutes a remote and somewhat irregular canvas on which nature paints with snow. White and gray stripes and blots produce powerful abstract images, invoking such “winter” emotions as loneliness and abandonment. The artist pays tribute to nature and its artistic streak; she expresses gratitude in what may seem like a private exchange, warm enough to melt not only the snow, but the viewers’ hearts as well.

Read Related Reviews:

• Holly Lombardo: Landscapes with Trees
• Takeyce Walter: Winter Landscapes
• Robin Neudorfer: “The Structure of Trees”
• Casey Klahn: How to Make Your Audience Weep
• Andrea Kowch: Magical Realism and Real Problems

The artist works in a variety of settings, evidently aiming at diversity, and avoiding the common pitfalls of genre painting. She does not repeat herself, but quotes; does not stand still thematically, but seeks new challenges. As a result, her oeuvre presents a rich and thorough monograph on the local landscape. For this review I have chosen the several autumnal dusky works that could, when combined, constitute a series. I like these because the brush records pristine air and evokes a tenderness of mood, with a dash of sadness. The colors compose a visual adagio that sneaks up upon the audience, softly lulling it into an evening, eyes-half-closed phase.

Elevated solids effortlessly transpose into a gaseous state, projecting a sense of fluidity; the boundaries of tree crowns are often degraded and unclear. I think this quality encourages mystical associations: dusk, as a transition from day to night, may symbolize the passage from reality to an alternative reality. In a way, such viewing would designate the artist as an alchemist, or a sorceress who accompanies the viewer. Sophisticated use of bordering colors (pink, orange and purple of the sky lit by the descending sun), value exploration and experimentation point to a convincing mastery of the medium (pun intended). Perhaps in a slightly bizarre consequence — of using the spell of oil palette — the oils acquire some pastel traits and vice versa.

In order to deal with space, the artist introduces oblong visual motifs. I mentioned the trees; winding perspectives are imparted by a concurrent thick line — a river, a path, a coastline, a horizon line, a shrubbery or even a prolonged shadow or glare. As we lower our eyes, the moody atmosphere clashes with the earthly perspectives and ground planes, generating a contradictory duality contained within the frame by the canvas, as if by force. As a consequence of this tense confinement, yet another color variation covers the ground in a way of energy discharge — and the land glows, offering an alternative local cause of the reddening ambiance. Somehow the setting sun itself becomes almost irrelevant, as the scene before us grows more self-contained and self-explanatory.

Ultimately, the artist’s adoption of this duality attests not only to the ability to stand on a notional edge, but also to the capacity to translate the tense equilibrium into pictorial terms — all within the subtle general framework of light withdrawal. And personally, I suspect that we are being presented with a softened, mellowed version of a compound that has been through some high temperature points.

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