Yet there is a quality in the watercolors that disagrees with the suggested allegory. Suffused with air and sun, they convey delight, lightness and a bunch of other positive feelings . This cheerfulness flows from a different starting point, one that couldn’t coincide with that of the theme of loneliness. I think it is up to the viewer to resolve the arising conflict — and I actually believe that ignoring it may prove to be a good strategy. Instead of trying to reconcile the two ways of viewing, it’s possible to alternate between them, at the viewer’s whim. I like that flexibility, and I think that it speaks of the artist’s own.

The singular theme would appear to exclude composition from playing a major part, but enter the colors and claim compositional territory. It is interesting that the rather pale colors end up serving the paintings in terms of space rather than light or palette — but perhaps not surprising. The windows are basically collections of geometrical forms – very fortunately arranged abstract pieces. The diffused colors, though provide thematic background, can be approached as geometrical additions dispersed in areas across the paper. This “color deconstruction” adds another dimension to the artwork. Perhaps it compensates for the inability to peek in and see what happens beyond the panes, the curtains and the reflections.

Lines play an important, but underlying role. They criss-cross he windows yet somehow stay out of sight, bury themselves into the theme. I think that the lines add another dark aspect that works quietly against the sun and the light, and adds tension to the whole premise. Lines in such close disposition are bound to allude to prison bars and jails – allusions that elucidate the paintings from a completely different angle, and, in a way, put them to the test. By isolating a trivial everyday object the artist lays bare a series of emotions, associations and experiences that are nothing trivial, and all uneasy and complex.

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The artist upholds a tension between the illuminated and the color-rich shaded areas. The crab is a bomb of color on a white sand background — will it explode, or reach the water safely? The sun contours the fish and the boats, creeping on the surrounding colors, making them small and unstable. The powerful illusion of light and the fast brushwork, especially in the boats piece, add a notable impressionistic touch. I have been looking at the boats for half an hour before noticing the big black blot beneath the closer boat — which I think proves that the color scheme works effectively, despite the lack of flexibility of the watercolor.

The crab and the fishes owe their liveliness to the artist’s eye for movement. The animals appear to be in motion, complemented either by an expressive shadow, or other fish. As fits such themes, the paintings rely on humor for thematic interest: the slant threatens to knock the crab off its feet and put the critter in a comic — for us — situation. The fishes, swimming around in a crowd, appear in a funny pattern that is both familial and familiar. The high viewing angle allows us to absorb the rich oranges. Despite the sea setting, the artist gives us an aquarium simulation.

I like these pieces for their harmony and their light, summery feel. The word “effortless” gets thrown about a lot recently, but there is definitely a dash of that ease here — achieved, no doubt, with considerable effort. The artist finds points of interest and complex shadow without making them the sole focus of the compositions. These paintings are about the waves — of water, of sand, of light. Holly Lombardo aptly condensed the warmth and spirit of summer into several sunny watercolors.

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There is something folkloric about these trunks and branches. They are impressionistic stylizations of trees that can be comic and admirable at the same time; they resemble clumsy trolls who look menacing at first only to reveal their soft nature later. I have had the privilege of reviewing several paintings of trees, for instance by Robin Neudorfer or Casey Klahn, but I don’t think any of them so readily invited such a warm, homey association — despite the lack of foliage, the snow and the cool blue. To me it seems as though the trolls just went out to have some fun and soon would return into their lairs to drink mead and tell stories.

There is a compositional rigor to it all: the paintings carefully balance chaos with calm by clear-cut borders. First, sharp angles between various tree parts generate a sense of urgency and aggression while the woods seem to move and expand, as the general upward direction indicates. Second, all these movements and threats are either pruned by the frame or carefully contained by the trees themselves: the branches aim at the local center of the piece (where the trees concentrate) or above, where they collide and in a way neutralize each other. Finally, bordering trunks (or lowest branches) enwrap the entire display and isolate it from the rest of the piece, proving how harmless the show really is.

Thus the paintings are divided into compositional segments, more violent ones including criss crossing lines and sharp edged triangles and the quiet ones consisting of wavy patches of snow or curved lines contouring a forest or a river bank. It is interesting that snow, after melting, turns into water which in turn would feed the trees and put on a coat of leaves on them. Trees with foliage — trolls appeased with mead — are no longer menacing. A scene in the painting above, where the river water divides (or in fact connects) between the woods visually foreshadows this paradigm. Eventually, the trolls get their mead — and we get our story.

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The realism is particularly teasing because it is often on the verge of transmuting into impressionism, brush strokes appearing ready to smudge the colors. Perhaps the stylistic evolution mentioned in the previous review is not over yet. I would not go as far as calling the tendency of impressionistic generalization as a generic compromise or collapse, but the evidence of some sort of synthesis is there. For instance, in the two limes piece the tip of the yellow fruit in the background is realistic (resembling rhinoceros skin) whereas the tip of the green one in the foreground is much more impressionistic, with wide clearly visible brush strokes describing how light lands on the surface and defines the object.

