One of the purposes of this light is to convey the heat, and the sense of heat. The artist achieves this by withering the palette (I would guess with tint), by playing with value and paying close attention to shadow/light interchanges, when such are there. (I would also guess that varnish plays a role in building this light.) Eventually, the effect is so convincing that when viewing a painting that depicts morning time below), when the sun hasn’t scorched everything yet, one can almost experience the freshness of the air and breathe more freely. The colors are damper and darker; the heat hasn’t raised all the dust into the air.

To capture vast space without overloading the viewer, the artist keeps things simple in terms of composition and color. I think these choices benefit the theme: hue harmony and compositional flow take precedence over small detail in panoramic landscapes, and particularly so in small paintings. Yet there are subtle elaborations, sophisticated color overlaps and gradations that reveal a tendency towards maximal precision. As a result, I found myself struggling to make out the buildings from the town contours, and the trees behind the meadow (the painting below). By giving the viewers the impression that they indeed could, the artist may have achieved his main goal.

To conclude this series of reviews of Frank Gardner’s work, I would like to say that I find his use of light, though at times harsh for viewing, emotionally exhilarating. Thematically, some of his Mexican farm paintings exhibit a gentle romantic pastoral streak (when the workers appear from afar, moving away from the viewer) , while others are more realist (when they work right in front of the audience, moving towards it). Finally, his work displays such a clear compositional vision and unity of design that if asked to describe it in just a few words, I would say: “He always gets his point across.”

Appropriately, the viewing angle positions the observer just on the brink of the two elements, maybe with an insignificant bias towards the sea. This compositional uncertainty translates into an emotional one, as if the painting models an inner conflict by asking us “where do you belong?” The point of the question would be not only to elicit a specific answer from the audience, making each viewer to learn a thing or two about him or herself, but to familiarize us with the ongoing dilemmas of the sailor’s life. For me, these pieces serve as an introduction to a different and precarious way of life — which many communities have led for centuries, thrived, and still continue to do so.

Stylistically, these are sure-handed works — I enjoy the robust, swift brushwork in particular — enriched with impressionistic water reflections. It is strange how a degree of randomness exposes a firm brush where too much thought and planning would do the same to an uncertain one. Here, the generally chaotic distribution of color used to create a believable illusion of the water surface does the former. In other parts, this is impressionism on condition: sunlight emaciated the boats’ color, which seems ready to crack, peel off and reveal the dirty gray and red of metal and corrosion. It’s as if there is some realist intent encroaching, preparing to take over after sundown. Overall, the extremely bright sunlight sets the tone and adds an energizing touch of urgency.

To conclude, I would like to offer a comparison to Todd Bonita‘s much more intimate and calm boat paintings. Although both artists illustrate similar themes, there are several important differences (besides the obvious stylistic ones). First, there is the matter of size: Todd Bonita paints smaller vessels. Second, as a result, it would appear that the latter’s work is more individual oriented, whereas Frank Gardner seeks to describe broader and mass social situations. It’s one fisherman versus a whole fleet; a small creek versus a big seaport. Finally, both artists, while limiting their palette to almost trichromatic, achieve opposing effects of tranquility and bustle. Each painter benefits from the comparison; Frank Gardner’s work stands out as the more worldly and cosmopolitan.

The town residents, usually workers, move in a space confined by walls so high as to almost define them colossal. For me, it is obvious that the artist aims to juxtapose the structures with the people, using space as a compositional means. The question arises: what is the purpose of this comparison, what idea, or, perhaps, agenda the artist wants to forward? It seems that the answer to this question lies within the paintings themselves — a common theme they present, to be precise.

On general terms, the scenes capture the spirit of a community: the depicted work, converse and tread in an environment not dissimilar to an ant hill. I think that the painter wanted to stress that people, as a community, precede their concrete surroundings, despite the small size; one ant standing near an ant hill may seem unimportant, yet it means everything in a “human ant hill.” It is the community that emerges as the thematic safe haven, not the city, which merely forms the outer shell, however impressive.

The massive walls overlook the small figures yet, somehow, seem sleepy and appeased (at the first glance), as if exhausted by the sun. The buildings resemble giants — though I would not necessarily vouch for their gentleness. They store a lot of energy, and it’s unclear how it could erupt, if at all, and for what reason. I think that eventually this indeterminacy and lack of will emphasize human control and domination. Indeed, the architectural motif of the building in the piece you see below, if personified, would appear subservient: imitating the paws of a giant sphinx, with claws retracted before the walking woman, or a face with its gaze directed downward, in an expression of obedience.

To sum up, a few words (more in the following reviews) on Frank Gardner’s style. His choices of sometimes very surprising locations and edgy, unconventional compositions that produce unexpected geometrical shapes, labyrinths or heavily unbalanced configurations, they all point to high painterly confidence. Original viewing angles reveal a master whose foremost skill may lie in identifying the best location for his next painting, at least when working en plein air. Often I feel as if presented with an object or a theme from the side of the tail rather than of the head — a creative attitude that signifies a fresh approach, one which apparently became the norm for the artist.