The notion of weight extends to the backgrounds too. The ethereal flowers accord with abstract airy atmosphere, but the fruits need to actually lie on something. The artist chooses a basic setting resembling a wall and floor (or table) conjunction, with linear and angular characteristics which complement the globular forms of the objects without overpowering the latter. The dark gray bluish tones consume all the light, leaving a few dashes for the still life — but eloquent, central dashes. Overall, the fruits and vegetables appear to lay in a nook, or a lair, a stylized environment evidently composed by the artist. The focus in these paintings is on the relationship between the various subjects rather than between them and the background.

General color schemes are bolder: exotic red-black and yellow-green combinations enliven the quiet compositions. Although the florals display powerful tonal clashes (such as the opposing reds and greens), the human eye tends to ignore the green of the stems and leaves and focuses on the bright blooms. Perhaps we are not unlike insects, tempted by the flowers’ brightness, — only we bring death by plucking them whereas the insects bring life by pollinating them. Here the colors declare the strong sweet or sour taste of fruits that were meant to be plucked. In some ways, SINH’s still life reclaims some of the zest lost in melancholic flowers.

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Depiction of the texture of the flower’s petals in a painterly and somewhat free-flowing style powerfully evokes the sense of touch. These flowers were meant to be touched first, smelled second — paradoxically, these are the blind person’s versions, Braille flowers, if you will. It is not the brushwork and the actual laying of paint upon the board, but rather the illusion of the immediacy of tactile sensation passed by purely visual means that brings these flowers to life. The stress here is not on the literally sensuous but on the conceptual and abstract processing; it’s as if feelings of touch are being transferred directly into the viewer’s brain.

In more technical terms, a detailed description of how light and color interchange contributes to said illusion. The petals appear to flutter and crease like paper; nevertheless, the main subject of each painting is still the bloom, a unified whole that is more than the sum of its petals. The artist coats the flowers with a white veil of light, the former absorbing the latter in its entirety (nothing is reflected). Curiously, there are no large shadows around the flowers — a fact that discloses the wish to keep things as abstract as possible — but plenty of small dark patches and undefined areas that sculpt the leaves.

The impression of thinness accords with the reticent, low-key and somewhat pale palette. Everything is subdued here, reflecting the onset of withering and expressing a melancholic mood. One would assume that these flowers were painted for their delicacy and fragility; the artist finds appropriate backgrounds to complement these features. The choice of neutral backgrounds produces the effect of surprise, as if the blooms expanded from nowhere and filled the space. If so, this might have been the most energetic and important moment in “the lives” of these florals; the general parabolic movement denotes an opposite process, not devoid of its own quiet poetry.

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It would be interesting to determine the symbolical meaning of the flowers (since they lack a textual one). I think that the meaning here is of broad allusion to civilization, as it was created by the written word; in this context the aim would be to remind the audience that civilization is near, that people are around, and that that hand may indeed appear as if from nowhere and clear the view for us. So in fact this is a soothing element — a somewhat paradoxical conclusion considering the alarming bright red color. On the other hand, we are being given a close-up view of the wild growth far ahead — a preparation and a warning — more signs of civilization.

In terms of traditional western aesthetic the flowers may act as a focal point. However, the overpowering bright reds bend this role to claim more attention and importance. This feature creates a complex net of meanings, shuffling between foreground (and civilization) and background (and wild nature). The closed compositions add a sense of tropical atmospheric heaviness that makes itself notable after some viewing time — the time needed to desensitize oneself from the redness. Here the water, flowing in parallel to the garlands, refreshes the air, as if putting down a fire: the artist reminds us of the relief water brings by giving it a similar role in the painterly context.

For my last review of Dawn Lundquist’s work I wanted to choose between the seascapes and the waterfalls. For various reasons, I prefer the latter works — admittedly a subjective bias. I love the richness of the vegetation and how the artist saturates the air with mist spray. I find the seascapes too familiar, living on the Mediterranean shore, whereas the Edenic waterfalls look fresh and tempting. But there is no doubt that the former possess similar freshness to appreciate which would take only a few hours inside an apartment, a cubicle, or a car — when the vacation is over.

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The sharp color variations of the birds’ plumage both defines and accentuates the difference. The red and orange clash with the black, white and green, generating bright, discordant harmonies that engross one’s attention. Sometimes it may seem that the roosters were the artist’s excuse to experiment with wild color combinations — like parrots would seem nature’s to experiment with grotesque decorative designs. I think that these roosters’ flashy coloration breaks down the prejudice of a boring gray domesticated bird. With the artist’s help, they restore some dignity, which makes them equals among such show-offs as said parrots or even peacocks.

It is easy to recognize characteristic gestures: one is evidently in an attacking/advancing mode while the other is singing. The artist makes her subjects interesting and endearing not only for their plumage but also for their demeanor. The proud postures reveal fearlessness and the readiness to engage in a fight: I don’t know if some of the depicted breeds are of the fighting kind, but it is easy to imagine them as such. It takes only a few long, curving and strong contour lines to condense the birds’ character — a linear economy that makes sense in the overall painterly context.

Line is not the only element to be reduced to formal simplicity: undemanding symmetry and balance make up the bulk of the compositional conception. The artist skillfully positions the cocks near a tree, or counterpoises the head with the tail. I find the results delightful: while in terms of symmetry the left side mirrors the right side, in terms of color they produce a poignant contrast. It can be that this coexistence of balance and imbalance reflects the rooster’s lazy alpha behavior — I would certainly pay more attention now, when I see one.

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Arguably the most dominant stylistic feature in these paintings is the dense, overflowing use of color. It appears to trickle down from the petals and paint the air; the flowers seem to be sweating hue, so thick and generous are the patches of deep blue, red, white and orange. Usually only two or three main colors constitute the entire palette; they interchange and create intense compositions (usually relying on radial symmetry).

The color technique leaves less room for air and light, which are subsequently of diminished importance here. As a result, the atmosphere may appear as particularly heavy, humid and sticky; since these qualities indeed characterize tropical locations, it remains to conclude that the extraordinary density of color ensues from a necessity dictated by the climate conditions (I love it when everything falls in place like that — for me, this is the mark of good art). Although each painting usually shows only one single flower, the overall impression is of being submerged into a jungle.

As it often happens when color takes precedence, the painterly vanquishes nearly all traces of the linear. These are the antidote to a botanical illustration: the emphasis here is on the unified whole, on the movement of humid air that soaks the painted surface and on a mystical luminescence that all but evokes mythical contemplation on the emergence of life. Unusual viewing angles and an unclear generic status — in most cases it is impossible to determine whether the flowers are still life or still growing — contribute to the mystical mood. Furthermore, the lack of detail disrupts scale perception and the flowers may appear like giants slowly moving through air. Everything seems to conspire to convey something magical.

In a contrary turn, these florals succeed also in something more real and tangible: the depicted richness overstimulates the visual perception as to overflow and arouse, if only in one’s mind, other senses — particularly the sense of smell. The Angel’s Trumpet you see above may seem to spread faint tinkling and accompany its heavenly ambiance. Regardless of one’s readiness to accept such interpretation, ignoring the sensuous abundance — naturally predisposed to engage other senses — would be unfair. These flowers want to smell and sound — and who are we to stop them?

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A secondary, but important motif is that of sleep. The arrangement of grass islands, randomly or neatly interspersed among the snow, reminds of bed linen patterns, while the white associates with down that fills pillows and the light brown of the grass links directly to straw that fills mattresses. The cold winter weather is known to paralyze and put to sleep a casual wanderer. Could it be that said hidden resources contain some darker, hypnotic powers? Could a conflict seethe under the sheet of snow? Possibly so — but the surfaces do not reveal anything; all we see is the weak light reflected off the ice crust. However, if there are indeed some primitive forgotten instincts that allow people to communicate with nature on a different level, the artist captured their essence in these landscapes.

Composition-wise, these works again resemble the river pieces. Due to the low viewing angle the ground level fill most of the canvas, which in turn allows to develop long, anticipatory vistas. Human presence is hinted at by the accurately arranged growth — but the snow seems to aim to cancel any sign of the domestic, and human touch remains limited to mentioned instincts. Finally, I think that these pieces, and Takeyce Walter’s work in general are particularly effective at probing into people’s most spontaneous, initial responses to nature and seasonal changes. As such, the landscapes are difficult to write about — they do not render themselves to words easily — because they work on other levels. But that speaks only to their advantage.

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In almost all of the pieces in this series, the trees are cut by the frame, and the audience sees only the middle section. While somewhat annoying at first, this feature prompts the viewers to plunge into the experience of gazing and enjoying nature — by denying them any roots or crowns to fix their eyes on. The narrow field of vision simulates walking in an unknown environment, stepping without knowing where one’s feet would land; it cultivates uncertainty and even fear. We are put inside the groves in first person, as if able to touch the trunks just by extending a hand. The rhythm of the birches, curved or straight, encourages to imagine oneself as another tree. The aggregate effect is of a powerful bond with nature.

Though one of the close-up birches usually provides a focal point, the compositions lack a clear center. This is a strange quality in a landscape where the subjects fill most of the foreground. It is as if the artist paints close scenes while having the panoramic remote background in mind; she does not want the audience to focus on a particular point in the foreground — as much as we may be tempted to — but rather conceive the painting as a wide landscape. To my mind, this is not an easy exercise (especially considering the notion of the intimate experience described earlier), but a highly rewarding one.

These are two-layered works that uphold compositional and color balance by making juxtapositions. Thus, the birches’ finesse mellows the mountains’ solemnity and the maple hot orange spots offset the cool tones in the back. The visual transition from one layer to another is natural because there is no center that would draw all the attention and interfere. Indeed, at some point it may appear that the configuration of the maple leaves clusters repeats the contours of the hills. Overall, the artist created a series of deep landscapes that succeed in resonating with a range of human emotions.

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